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[Illustration: “HE NEVER LET GO HIS HOLD ON TOM.”

37]




                                 THE LOSS
                              OF THE SWANSEA

                      _A STORY OF THE FLORIDA COAST_

                                    BY
                                W. L. ALDEN
                AUTHOR OF “THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMY BROWN,”
                         “THE MORAL PIRATES,” ETC.

                       _ILLUSTRATED BY F. O. SMALL_

                                  BOSTON
                            D. LOTHROP COMPANY
                   WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD

                             COPYRIGHT, 1889,
                                    BY
                            D. LOTHROP COMPANY.




CONTENTS.


                 CHAPTER I.

    THE MUTINY                       9

                 CHAPTER II.

    ASHORE                          24

                CHAPTER III.

    IN THE CAVE                     40

                 CHAPTER IV.

    MAROONED                        56

                 CHAPTER V.

    LOST IN THE LABYRINTH           71

                 CHAPTER VI.

    OLD BILL’S RAID                 86

                CHAPTER VII.

    INTO THE EVERGLADES            102

                CHAPTER VIII.

    PRISONERS                      117

                 CHAPTER IX.

    ON BLUE WATER                  133

                 CHAPTER X.

    THE SWANSEA AGAIN              148

                 CHAPTER XI.

    GOOD-BY TO OLD BILL            164

                CHAPTER XII.

    THE LAST OF THE SWANSEA        179




THE LOSS OF THE SWANSEA.




CHAPTER I.

THE MUTINY.


I was nearly fifteen and my brother Tom was a little over sixteen when
father died. There were no more of us, for our mother had died when I was
so little that I could scarcely remember her. The only relation we had in
the world was an uncle whom we had never seen and who lived in America,
in the colony of the Carolinas.

Father was a British channel pilot, and Tom and I were born and had lived
except for one week, all our lives, in Bristol. This I have been told is
the finest city in England, though, of course, everybody knows that it is
not quite so big as London. Father owned a share in a pilot boat, and
he often took us out with him when he was cruising for a homeward-bound
ship. We used to help the men work the boat, and we were better sailors
than either of the two apprentices.

Once a man hired father to sail a new brig from Bristol round to
Penzance, and we went with him. That was the one week when we did not
live in Bristol, which I just mentioned. We enjoyed it very much and
learned a good deal about square-rigged vessels while we were in the brig.

Pilots did not make much profit in those days, and father left us nothing
except half a crown and his share of the pilot boat. Before he died he
told his partners to sell his share and use the money to send Tom and me
to our uncle in America. The two partners bought the share themselves for
thirty pounds, which was all it was worth, for they were good honest men,
and when they had paid our passage to America on the brig Swansea, they
gave us two pounds ten and threepence, which was all the money that was
left.

The captain of the Swansea agreed to take us as if we were gentlemen
passengers. We were to live with him in the great cabin and were not to
do any work. Not that we were not quite willing to work our passage, but
Captain Robinson, father’s oldest partner, said, “No; it was our late
pardner’s orders that you was to be sent to America, and that did not
mean that you should work your way; and it shall be done accordin’ to
orders, for a dead man’s wishes ought for to be carried out, providin’ it
can be done; you don’t want to have ghosts a-visitin’ you.”

The Swansea was a fine brig of four hundred tons. She carried four guns
on a side besides a big gun amidships. These guns were to keep off
pirates, though, as it turned out, they were the very reason why we fell
into the hands of pirates; for if we had not been so well armed I doubt
not that we should have sailed straight to Charleston and the poor
captain would have been alive at this day.

We had two mates and a crew of twelve men besides the cook and the cabin
boy, so, for the size of the brig, we were strong-handed.

The captain, whose name was Fearing, was a Bristol man, who had known
father for many years. He was a good, kind man, but he was not severe
enough to keep a bad crew in order, and, what was worse, he often drank
too much spirits, and then acted so foolishly that the men had no respect
for him. I do not like to say this, because Captain Fearing was always
kind to Tom and me. He was a brave man, too, and always ready to do his
duty when he was sober, but it is the truth, and there is no help for it.

The mate was a smart, active seaman, but I did not like him, for I always
felt that he could not be trusted. Instead of keeping spirits from the
captain, he would often bring a bottle with him on deck and offer it
to the poor man who could not resist the temptation to drink when the
stuff was, as you might say, held up to his lips. But I had no reason to
complain of the mate’s treatment of Tom and me. He was always pleasant
and respectful, treating us indeed like young gentlemen, and he would
sometimes tell us wonderful stories of the exploits of great pirates,
such as Captain John Morgan, and other like bloody men.

The second mate, Mr. Otway, was a hard, brutal man, who was fond of
knocking the men about and of using dreadful language; but one night,
after we had been at sea about three weeks, he fell overboard. At least
he was missing, and it was supposed he had fallen overboard, though I now
believe that he was murdered by the crew.

And surely a worse crew never sailed out of Bristol. They were shipped
because sailors were scarce at the time, and Captain Fearing had to take
such men as he could get. They were mostly Englishmen, but a drunken,
vagabond set, and there were three or four foreigners among them,
Spaniards and such—wicked-looking men who were fit for any desperate
work. The men obeyed Mr. Otway because they were afraid of him, and
they generally treated the mate respectfully, but they would insult the
captain to his face.

We had pleasant weather all the voyage, for it was the month of June,
when the winter was over and the summer hurricanes had not begun. The
brig was a very fast sailer, and was not heavily loaded, but I heard that
her cargo was a very valuable one, although I never knew what it was.

There is a strong current called the Gulf Stream that sets up the
American coast, and when we were approaching it the captain kept to the
southward in order to make allowance for it; for he was not an expert
navigator with instruments, and used to say that he valued dead reckoning
and the hand-lead more than all the brass instruments and mathematics
that were ever invented. As it afterwards turned out, he was mistaken in
his reckoning, and we were much further south than we ought to have been,
though I think the mate knew it all the time.

Early one morning Tom and I were awakened by a noise in the cabin, and
turning out in a hurry, we found the cabin filled with men. The captain
was sitting in a chair with his hands and feet tied, and the mate was
standing in front of him making a speech. Nearly all the crew were there,
some of them grinning and passing low jokes, but more of them looking
fierce and excited. The captain was quite sober and had evidently been
seized and bound while he was asleep, for he was in his night-clothes.
Nobody paid any attention to Tom and me, and we tried not to attract any
notice.

“I’m very sorry that this has happened, Captain Fearing,” said the mate,
“for I’ve nothing in the world against you, but you must see that it’s
a shame that a smart brig like the Swansea, and a stout crew should be
wasted in trading when we could make our fortunes out of hand in a few
months as gentlemen rovers.”

“You’re a scoundrel, John March,” replied the captain, “a mutinous,
piratical hound.”

“Now, don’t use such language, Captain, for I want to be friendly with
you, though, in course, I knew that you’re ruffled a bit at being lashed
up in your own cabin. But it’s this way, you see. The men are determined
to make a cruise or two in the brig, and as I’m the only navigator on
board, except you, they naturally want me to take charge of her, knowing
that you’ve a prejudice against a roving life. I’d have continued the
voyage to Charleston if I’d had my way, but when it’s a choice between
commanding as brave a set of men as ever I sot eyes on, or having my head
split open, why, in course, I chooses the first.”

Here some of the men began to murmur that there had been enough talk,
and that they couldn’t wait all day for soft speeches.

“What do you mean to do with me?” asked the Captain. “And what do you
mean to do with the two young gentlemen?”

“We are going to treat you very handsome, Captain,” replied the mate.
“The brig is at this identical moment hove to in sight of the coast of
Florida. There’s a boat all ready for you, and you and the two young
gentlemen can take it and pull ashore, or steer for Charleston, just as
you please. We’ll give you provisions and arms, and you’ll find fresh
water ashore; and I think you’ll admit that this is more than you’ve any
right to expect.”

“Let the kids join in with us, if so be that they want to make their
fortins,” said one of the men.

“They don’t want to join; they wouldn’t be of no use except to share our
earnings, and besides it was in our bargain that they were to be put
ashore with the captain. I sticks to my bargain, my lads, and I expect
you to stick to yours,” said the mate.

I was very glad to hear this said, for I was beginning to have a terrible
fear that I should be made to stay with the pirates.

“And now, Captain,” continued the mate, “if you’ll pass your word to go
ashore quiet and peaceable, I’ll cast off these lashin’s, and you shall
dress yourself and leave us, for there’s a nice breeze springing up.”

The captain wanted to burst out in violent language; but he saw it was no
use, so he presently said, “I’m in your power and I must submit.”

“That’s right,” exclaimed the mate; “I do like to see a man act smooth
and appreciate a kindness when it’s shown to him. Now, men, you can go
on deck and I’ll stay here till the captain and the young gentlemen are
ready.”

Tom and I dressed in a hurry, and as soon as the captain was ready we all
went on deck, and the mate invited us to get into one of the quarter
boats. The men stood near by, silent and scowling.

“You’ll find everything comfortable in the boat,” said the mate, as
pleasantly as if we had hired it of him for a pleasure trip. “There’s two
hams, and some biscuit, and there’s two guns and ammunition, and there’s
blankets, and a lantern. Why, you might go a pirating yourself, Captain,
with that craft. I really envy you, I do.”

All the while he was talking the mate was pushing us into the boat, and
passing one of the falls to the captain and one to me. “Now lower away
smartly,” he added, “for we want to make sail on the brig.”

“This is all foolishness,” cried one of the sailors, with a lot of wicked
words which I won’t mention. “Cut one of the falls, and drown the lot of
them, I say.”

March jumped on the rail, holding on by one of the davits, and drew a
pistol. “I’ve passed my word that they shall go ashore safe,” he said,
“and you know me and know I’m a man of my word. The first man that
touches one of those falls is a dead man.”

The men said no more, and we lost no time in getting clear of the brig.
As we pulled away the mate waved his hat to the captain, and then jumped
down from the rail and we saw him no more.

We pulled straight for the shore, Tom and I taking the oars and the
captain steering. The shore was only about ten miles away, and the sea
was quite smooth, with a nice light breeze that helped to keep us cool.
The captain said nothing for a long while, but kept looking back at the
brig. The pirates had filled the main topsail as soon as we had left, and
were now standing to the south’ard, and we never expected to see them or
the brig again.

“It’s the bottle that has done this,” exclaimed the captain after a
while. “If I’d have kept sober I could have seen this mutiny brewing, and
stopped it, but now I am a ruined man. All I had in the world was in
that vessel.”

As he seemed to be talking to himself and not to us, neither Tom nor I
said anything to him.

“And John March, too, a man whose life I had saved. To think that
he should turn against me and seize my brig. But he never had any
conscience, and he is sure to come to the gallows.”

“But if it hadn’t been for him, sir,” I ventured to say, “we should all
have been drowned.”

“I suppose so,” answered the captain; “but it would have been better for
me if I had been. Take warning by me, boys, and never touch spirits. I’ve
taken my last drink, but I’ve mended my ways when it is too late to undo
the ruin that I have brought on myself. Before you ever take a glass of
spirits, you jump overboard and drown yourself, for you’d much better be
dead than a drunkard.”

I was very glad to hear that the captain had resolved never to drink
again, for I liked him very much, all but his one bad habit.

But before very long he began to overhaul the things in the stern sheets,
as if he were searching for something, and could not find it. Then he
said, “Boys, just look about you and see if there is a bottle in the
boat.” We couldn’t find any, and then the captain broke out against the
mate, saying that he had purposely set him ashore without a drop of
spirits, though he knew he couldn’t live without it. So I saw that the
captain’s reformation would only last till he could get at the bottle
again. It was very lucky for us that the mate had not put any strong
liquors in the boat; for if he had done so the captain would certainly
have made himself unfit to manage the boat and would very likely have
capsized it and drowned us all.

I had noticed a little piece of white paper lying on the bottom of the
boat, and when the breeze fluttered it I saw it had writing on it. So I
pointed it out to the captain, and he read it out loud, for he was a poor
scholar and could not read unless he pronounced every word, and spelled
all the long ones. I picked the note up afterwards and have kept it to
this day. Here it is:

    HONORED CAPTAIN:

    I take the great liberty of saying that we are now in latitude
    29°, your calculations not having been quite right, through
    no fault of yours. You will find a small river, if you pull
    straight ashore, but the entrance to it won’t be easy to find
    unless you bring two tall pine trees in a line. If I may humbly
    advise I would say don’t stop on this coast, for you might
    meet some bad characters, but steer northerly for about eighty
    miles, where you will find a settlement. With my duty to the
    young gentlemen, and wishing you health and a prosperous voyage
    I am your humble servant,

                                                         JOHN MARCH.




CHAPTER II.

ASHORE.


When the captain had read the mate’s letter he was more angry than ever,
and said that Mr. March was the most cruel and cowardly hypocrite that
ever lived. I did not know what to think, for though the mate had turned
pirate, and stolen the captain’s ship, he had saved the captain from
being murdered by the crew and had saved Tom and me from what would have
been worse than being murdered. It was certain that he was a very bad
man, but for all that he did seem to be kind-hearted, and it was good in
him to write that letter, for without it we could never have found the
river.

When we came near the shore we could see nothing but a long stretch of
sand beach with low sand hills, and a thick forest of pine-trees behind
them. There were two pines that were about half a mile apart, so far as
we could judge, and stood out separate from the rest of the trees, for,
as we afterwards found, the forest had been cleared away around them.
We brought these two trees in line with one another and then steered
for the beach, where we found an inlet with the tide running into it.
This brought us into a little lagoon that lay between the beach and the
mainland. Continuing to keep the trees in line we crossed the lagoon
and found ourselves at the mouth of a small river, up which we pulled,
delighted to find ourselves in the shade of the forest.

It was a beautiful river. It was so narrow that the trees on each bank
nearly touched their branches overhead, and half a mile from the lagoon
the water became perfectly clear, so that we could often see the sandy
bottom, though in most places the river was very deep. All sorts of
strange and beautiful birds were among the trees, and we saw more snakes
in the water and on the shore than we wanted to see. Once we startled a
large wild beast that was sleeping on the shore and that was spotted like
a leopard, but as soon as it saw us it bounded into the forest. Tom and
I were perfectly happy. The beautiful river was so much better than the
cabin of the Swansea, that we began to be glad that the crew had mutinied
and driven us away.

A mile up the river we came to a small clearing where there was a sort of
fort, very near the river, and a nice landing-place for boats. The fort
was quite deserted, and at once we went ashore to explore it.

It was built of great pine logs, squared and fitted closely together. It
had only two windows, high above the ground, one at each end, and was
loop-holed, like a real stone fort on every side. There was an immensely
thick door in the side toward the river, which could be fastened from
the inside with an iron bar, but it stood wide open and the doorway was
filled with the biggest spider-webs I ever saw. There was another smaller
door in the opposite side of the house, which also had its iron bar, and
was closed.

There was nothing in the house but loose straw, which was scattered all
over the floor; a long table, some rough benches, and a few pots, pans
and plates. Grass had grown up between the boards of the floor in many
places, and it was plain that nobody had been inside the fort for a long
while. There was a curious smell about the place that reminded me of a
menagerie I had once seen in Bristol, and I could not understand why
Captain Fearing would not at first let us search the fort, but told us to
go and bring up the things that were in the boat.

While we were busy the captain found a long pole with which he carefully
stirred up the straw, and finally threw it all out of the back door.
Then he made us help him stop up the holes in the floor with clay, and
finally we scrubbed the place out with thick branches of trees, and then
made beds out of pine twigs that we cut and brought into the fort.

We had a dinner of cold ham and biscuit, and then the captain when he
had lit his pipe told us that the fort must have been built by pirates
as a place to stay in while repairing their vessels. Near the brink of
the river there was a great tar-kettle that was empty, but which had been
used for heating pitch with which to calk seams. “You see,” said the
captain, “that villain the mate knows this place, and has been a pirate
at some time in his life. Perhaps his gang was the only one which used
the fort, for in my opinion, nobody has been here for a good many years.”

In the afternoon Tom and I went out to explore, after the captain had
warned us to keep a sharp lookout for snakes, especially a terrible
variety with watchmen’s rattles at their tails, which can kill a man in
an hour or two, they are so venomous.

We went out of the back door and up a sloping path which led through
bushes so tall and thick that you might have stood close to the side of
it without suspecting that there was a path there. The path itself was
pretty well grown up with weeds and bushes, but still we could make it
out and we followed it till we came to a hill, in the side of which was
the entrance to a cave.

Mr. March had kindly given us a lantern, and Tom ran back to get it.
We lit it with a flint and steel that I always carried in my pocket,
and then we entered the cave. It was so large that we could stand up
straight in it, and the bottom, which was fine gravel, sloped downward
pretty steeply. There was not much to see in the cave until we had gone,
I should think, twenty rods into it, when we came to a wonderful little
lake which occupied the whole floor of the cave and prevented us from
going any further. The roof of the cave glittered beautifully, for it was
all full of white crystals, some of which hung down in long points and
sparkled like frost on a window when the sun strikes it.

There was a small skiff lying partly in the water and partly on the
shore, with a short paddle lying in the bottom of it. There was a little
water in the skiff, but when we launched it the water did not increase,
which showed that the skiff did not leak. We hauled it up on the shore
again to keep it from drifting away, and resolved to come back and make a
voyage on the lake the next day.

On the way back to the house we found an orange-tree full of delicious
fruit, and some bushes covered with large, beautiful berries such as
we had never seen before. We did not venture to eat the berries, for
oftentimes it happens that strange fruit is deadly; but we carried
some of them to the captain, who said that they were wholesome and
particularly refreshing on a hot day.

When night came the captain loaded the two guns and placed his
powder-horn and bullets where he could easily reach them. Then he barred
the big door, and we all lay down and Tom and the captain soon fell
asleep.

I was not sleepy, and was lying and watching the pattern that the bright
moonlight made on the floor, as it streamed through the loop-holes, when
I heard a curious rattling noise under the floor, and thought at once
of the terrible snakes of which the captain had spoken. The noise kept
growing louder and more frequent, as if there were a great number of
reptiles under the floor. I was about to waken my companions when I saw a
serpent gliding over the floor just where the moonlight that came through
one of the windows made a great square patch of light.

The snake was close to Tom and was moving towards him, but as soon as
it passed out of the moonlight it became invisible. It was making a slow
rattling noise as it writhed along, but this stopped the moment I struck
my flint and steel. I kindled the lantern as soon as possible, and saw
the snake close to Tom and just beginning to crawl across his body. My
brother was always a sound sleeper and he did not wake until the snake
had passed over him and crawled a dozen feet away. Then I shouted, and
both Tom and the captain started up, and I thought at first the captain
would have shot me before I could explain what was the matter.

When we came to look about us carefully we found five of the serpents in
the room, four of which we killed, but the fifth escaped down an opening
in the floor which we had overlooked when we were stopping up the holes,
and through which our horrible visitors had without doubt entered. When
we had made this hole safe by turning a large iron pot upside down over
it, and had thrown the carcasses of the dead reptiles out of the door,
we lay down to sleep again. Under the floor, the snakes kept up their
rattling, and the captain said there were probably hundreds of them
there, but as we were now sure that they could not get at us, we did not
mind them.

But about midnight we had another visit. We heard the branches and twigs
crackling in the woods outside, and thought at first that the pirates
must be approaching, but presently near the door some animal began to
snarl and growl, like a lion—or as I suppose a lion growls, for I am
thankful to say I never heard one. We were all awake and listening, and
after a while made out that there were at least two of the beasts, for
they began to quarrel and swear at one another, and every one knows that
it takes two to quarrel.

The captain was at first all for getting up and shooting the beasts
through a loop-hole, but he remembered that our supply of ammunition was
small and that we might need it to defend ourselves against worse foes
than wild beasts. “Let ’em growl, boys,” said he. “They’re like sailors;
the more they growl the less mischief there is in them; that is, if so be
that they are growling on the other side of a stout wall.”

The beasts were really what the colonists of the country farther north
called panthers. They growled and fought, and made a hideous noise, so
that the snakes, not liking it, rattled all the louder, but we knew that
no beast could break the door open, and so we felt perfectly safe.

Suddenly a great dark object came flying through one of the windows and
landed on the floor with a heavy thud. Of course we were on our feet in
an instant, for we knew by the growling of the beast and the flashing of
its eyes that it was a panther. As soon as it saw us it retreated to a
corner, where it crouched, watching us and making up its mind on which
one of us it would spring. But it did not have much time for thinking,
for the captain fired at it and killed it instantly with a brace of
bullets between its eyes.

All this was exciting, and Tom and I being too young to be sensible
naturally enjoyed it. Still I was tired and would gladly have slept, and
could have wished that the snakes and beasts were less fond of visiting
strangers. There was no way of closing the window, and it was quite
possible that another panther or some new kind of animal would use it to
pay us another visit, so we resolved that one of us should stay awake and
keep watch while the others slept.

Tom agreed to be the first to keep watch, so the captain and I were soon
asleep. But I am sorry to say that Tom, forgetting his duty, followed our
example, though doubtless it was his purpose to remain watchful, and he
fell asleep by accident. But we were not to sleep much more that night,
for before very long a scream from Tom awoke us all, and we found that
another panther had come in at the window.

This time the beast had fallen directly upon my brother and had sunk its
claws deeply into his arm, but being alarmed at the noise that followed
it, lay still, growling and threatening, but not biting. Once again I lit
the lantern, the captain all the while telling Tom to lie perfectly still
and feign to be dead, which was his only chance of escape.

The captain and I stood each with a gun in hand at a short distance from
the panther, who watched us as closely as we watched him. We did not dare
to shoot lest we should hit Tom as well as the enemy, and we could only
wait and see if the beast would not move away from Tom, and give us the
occasion to fire. But the panther was not in the least hurry. He was not
at all afraid of us, and was apparently wondering whether he had better
make a meal of Tom, without killing the captain and me, or whether
it would not be better policy to kill us first and enjoy his dinner
afterwards.

The only thing that disturbed him was the lantern, which stood on the
floor near the captain. Doubtless the beast thought it was the eye of
some monstrous animal, though he must have wondered what had become of
the animal’s body. He turned his head toward it every few minutes and
growled fiercely, but he never let go his hold of Tom, and gave us no
chance to fire at him.

At last the captain could contain himself no longer, and he thought
of a way of frightening the beast. He took a paper from his pocket,
and crumpling it together, lit it at the lantern. When it had become a
flaming ball of fire he boldly approached the panther and threw it in
the monster’s face. The panther let go his hold of Tom and sprang back,
but almost instantly he leaped with amazing swiftness upon the captain,
bringing him violently to the floor. I was now desperate, for if Tom
and the captain were killed it would be only misery for me to live in
that wild place. The captain was lying on his back with the panther on
his chest, and it was as dangerous to fire at the beast from a distance
as it had been when poor Tom was in his clutches. But I ran close up to
the panther, and putting my gun against its shoulder pulled the trigger,
trusting that the bullets would not pass through its body and pierce the
poor captain.

As it turned out I had done the best thing that could have been done,
for the beast was instantly killed, and the captain, pushing the carcass
from him, rose up unhurt except for a few scratches, none of which were
serious. Tom was in a dead swoon. This, however, was not so much from
fright, for he was a brave fellow, as from the pain of his wound. The
creature’s claws had somewhat torn the flesh of his left arm, and it had
sunk its claws deeply into his left breast.

However, by chafing his sound arm and hand we soon brought Tom back to
his senses, and the captain bound up his wounds and made him lie down
where no creature springing through the window could reach him. I was
surprised to see the captain carefully pick up the burnt fragments of the
paper he had thrown at the panther, and then drop them with a sigh. I
asked him what the paper might be.

“It was my commission, lad,” he replied. “My commission as master of the
Swansea. But of what use could it be to me now? All the papers in the
world could not make me less a poor drunken wretch who has let his ship
be taken from him.”




CHAPTER III.

IN THE CAVE.


There had been so little sleep among us all that night that as soon as
the dawn came and brought with it assurance that the wild creatures would
leave us in peace, we disposed ourselves to rest, and I found one of the
dead panthers as good a pillow as I had ever known.

We woke toward noon much refreshed. The captain washed and dressed Tom’s
wounds and told us that by the next day at the furthest we must leave the
fort and voyage along the coast in search of a settlement.

“Why not stay here until my brother is quite recovered?” I asked. “If we
bar the windows so that nothing can enter, we shall be very comfortable.
Besides, there is the cave which we ought to explore.”

“No good can come of our staying here, and much harm may come of it,” he
replied.

“May I ask what harm, sir?” I asked.

“I mistrust John March and I mistrust the crew. They would gladly have
murdered us, and they may yet turn back and make sure that we do not
escape to tell tales of them. It is my duty to see you young gentlemen
safely to Charleston, and when once that is done I care little what
happens to me.”

“Suppose the pirates should come,” said Tom. “Could we not hold the fort
against them?”

“We have but a dozen charges of ammunition for each gun and the villains
know it. They would surely capture us at last, and would put us to the
torture in return for having resisted them. If they find us here we are
lost, and I am therefore anxious to make good our escape as soon as
possible.”

“Then let us start at once,” cried Tom. “If I cannot row at least I can
steer, and in a few days the stiffness will have gone from my arm.”

“Let us start then to-night, so that if by chance the wretches should
have returned and should be lying off the coast they could not see us,”
answered the captain. “We will carry a cargo of oranges with us, for they
are both food and drink, and it will take us at least a week before we
can gain the nearest settlement.”

Tom and I thought that the matter being thus decided we should explore
the cave without any more delay; so we took the lantern and set about it.
But first we resolved to ascend the hill in which was the entrance to the
cave. We had climbed but a short distance when we were able to see the
sea, and there, to our great dismay, we saw a vessel lying but a short
distance from the land.

We made out at once that she was not the Swansea, for she was a
schooner, and we began to hope that she might be an honest vessel, that
had run short of water; that her captain meant to supply himself from our
river, and that he would take us off with him.

We were going to carry the good news to Captain Fearing when I remembered
that beyond doubt the fort had been built by pirates and that no honest
vessel knew anything about the river. So all the more we hurried to warn
the captain. Providence willed, however, that we should be too late,
for we had scarcely entered the back door of the fort when a large boat
carrying fifteen men whom we knew at a glance to be pirates, swept up the
river and came to the landing-place, where all the men hastily tumbled
out.

Captain Fearing had seen the boat, and had boldly gone down to meet it,
before we could speak to him. He was unarmed, and I could see that the
pirates were greatly surprised to find him there, and that they were not
of the crew of the Swansea. They gathered around him while he spoke to
them, and then some of them went to see our boat, that was lying partly
behind an overhanging tree, so that they had not at first seen it. I
greatly admired the bravery of the captain, who trusted himself among
those bloody men; I was hoping I know not what, for I well knew that
between an honest man and pirates there could be no peace, when I saw one
of the wretches put a pistol to the captain’s head and blow out the poor
man’s brains.

There could not be the least doubt that the captain was dead, and
terribly as we were shocked we knew that if we were not to share his fate
we must escape before the pirates caught sight of us. The very fact that
they did not come to the fort to search for us the instant they had shot
the captain was proof that he had not told them of us.

“The cave is our only chance, Tom,” I whispered. “Catch up the
ammunition and the guns and I will take all the provisions I can carry,
and we will hide in the cave. It is lucky we have the lantern all ready.”

While I was speaking I gathered up as many biscuit as I could stuff in
the breast of my shirt, and seized what was left of the two hams—which
was a whole one and a fragment of another—and ran towards the cave,
meaning to leave the provisions, and if possible return for more. But
I had hardly started back when I met Tom running at full speed, and I
learned from him that the pirates were approaching the fort, and that he
had just time to escape unseen.

As there was really no chance of our remaining concealed in the cave if
the pirates should search it, Tom suggested that we should put all our
things in the boat and paddle out into the lake. Although I had been
eager to make such a strange underground voyage only an hour before, the
death of the captain had somehow changed my thoughts, and I did not
hanker after the darkness of the cave. So I said to Tom that unless the
pirates knew of the cave they would not be likely to come to it, and that
at any rate they would not search for us, because they did not know of
our existence.

“Well,” said Tom, not very well pleased, “I suppose we can stop half an
hour or so here at the mouth of the cave, for it will take them that time
to break into the fort.”

“What do you mean?” cried I.

“Why, I shut the big door and barred it before I left,” answered Tom.
“That will delay them and give us time.”

“And tell them, too, that the captain had some one with him, for they
well know that he could not have left the fort and barred the door from
the inside himself. How could you be so stupid? Now after they have
broken in they will find the back door open and know the way we have
taken. They will be here in a few moments.”

“We have plenty of time,” said Tom, without trying to defend himself.
Indeed he never did, for the dear, honest, brave lad knew that he was a
little slow and dull, and thought it quite natural that what he had done
should be wrong. “The pirates,” he continued, “will make sure that there
is somebody in the fort ready to defend it, and the very silence will
make them cautious. As I said, it will be a good half-hour before they
get here, and if we have the skiff all ready we can take to it before
they can see us. Besides, they may have no light with them.”

“The boat is sure to have a lantern,” I replied. “However, Tom, you did
what you thought was best, and perhaps it was. Come, let’s get the skiff
ready.”

We baled all the water out of the skiff and stowed our provisions and
ammunition in it; and then, gun in hand, we went back to sit at the mouth
of the cave and see the sunlight as long as possible. We knew the way
between the mouth of the cave and the place where the skiff lay so well
that we could find it without a light, so we left the lantern in the
skiff.

We talked in whispers as we sat waiting for the pirates, and I think
neither of us had very much hope that when once we should be driven into
the cave we should ever see the dear light of day again.

At last we heard a shout from the fort and knew that the pirates had
broken in. We instantly started for the skiff, but the pirates must have
known all about the cave, for they were close after us with a lantern
that gave light enough to light up the whole cave, and we had barely time
to leap into the skiff, blow out our own lantern and shove off when they
were upon us, yelling and calling on us with awful oaths to come back.

I sat in the stern of the skiff and paddled hard, but to our great fright
we found that what we had supposed to be a lake was really a small pool
of water. An underground stream entered the cave a few yards from the
place where we found the boat, and after making a little pool perhaps
fifty feet wide and seventy-five long, the stream left it through an
archway some four feet high. This archway was situated at the further end
of the cave.

It was impossible to find any place where we would be out of sight of
the pirates. As I paddled around the pool hoping to find a projecting
rock that would give us a shelter the pirates could see us plainly. They
ordered us to come back, and as we paid no attention to them they began
firing at us. By great good fortune none of them had guns, but as there
were nine of them in the cave and nearly all of them discharging their
pistols at us, it was not at all pleasant. Several times the balls hit
the boat, and once one came so near my ear that I thought it had struck
me.

“This won’t do,” exclaimed Tom. “Shove her under that arch as quick as
you can, Jack.”

You may ask why I had not already done this, as I have said that the arch
was high enough to admit the skiff. The reason was that the water flowed
under it with a current so strong that I feared that once in it the skiff
would be swept along in spite of the paddle. But our affairs were now
desperate, and certain death awaited us unless we could find a shelter.

We were only two boats’ lengths from the arch when Tom spoke. I had made
up my mind that the arch was our only chance, and since Tom was willing
to risk it, I turned the skiff into the current and we glided under the
arch out of sight and range of our enemies.

The moment we found ourselves in the current I was more frightened by
far than when the pirates were firing at us. The force of the water
was terrible, and we were whirled along in deep darkness without the
possibility of stopping our progress. The passage in which we were was
apparently made with as much regularity as if it was the work of man. I
could touch either side with my paddle, but the sides seemed perfectly
smooth and slippery, and there was nothing to which I could cling. As for
the roof of the passage, it was for the most part so high that I could
not reach it, though once the paddle, which I was holding over my head,
struck violently against the rock.

We had traveled in this way for several minutes, although it seemed
very much longer, and neither of us had spoken, when I accidentally
caught hold of an iron ring on the left side of the passage or gallery,
and although I was nearly dragged out of the boat I managed to hold on
and bring the boat to a standstill. We had no rope with us, or I would
have made the boat fast, but as it was I could hold her for a long time
without getting exhausted. I called to Tom to light the lantern. When he
had done this and we could see each other the place seemed less dreadful.

The ring had of course been fastened in the rock by some one, though for
what reason I could not imagine. But its finding gave me new courage, for
it showed that we were not the first ones who had explored the cave.

“What are we to do now?” I said to Tom.

“Go on, when you get tired of holding the skiff,” he replied.

“Can you see what I am holding on by?”

“No,” he answered. “A bit of rock, I suppose.”

“Nothing of the kind,” I exclaimed. “It is an iron ring.”

“And what if it is?” asked Tom.

“Why, just this; somebody has been here before us, and put this ring in
its place. What do you suppose that was done for?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Tom, without showing much interest in the
ring.

“I think,” I continued, “that this is only one of a number of rings, and
that a rope used to run through them the whole length of this channel,
so that when a boat wanted to return against the current, the man in the
boat could lay hold of the rope and pull himself back.”

“That may be so,” said Tom, “but the rope isn’t there now, so it’s of no
use to us. You can’t hold on to that ring forever, and if you could we
should starve to death, after a while. You’ll have to let go presently,
and then down we float again.”

“But, Tom, can’t you see that if people used to go up and down this
passage it must lead somewhere, and we are not going to be carried down
any dangerous cataract or anything of that sort?”

“I suppose it does lead somewhere; but since we can never get back again,
I don’t think it makes much difference whether it leads over a cataract
or into some dark hole where we will have to stay and starve. But let her
go, Jack. We might as well know what is going to happen, for it is no
good stopping here.”

I did not much like the idea of committing ourselves to the current
again. There seemed no help for it, however; so after saying my prayers I
let go the ring and the skiff shot away once more.

The lantern, which was now lighted, showed us that every few yards there
was a ring in the wall, and to one of these rings was hanging a bit of
rope. I caught hold of it, but it was very rotten. However, I knew now
that I was right about the rings. I felt sure that it was perfectly safe
to go down the channel, though I saw that it would be impossible to
return.

I know very well that a person badly frightened and floating with a
strong current in the dark can know but little of the distance over which
he passes. But I was quite sure that we were moving fully eight miles
an hour, and we were certainly in that curious underground river for at
least ten minutes. I also feel safe in saying that we must have gone a
good mile when I saw a glimmer of light ahead. Then we came suddenly into
another large pool where the water was quiet and which was dimly lighted
by an opening in the roof of the cave that seemed fifty feet above us and
through which we could catch a glimpse of a little scrap of blue sky.




CHAPTER IV.

MAROONED.


No sooner had we entered this second pool than we were startled by a loud
hail. Greatly surprised we peered through the indistinct light and saw
dimly the figure of a man. He was standing on a little beach at one side
of the pool and was waving his arms at us.

We were so glad to see any one in that dismal place that we at once
paddled ashore without caring whether the man was a pirate or not, though
even if he had been we were well armed and had nothing to fear from one
man.

When we reached him he fell on his knees and begged us to have pity on a
poor wretch and take him away with us. Then he asked who we were; if we
belonged to Blackbeard’s crew, and if we were rovers, and a dozen other
questions all at once.

He was the most ragged man I had ever seen. His clothes were so tattered
that he no longer wore them as clothes were worn, but merely twisted them
around his body, leaving himself half-naked. His hair and beard were very
long and nearly white. His eyes had a strange wild look about them, due
no doubt to the long time that he had spent in the dark cave.

As soon as he found that we were not dangerous, he begged for rum and
tobacco. Finding that we had none, he was very thankful for a piece of
boiled ham, which he ate ravenously.

“How long have you been here?” I asked, after he had finished the ham.

“About three or four years,” he replied. “Leastways I think so, but a man
can’t keep his reckoning when he’s buried alive. I remember it was the
year 1718 that I shipped with Blackbeard, and I was with him two years
when he marooned me here.”

“Then you’ve only been here about a year; it is 1721 now.”

“One year or four years, what’s the odds when you’re alone and starving
underground?” he answered. “Seems to me I’ve been here a hundred years.”

“And there isn’t any way out of the cave except by water?” I asked.

“Not unless you was a bird or a bat and could fly out of that there
scuttle up there. You can see about all there is of the cave. Here I’ve
lived and slept and starved and had nothing to do but to walk up and down
and catch fish. I’ve had fishin’ enough to last me the rest of my life.”

“Haven’t you had anything to eat but fish?”

“Not a blessed thing, young master,” he replied. “And raw fish at that.”

“How did you catch them?” I asked.

“I’ll show you,” he said, getting up and wading into the water till it
was up to his waist. He stood perfectly still for a while, looking down
into the water, for his eyes were so well used to the dim light that he
could see as well as we could in bright daylight. Presently he darted his
hands into the water with wonderful swiftness and brought up a good-sized
fish which he showed to us and then flung back into the pool.

“It’s easy enough after you get used to it,” he said, coming ashore
again; “but it was a good while, and I was precious hungry before I
thought of it. You see the fish here is naturally blind—for what would be
the use of wastin’ eyes on ’em?—and so they can’t see me. But never mind
about fish, young master; let’s get out of here and get some decent grub.”

“Before we agree to take you with us,” said I, “we must know all about
you. So go on and tell us who you are and how you came here.”

“I’ll tell you everything, faithful and true, for I know you’re too kind
to desert a poor wretch here. I can see it in the handsome faces of the
pair of you.

“I’ve been a pirate, young masters both, for why should I deny it? I’m
an Englishman, like you, and I went a privateerin’ when I was a boy. It
was just about the same thing as piratin’, but it didn’t pay as well, and
wasn’t as pleasant for a lad of spirit; so I deserted at Cape Haytien and
j’ined a crew of rovers—that is what you call pirates, you know.

“I was in the business for several years, and had made a lot of money and
lost it mostly, when I had the bad luck to ship with Blackbeard. What did
I do it for? Because he was at the very top of the profession then, and
any man was proud to belong to his crew. He was the boldest and cruelest
man that ever sailed. Even a Spaniard would have been too good to do some
of the things he did. Blackbeard would have made his own mother walk
the plank as soon as he would a merchant captain. The only thing he was
afraid of was ghosts. I remember one night off the north coast of Cuba,
it blowing a hurricane at the time, and there was two corposants aloft
that scared most of us, but Blackbeard laughed at them, and practiced
firing at them with his pistol. But all of a sudden he sung out that he
was a dead man, and jumped below. I followed him, for all hands were on
the quarter deck, the men being afraid to stay forrard or go below on
account of the corposants. Blackbeard had locked himself in his cabin and
was callin’ to me to bring him the rum. When I brought it he told me that
he had seen the ghost of a woman sittin’ perched on the jaws of the main
gaff pointin’ at him with her finger, and that I must tell the mate to
bring the schooner up into the wind and shake the ghost off.

“Of course I didn’t tell the mate, for I didn’t want to have the
schooner founder all on account of a ghost that nobody saw except the
captain, so I left him in his cabin and went on deck again.

“Blackbeard didn’t care to be with other pirates, so he hunted over the
river that you must have come up, and built the fort at the landin’
place. No one knew about it but him and his crew; he never let a man
leave him without swearin’ him on the Bible to keep the secret. We used
to careen the schooner at the landin’-place when she needed cleanin’ or
calkin’, and this cave was the place where we kept our treasures.

“I don’t know when Blackbeard had the rings let into the rock and the
line run through them so as to haul a boat out of this pool and back to
the daylight. It was done afore my time and I remember thinkin’ that
the rope was gettin’ pretty rotten and might part some day and leave a
lot of us anchored here as I’ve been. It was here that the men used to
leave their spare earnin’s, and you’ll find some empty chests yonder
that I’ve seen pretty near full of gold and silver. It’s all gone now,
for Blackbeard gave the order to take everythin’ aboard the schooner and
abandon the cave. He probably suspected that the secret had got out, as
it was sure to do some day.

“The men, as I was sayin’, kept their treasures here, and I’ve seen
pretty near the whole ship’s company carousin’ and fightin’ here by the
light of battle lanterns. But Blackbeard had a place of his own further
down the cave. He had a big iron gate all across the mouth of the
channel, and you can see it now if you look across the water. He always
used to go to it alone, lockin’ the gate after him, but the last time he
went down the channel he never came back.”

“Then he must have got out of the cave some other way,” I exclaimed, “for
he is alive yet.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said the man. “I’ve been a-hopin’ that he’d
been cast away in some place darker than this and had starved worse than
I have. That was the only cheerful thought I’ve had here.”

“You must be a pretty bad man to want to have another man suffer,” I said.

“Just so,” he answered, “I have been middlin’ bad, young masters, but
you’ll see how different I’ll be when we get away from here. But I’m not
gettin’ on with my story.

“I was Blackbeard’s servant the last year I was with him. He’d killed
both his last two servants, and I didn’t care much for the place, but
it wouldn’t have done to refuse it. Besides, he treated me pretty well,
and I had an easy time waitin’ on him, and eatin’ what was left from his
table, and it was a sight better than raw fish. However, he banged me
over the head considerable and the last time we came up the river I made
up my mind to bolt, and take my chances of reachin’ a settlement, for I
knew the country hereabouts very well. One day Blackbeard looked into
my bunk and saw that I had made a bundle of my clothes, for I meant to
bolt at the very first chance. He must have suspected it and that is the
reason he left me here.

“We had taken everythin’ out of the cave, and expected to sail as soon
as the job of cleanin’ the schooner’s bottom was finished. Early one
morning, Blackbeard ordered me to bring a lantern and take him into the
cave. When we got to this place he ordered me to wait for him while he
took the skiff and went to his own private cave. You see he always kept a
little skiff, just big enough to hold two, for his own use, and the skiff
you come in was the one the men used.

“He set me ashore here and then paddled to the iron gate, unlocked it,
passed through, locked it again and disappeared. I’ve never set eyes on
him or on another livin’ man since, till you come.

“At first I couldn’t believe that he was not comin’ back. Then I thought
that he had met with bad luck and couldn’t get back, and I kept thinkin’
that by and by the men would miss him and come for him, and take me away.
But nobody ever came, and that made me think that perhaps he knew another
way out of the cave and had left me here to starve.

“Talk about ghosts! I saw whole shiploads of them first along while I was
here. They wern’t ill disposed, and must have come just out of curiosity,
for they never offered to do anythin’ except sit and look at me, and
whenever I went towards them they would disappear. I was that lonesome
that I would gladly have took up with any sociable ghost, and wasn’t a
bit afraid of them, but I couldn’t get one of them to speak. They’re a
worthless lot—them ghosts; I never could see any use on ’em, anyway.

“I was that weak from starvin’ before I found I could catch fish, that I
used to fall and stave in my head against the rocks, but after that I
had enough to eat, such as it was.

“If Blackbeard had marooned me on a desert island I wouldn’t have minded,
provided I could see the sun, and live on the ground like a man. But he
left me here, which was the same as buryin’ me alive, and it was the
cruelest thing that ever he did. I’ll never rest till I bring him to the
gallows. I’ll knock off piratin’; I’ll give up rum; I’ll even ship aboard
a man-of-war, and some day we’ll capture him and he’ll be tried, and old
Bill Catchley’ll be the chief witness against him and will swear him to
the gallows and stand by and see him swing.”

I haven’t told the old man’s story in exactly his own words, for as you
might expect he used pretty bad language, but I never doubted that what
he said was true, for Captain Blackbeard was well known to be more of a
fiend than a human being.

Tom and I told the old man that if he would help us to escape we would
help him. We told him all that had happened to us, and made him promise
that if we could get out of the cave he would neither join the pirates
nor deliver us into their hands.

He swore most solemnly that he would do what we asked. He said that if
we could get Blackbeard’s iron gate open we could escape the same way
that he did. He was not surprised to learn that the rope which formerly
led through the iron rings in the passage through which we had come had
rotted away, and he felt sure that the iron gate must have rusted so much
that we could manage to break it open. He had never tried it, for the
gate was in deep water, and he could not swim a stroke. One would have
thought that he would have taught himself to swim in the hope of escaping
by that means, but like most people who cannot swim he thought it was the
most difficult instead of being one of the easiest of arts.

When old Bill had finished his story we were as anxious to leave the cave
as he was, and we got into the boat again and paddled over to the iron
gate.

The gate was placed at the entrance to another arched passage precisely
like the one through which we had come. It was made of stout iron bars
an inch thick, and was locked by a big padlock. We found that though the
padlock was rusted it was still so strong we could not break it; and the
iron bars seemed as strong as if they were new.

But the old man was not in the least discouraged. Indeed he was as
cheerful as if he was going to a picnic. He said he would have the gate
open in a jiffy. He worked for some time forcing a bit of dry rag into
the lock and pulling it out again; and when he thought it was dry enough,
he asked for the powder horn, filled the lock with powder, fitted a slow
match made of rag, lighted it with the lantern, and asked me to paddle
the skiff a short distance away from the gate.

The explosion blew the lock to pieces, and with a little effort we were
able to swing open the rusty gate and enter the passage. The swift
current swept us along as before, and we noticed pieces of rotten rope
hanging from rings in the side of the passage just as we had in the other
one.

“One does learn a sight of useful things piratin’,” said old Bill
thoughtfully; “there’s where I learned how to open a padlock without a
key, and you see for yourselves, young masters, how handy it come in.”

The channel in which we now found ourselves was short compared with the
other one, and in a few moments we had shot through it and had reached
another open space with quiet water. There was no daylight here, but
by the light of the lantern we could see a landing place on our left,
where we hastened to land, hoping that we had reached the end of our
underground voyage. As the skiff came up to the shore she struck on what
we found to be a sunken boat which Bill immediately recognized as the
boat once belonging to Blackbeard.




CHAPTER V.

LOST IN THE LABYRINTH.


We landed on a little rocky platform close to a narrow passage not much
larger than the companion-way of the Swansea, which led into what was
evidently the dry part of the cave. We followed this passage a little
distance, finding it widening all the time till we came to a great
gallery, wide and high, in which there stood three wooden chests. Two of
them were open and empty, but the third contained a great quantity of
excellent candles of all sorts; some of them were of wax and at least two
feet long, and must have been stolen from some church altar. In the empty
chests Blackbeard had doubtless kept his treasure, for I picked up, close
to the chests, a small piece of gold which had been dropped there. But I
was more pleased to see the candles than I should have been to have found
the chests full of diamonds, for I knew our lantern must be nearly burnt
out, and that without a light we should never be able to find our way out
of the cave.

“There’s a way out of here,” said old Bill, “and we’ll find it if the
candles last long enough. It’s this way, you see: Blackbeard has been
here and took away his treasure. Now, he didn’t take it away in the
skiff, for that he sunk, and he must have sunk it on purpose. Besides, I
saw where the water runs out of this pool, and the channel is too small
for the skiff. So, you see, there’s a way out of the cave that Blackbeard
knowed of, and all we’ve got to do is to follow it.”

There was so much reason in what he said that I felt quite easy about our
escape. But by this time Tom’s arm had began to pain him a good deal. It
was swollen and stiff. He made light of it, but I could see that he was
feverish and tired, and I wanted to save him from any unnecessary work.
So I told him that Bill and I would leave him to rest while we searched
for the way out of the cave, and that as he had plenty of candles he need
not feel lonesome. Tom was very ready to rest, and said that he would lie
down and try to sleep awhile.

While we were talking the lantern suddenly went out, and I had great
difficulty in lighting a candle with the flint and steel, for my tinder
was damp. But I succeeded at last, and lighted three candles—one for each
of us. Then Bill and I stuffed some biscuits in our clothes, and leaving
the guns and everything else with Tom, we set forth to explore the cave.

At first we had no trouble, for all we had to do was to follow the
gallery we were in, but presently we came to other galleries, great and
small, leading out of it, and we could not tell which one to follow.

However, we chose a large one and followed it for about half a mile, as
nearly as I could judge. It was very crooked, and we very soon were so
confused by its many windings that we could not tell in which direction
we were going. Then we came to more galleries, leading out of the one in
which we were. Sometimes we would follow one of these till we would come
to the end of it and would have to turn back; and once, after wandering
for miles, we came to a place where we could see our footprints in the
sand, and so perceived that we had made no progress during all that time,
but had only got back to the place from which we had started an hour
before.

The floor of the cave was for the most part covered with dry sand, but
occasionally it was wet and muddy. In one of these wet places I slipped
and dropped my candle into the water, so that now we had only one left.
We were getting rather tired, but there was nothing for it but to keep on
till we could find our way out.

We had talked together very briskly when we first started, but now that
we had become uneasy neither of us cared to talk. We knew that we were
lost in an enormous cave, that we had only one candle, and that unless we
could find the outlet, or the place where we had left Tom, we should be
almost certain to die in the dark. But neither of us cared to say so lest
we should discourage the other; so we trudged on in silence.

I began to think how frightened Tom would be if his candle should burn
out while he was asleep, and he should wake up in the darkness; but I
remembered that he had the flint and steel, for I had accidentally left
them on the lid of a chest, near the biscuit, and that he would be sure
to find them. Of course he would be alarmed when we did not return, but
I felt sure that he would know we had been lost and that he would search
for us and perhaps find us before we had perished.

We met nothing that was alive in the cave, except in one large hall, if
I may call it so, where there were thousands of bats. This encouraged
me, for I thought that the bats would be sure to live somewhere near the
entrance to the cave, so that they could easily fly out; but we could not
find any way out of the hall except through the passage by which we had
entered it. Once we came to a little stream of water, only an inch or two
wide, and we tried to follow it, but it soon lost itself in a crevice of
the rock.

We had now tramped so long that we were completely exhausted, and Bill
proposed that we should rest a few minutes and eat a bit of cracker. He
knew as well as I did that we must not waste the little time that would
remain to us before our candle would burn out, but we were too tired to
keep on our feet. So we lay down, ate a few mouthfuls, and swallowed a
little water from the stream, and then resumed our journey.

“We may be near your brother,” said the old man, all of a sudden. “Let’s
hail him, and perhaps he will hear us.”

We shouted at the top of our lungs, but there was no answer except the
echoes. For all that I can tell, Tom may have been fifteen miles away.

“How long will the candle burn?” I asked, after we had given up the
effort to make Tom hear.

“Well, not more than half an hour,” replied Bill, “and probably it won’t
burn that long.”

“Then we must walk faster, for we can’t do anything in the dark.”

We walked as fast as our tired legs would let us, Bill at the same time
sheltering the candle with his hand, so that it would not be blown out by
the wind caused by our movements. Still there seemed to be no end to the
cave; there were hundreds of bewildering passages. At last Bill stopped.
The candle was now too short to be held in the fingers; he placed it on
the ground.

“You mustn’t be disheartened, young master,” said the old man, “but the
time’s come when we can’t do no more, but wait till your brother comes
for us. I’m going to turn in and take a sleep; and if you’ll take my
advice you’ll do the same thing.”

So saying, the old man stretched himself on the sand and fell asleep at
once. I followed his example, but I could not sleep, for I could not take
my eyes off the candle. It was so horrible to think that in a few moments
we should be in the darkness. I thought of the poor miners that are
sometimes buried alive, and knew how they must dread to see their lamps
burn out.

The candle burned longer than I thought it could. All the wax melted, and
the little piece of wick fell over in a pool of hot wax, but still it
continued to burn. Suddenly the flame vanished, and a dim little spark
smouldered for a while and then went out, leaving us in total darkness.

I was so very tired, that in spite of my misery I fell asleep, and have
no idea how long I slept. I woke up finally feeling rather stiff, and in
a low voice asked Bill if he was awake. He said he had been awake a long
while, but that he had not moved for fear of disturbing me.

“We’re in an awful scrape,” I said to my companion, “and you were a good
deal better off before we found you, for you weren’t altogether in the
dark.”

“But I was all alone, young master,” Bill replied, “and I’d a great sight
sooner be here alongside of a human being than stark alone in my old
cave. And don’t you get faint-hearted. We’ll get out of this, yet.”

I did not answer, for I had nothing to say, and after a little the old
man said,

“Mayhap you can lay your hand to a prayer or two, young master. You’ve
been brought up ashore.”

I was astonished and ashamed that I who had been piously brought up
should be advised to pray by a wicked old pirate. It is true I had
already prayed that we might be delivered from our great danger, but I
had been ashamed to pray out loud.

“Certainly I know some prayers, Bill,” I said.

“Then,” said he, “if you’ll kindly shove ahead with them, I’ll take my
turn when you’re through. You ought to come before me, being a young
gentleman, and handy with prayers; whereas, I don’t know a single prayer
except one that I knocked together myself when I was alone here, before
you came, and I know it ain’t very ship-shape. But then, you see I never
had any bringin’ up, and of course pirates don’t carry chaplains along
with them.”

I kneeled down in the dark and prayed aloud to God to have mercy on us
and bring us once more to the blessed daylight.

When I had finished I could hear Bill getting upon his knees, and then he
said, “Lord, if you’ll only get me out of this I’ll turn over a new leaf
and never go to sea again, except in an honest trade. Amen.”

“I know very well,” said Bill, “that it ain’t a first-class prayer, but
it works well, and it’s bound to get us out of here. Now, if we only had
a Bible, and a candle to read it by, we’d be as nice and comfortable as
you could wish.”

“Bill,” said I, “that piracy was an awful business. How could you have
ever followed it?”

“Well, I know it wasn’t right, and I’m never goin’ back to it again, for
I’ve passed my word, and what I’ve said I sticks to. But, you see, I’d
made a cruise in a man-of-war, and two or three cruises in a privateer,
and I couldn’t see much difference between them and a pirate. However,
that’s all done with now, and I’m goin’ to lead an honest life, and I’ll
get a wife as can read the Bible, and I’ll knock off rum, and I’ll get a
berth as sextant of a church yet, you see if I don’t.”

I couldn’t help remembering that Bill had talked quite differently when
we first met him, but perhaps he was excited then, and did not mean all
he said. Of course I could not agree with him that piracy was not much
worse than privateering or any other lawful business, but it would have
been foolish to expect an old and ignorant pirate to have right ideas
about everything. However, I couldn’t help but see that in one thing this
poor old man was better than I was, for he was not ashamed to pray, and I
had been ashamed to propose such a thing to him. So I learned one useful
lesson of him, at any rate.

Of course we could not tell whether it was day or night, and indeed in
that dark place, it made little difference which it was, but I felt sure
that Tom must be awake, and must be in search of us. I proposed to Bill
that we should call out at the top of our voices every few minutes, and
he agreed to it; but just as we were going to begin we heard a dull
noise, that echoed for several minutes, so it seemed to us, through the
cave.

“That’s Tom’s gun,” I exclaimed. “Now, Bill, let’s answer him.”

We both called “Tom!” as loud as we possibly could; then after waiting
till I had counted two hundred we called again. We had done this perhaps
half a dozen times when we heard Tom’s voice answering us, and after a
long time he found the way to us with a light.

Though he was slow he always had good judgment, and when he found that we
did not come back, he knew our candles must be burnt out and that we were
helpless in the dark. So he loaded himself down with candles and came in
search of us. He had also brought some more biscuit, for he knew we must
be hungry.

We ate the biscuit and then set out to find our way back to the
landing-place to get the other gun, for, on account of his wounded arm,
Tom had only brought one gun; and as he insisted that he could find the
way back without any trouble, we resolved to go back, get the gun, and
take a fresh start.

“How are you going to find the way back?” I asked Tom, feeling a little
doubtful if he could do it.

“Easy enough,” he answered. “Every time I made a turn while I was looking
for you I made a mark on the side of the cave with a candle.”

“That’s what we ought to have done, only we didn’t think of it,” said I.

“It’s what Blackbeard did, for he wouldn’t have taken the chance of
losing himself,” said Bill. “If his marks are on the rocks yet all we’ll
have to do is to follow them.”

Tom led us back without much trouble to the landing-place, for at every
turn we found a smear of candle grease pointing in the way we were to go.
We took the gun, and as many more candles as we could carry, and began to
search the sides of the cave for Blackbeard’s marks.

We could find no marks made by candles, but before long we found a cross
scratched in the rock, where another gallery opened out of the one we
were in, and after that we always found the same mark whenever we came to
a fresh turning.

We had not traveled a long distance, perhaps not more than half a mile,
when we saw daylight. It was very dim at first, but as we approached it
the cave gradually lighted up, and soon we came to an opening through
which we could see the blue sky.

It was a small opening, just large enough for a man to squeeze through,
but when we had passed through it we found ourselves on a side hill that
was covered with a thick growth of bushes. In the valley below we saw the
tops of great trees, and in one place we caught a glimpse of a bit of
water. This time I was not afraid, but I fell on my knees and thanked God
that we were safe.




CHAPTER VI.

OLD BILL’S RAID.


“We’re out of the cave, sure enough, but what are we to do now?” asked
Tom.

“We’ll find the fort, and if the pirates have gone, and haven’t taken our
boat with them, we’ll start for Charleston,” I answered.

“But how on earth are we going to find the fort?”

“Young masters,” said Bill, “there’s water yonder, and what we want to do
is to make for it. Whenever a man’s in trouble ashore, with constables or
anything else, let him make for blue water. That’s what I’ve learned by
experience, and I know it’s right.”

“Very well,” said I, “come along, then, and don’t waste any time.” And
so, with Bill carrying one of the guns, while I carried the other, we
started for the water.

Bill marched straight on through the woods, without turning either to one
hand or the other, and we soon came to a small river.

“Now the question is,” said I, “whether this is our river, and whether we
should go up or down it.”

“It’s sure to be the river that you come up when you come ashore,” said
Bill. “If it isn’t then it’s some other river, and it runs into the sea,
and we’re pretty near the mouth of it now.”

“How can you tell that?” I asked.

“Look at the trees,” he answered. “Don’t they all have a list up-stream?
It’s the sea-breeze blowin’ up the valley that does that, and you don’t
get the sea-breeze very far inland. What we want is a raft so as we can
float down without breakin’ our way through the thick underbrush.”

I was convinced that the old man was right, and we all three began to
search for timber with which to make a raft. Not having any tools but
a pocket knife we could not cut logs, but we found a dead trunk of a
tree with very few branches, and managed to launch it. Then we pulled
up some young saplings and lashed them across the tree with vines, so
that it would not roll over and over in the water. Our raft, when it was
finished, was the most awkward and clumsy raft ever built, but it would
float us, and that was all we wanted.

It must have been about five or six o’clock in the morning when we came
out of the cave, and it was noon by the sun when we shoved off the raft
and started down the river. We all sat with our feet drawn up on the big
log, and tried to steer the raft with poles. There was not much current
and the raft floated very slowly. Still we managed to keep it somewhere
near the middle of the stream, and the high trees on the banks shaded us,
so we did not feel the sun.

Tom took the opportunity to bathe his wounded arm and breast, and we were
delighted to see that although his arm was still stiff the wounds were
healing fast.

We were nearly all the afternoon on the raft, but at last we saw a column
of smoke some way ahead of us, so we worked the raft to the shore and
made it fast.

“That smoke’s black,” said Bill, “which means that somebody is burnin’
tar.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s the pirates,” Bill replied. “They’ve brought up the schooner and
careened her and are payin’ her seams with pitch; so they’re ashore yet.”

“Shall we creep down through the woods and see if we can find the boat?”

“Not till dark, or else they’ll be middlin’ sure to catch us.”

“But,” said I, “we can’t find our way through the woods after dark.”

“That’s so,” replied Bill. “Give me a few minutes to think this thing
over.”

Presently he said, “There’s two ways, young masters. One is for me to
leave you here and go right among the pirates. They’ll treat one of
Blackbeard’s men well, never you fear. I could let on that I meant to
join them, and could get some clothes, and then after dark I could take
the best boat and scuttle the others, and pull up after you.”

“What’s your other plan?” asked Tom.

“Just to leave you here,” said Bill, “while I sneak down and try to steal
the boat without being seen. There’s just one reason why the first plan
ain’t a tiptop one,” he continued. “You see, I might get drunk and not
get back here until you had got tired of waitin’. I’ve promised to knock
off rum, but they’ll give it to me, naturally; and if I don’t take it
they’ll believe that I’m tellin’ them a yarn about havin’ been a pirate
myself; and if I do take it then I break my word, and I won’t answer for
bein’ sober again till I get to sea.”

“Then you mustn’t go among them,” I said. “You would be going straight
into temptation, and now that you’ve turned over a new leaf that wouldn’t
do.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, young master,” exclaimed Bill, “so we’ll
give that plan up. Now, I’ll just work my way along the bank and see what
I can do toward carryin’ off a boat. No; you needn’t come along, for two
would make twice as much noise as one. I’ll be back by midnight, anyway;
and if I don’t, why, you’ll know that they’ve captured me, and you’ll
have to try what you can do without me.”

The old man tied his rags around his waist and started on his dangerous
expedition. I was astonished to see how easily he made his way through
the bushes and among the thick trees with so little noise, and felt that
if anybody could approach the pirates without being discovered, it was he.

It was long after midnight before Bill returned, and then he startled
us by suddenly appearing in the moonlight, dressed in a new shirt and
trousers, and wearing a hat. However, we knew him by his beard, and were
only frightened for a moment.

He told us that he had watched the pirates for hours while he was hid
in the bushes. They were busy calking the schooner, which was careened
at the landing place. When they knocked off work some of them went in
swimming, and he managed to steal one man’s clothes while he was in the
water.

“It looks a little like piratin’, this carryin’ off another man’s
clothes,” said Bill thoughtfully, “but I don’t think it ought to be
counted against me. These clothes are brand-new, you see, and they’ve
been stole out of some Frenchman’s chest, for they’re made of French
flannel, while the chap who was good enough to leave them where I could
get them when he undressed, was an Englishman.”

Bill could not get our boat because it was nowhere to be found, and from
what he heard the pirates say, a party had taken her and gone down to
the lagoon to fish. All the schooner’s boats were hauled up on the shore
under the trees, and they were so heavy that it would have taken three
or four men to launch one of them. So there was nothing to be done but
for us to wait until the next night, and then make another attempt to
recapture the boat.

The next morning we were very hungry, for all our provisions were gone
and we had nothing for breakfast except berries. Perhaps we could have
shot something, for the woods were full of game, but the pirates would
have heard us if we had fired a gun, and then all chance of getting a
boat would have been lost.

Toward the end of the afternoon Bill set out a second time for the
pirate’s fort, but this time I insisted on going with him, and I took my
gun. He would not take a gun, for he said it would be of no use unless
he meant to fight, and he wasn’t fool enough to fight a whole crew of
pirates. However, I felt easier in consequence of having a gun with me,
though, as it turned out, I did not have to use it.

We hid ourselves in a place where we could see everything the pirates
did and hear most that they said. Our boat was lying at the landing, but
it was directly in sight of the pirates, and it was impossible to make
any attempt to get it until after they should be asleep. Bill said that
they never set a watch at night except when at sea, and they would all be
sound asleep by midnight.

And so it happened. Long before midnight they all went into the fort,
with the exception of two young fellows, and were soon asleep. The two
pirates who remained outside walked up and down talking together in a low
tone for an hour or two, and then they fetched their blankets from the
fort and lay down in the shade of one of the schooner’s boats—for there
was nearly a full moon, and every one knows that in tropical countries
it is dangerous to sleep in the moonlight.

We waited until we thought they were asleep, and then Bill cautiously
crept out from our hiding-place, telling me to remain concealed until he
could cast the boat loose and bring it around a bend in the river.

One of the two men who were lying on the ground was wide awake, and when
he saw Bill walking toward the landing he called out, “Who’s that?”

I was sure now that Bill would be captured and I grasped my gun and
cocked it.

“None of your business,” replied Bill. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Sandy Burns,” replied the man. “You needn’t be so uppish if you are
a bos’n.”

It was plain that the pirate thought that Bill was the boatswain of the
schooner, and I began to hope that he might escape, after all.

“Who’s uppish?” exclaimed Bill. “Can’t a man leave the blazin’ hot
fort and come down here for a swim without being hailed as if he was a
constable?”

The man said no more, and Bill going straight to his boat undressed and
threw his clothes into her.

Instead of trying at once to carry off the boat, he dropped into the
water, clinging to the boat so that he could not be seen from the shore.
He remained a long time in the water before he climbed into the boat, and
then he leisurely cut her loose and rowed quietly up-stream.

The man who had hailed him was evidently sound asleep, but if he had been
awake, Bill told me that he should have pretended that he had taken the
boat so that he could dive from her in deep water.

As soon as Bill started with the boat I followed along the bank until I
reached the bend of the river, where I found the boat waiting for me.
Bill was already dressed, and in high glee, and each of us taking an
oar sent the boat along at a fine rate. We soon came to where Tom was
sleeping, and rousing him up took him into the boat.

“We’ve got to make the best of our time to-night,” old Bill told us, “and
hide the boat in the bushes to-morrow, so that if the pirates chase us
they won’t find us. But I don’t believe they’ll chase us. They won’t ever
suspect that any one has carried off their boat.”

“Why, they’ll see that the boat is gone in the morning; they can’t help
but see it,” I said.

“Of course they’ll see it, but they’ll lay it to the bos’n. That fellow
that hailed me will say that he saw the bos’n come down for a bath and
saw him put his clothes in the boat. Most likely he’ll say too that he
saw the bos’n pull about the river in the boat so as to find a good
divin’ place. Then everybody will b’lieve that when the bos’n come ashore
he didn’t make the boat properly fast and so she drifted away. Naturally
they’ll think she drifted down-stream, so they’ll send down-stream for
her, and when they can’t find her they’ll think she has drifted out to
sea, and they’ll take it out of the bos’n.”

“What will they do to him, do you think?” I asked.

“Oh! they’ll shoot him, or maroon him, or give him three or four dozen.
It depends on how much the captain wanted this boat. I wouldn’t be in
that bos’n’s skin to-morrow, not for a good bit of money.”

Not only had we got back our own boat, but there were a quantity of
useful things in her. There were half a dozen fishing lines, a hatchet,
a breaker of fresh water, and a big knife, that had been used to clean
fish. Then there was a bag of biscuit, and a small grapnel, and a mast
and sail. Tom and I were in excellent spirits, and old Bill seemed to
be perfectly happy, especially whenever he thought of the unfortunate
boatswain.

“I don’t understand,” said Tom, “why we are pulling up-stream. We can’t
get to Charleston this way, and we shall only get further and further
away into the wilderness.”

I left Bill to answer this question, for I didn’t understand either why
we had continued up-stream after we had taken Tom into the boat.

“Them pirates,” replied Bill, “will be sure to search for the boat
down-stream, and if we had gone that way they would have caught us sure.
Now, supposin’ they do suspect us and follow us, we shall have a whole
day’s start of them, and they’ll give up the chase before they can find
us.”

“But how are we to get out of this river?” I asked.

“Don’t you fear about that,” he answered; “I know all this country and
have cruised on this very river. We follow it up till we come to a big
fresh-water lake, then we turn to the south’ard and coast along for a
couple of days till we come to another river and we follow it down to
the sea. We shall then be only a matter of fifty or a hundred miles to
the south’ard of where we are now, and we can then shape a course for
Charleston.”

“And shall we find plenty to eat?” asked Tom.

“We’ll find all the fish we want, but we’ll have to be sparin’ of the
powder, for you haven’t got more than a dozen charges in that horn, and
we may want them for somethin’ better than shootin’ game.”

“But we sha’n’t meet any more pirates,” said I.

“No, I don’t expect we will; but we may meet savages—Injins and such—and
they’re not much better than pirates. But you leave it to me; I know the
channel, and I’ll take you through safe.”

I was rather cast down to find that after escaping from pirates we were
in danger of falling into the hands of savages, but we had been preserved
from so many dangers that I could not help believing that we should be
brought safely to Charleston at last. So I gave up thinking about it and
bent my back to the oar, and pulled so strong that Bill, who was pulling
the bow oar, had hard work to keep the boat straight.




CHAPTER VII.

INTO THE EVERGLADES.


We rowed till daylight and then hauled the boat out of the water and
hid her in the bushes. We slept the greater part of the day and made a
splendid supper of fish that we caught in the stream and cooked over a
fire that we built in a hollow a long way back from the river, where
there was little risk that the smoke would be seen by the pirates, should
they attempt to follow us.

That night we slept under the boat, covering ourselves with the sail, and
in the morning, as we were now sure that the pirates were not in chase of
us, we started by daylight to find the lake of which Bill had spoken.

We were four days on the river without meeting with any adventures. We
rowed by day, slept by night, and lived on broiled fish. Tom’s arm healed
up so that he could do his share of the work, and we were as happy as if
we had been on a pleasure cruise.

Old Bill seemed a little uneasy at first and we found out that it was
on account of his clothes. He had become so used to wearing nothing
but a few rags twisted around his waist, that clothes made him feel
uncomfortable. So he said that if we didn’t object he would put on
his rags again and keep his clothes to wear when we should reach a
settlement. Of course Tom and I did not care, so the old man made himself
comfortable once more.

We found that he knew all about the woods—a thing hardly to be looked for
in a sailor; but from some hints that he dropped I felt sure that at some
time he had been marooned in a place where there was a great forest, and
as he would not speak of it, he had probably done something to deserve
marooning which he considered disgraceful. However that may be he could
tell the points of the compass by studying the bark and branches of trees
and could make his way swiftly and silently through thick brush that I
could not have passed through without making almost as much noise as an
elephant. He knew precisely where to look for fish, and when we went
ashore he would look carefully for signs of some sort and would then tell
us that there were no savages about. Once however he told us that ten or
twelve Indians had crossed the river two days before. How he knew this I
have no idea, but I am sure he was right.

On the fifth day we came to a lake so large that in some places we could
not see the opposite shore. The lake was shallow, and though there was
not much breeze, there was a sea that constantly broke, and that would
have made us very wet had we not kept the boat’s head to it. On the
beach, near the entrance to the river up which we had come, we saw four
great alligators lying asleep, huge ugly beasts, smelling strongly of
musk, and, doubtless, ready to drown us had they awakened and found us
within their reach.

The breeze was blowing from the west, and we had to sail down or up the
lake—whichever way may be called down or up—toward the south. But near
the shore the sea was breaking, and we could not present the side of the
boat to it without getting a great deal of water into her, so we rowed
out into deeper water before we hoisted sail.

We ran down the lake under full sail, which was rather more than the boat
should have carried in such a breeze. Bill stood at the steering oar, and
Tom and I sat up to windward, and got our backs well wet with the spray.
We sailed very fast, keeping about a quarter of a mile from the shore,
except in places where the shallowness of the water compelled us to keep
further out.

“Young masters,” said the old man, “do you want to be rich—very rich:
richer than Blackbeard ever was?”

“If we could be rich honestly,” said I, “of course we should like it. Who
wouldn’t?”

“Then, unless the Injuns find us, we’ll be worth thousands of guineas
before the sun goes down to-night.”

“We look like it, don’t we?” said Tom. “Are the guineas in your pocket,
Bill, or are they lying on the shore waiting for us to stop and pick them
up?”

“They’re ashore, not far from here, young master; and they’ve been
waiting many a long year for you and Master Jack and me.”

I wondered if the old man was crazy, but presently he explained what he
meant.

“About seven years ago I came here with a captain who knew just where a
big chest full of gold was buried. I don’t know who buried it or how the
captain knew about it, but he wasn’t the man who buried it.

“As I was telling you, there’s another river to the south’ard of us that
is an outlet of this lake. The captain and me and three men pulled up
this river and come to where the chest was buried. He had the bearin’s
of it on a piece of paper, and I remember them as if it was yesterday.
You start from a big tree, with a cross cut on it, and measure twenty-one
paces towards a clump of three trees, steerin’ for the middle one of the
three. Then you dig, and right there under your feet is the chest.”

“But how can it be there now if you found it seven years ago?” asked I.

“Because, you see, we weren’t allowed to take it away. We had just marked
the spot, and was goin’ to dig when a lot of Injuns opened fire on us.
We couldn’t see but one or two of them, for they kept hid behind the
trees, but there must have been twenty or thirty of them. They killed the
captain and two of the men, and wounded another one before we could get
ready to fight them. The wounded man and me made a rush for the boat and
shoved off. There was a good breeze blowin’, just as there is now, and we
made sail in her and stood up the lake. We didn’t dare to come back, but
luckily we found Blackbeard’s river, and got down to the open sea again.
The man that was with me died while we were on the river, and when I was
picked up by a coaster I never said nothing about the treasure, and let
the coaster’s crew believe I’d been shipwrecked. There ain’t a livin’
soul that knows about that chest except us, and if we’ve any luck we’ll
have it aboard this boat to-night.”

This story did not seem very improbable, for pirates often buried their
treasure in out-of-the-way places. There could be no doubt that the
treasure of which Bill spoke had been buried by pirates, and of course
they had come by it through robbery and murder, but unless we could find
the real owners of it, which seemed impossible, I could see no good
reason why we should not keep it if we could find it. For my part I
believed Bill’s story, and already looked on myself as rich; but Tom said
that he didn’t believe that any chest had ever been buried near the lake,
and that if it had the Indians had found it long ago.

We reached the end of the lake after a long sail, and entered a sort of
river or long narrow bay flanked by low islands, with smaller channels
opening between them.

“This is what sailors calls the Everglades,” said Bill. “There’s hundreds
of miles of islands and channels here, clean down to the lower end of
Florida. And there’s wild beasts and snakes and Injuns and fever. I
always expected to come back here for that chest, but I don’t like the
place, and I hope I’ll never have to see it again.”

We sailed on for a mile or two further, the wind hauling further aft
all the time, and then Bill took in the sail, and we got out the oars,
Bill having muffled them with rags so that they should make no noise in
the rowlocks. Having used up his rags in this way he was obliged to put
on his shirt and trousers, which pleased me, for he looked like such a
frightful savage when half-naked.

He told us to talk only in a whisper, and to keep near the left shore so
that the trees would partly hide us. He pulled the stroke-oar this time,
for he had to steer the boat himself, as Tom did not know the channel,
and while he rowed he kept a sharp lookout all about us. He had both the
guns lying in the bottom of the boat where he could lay his hand on them,
but I think he put them there mainly to keep them out of our reach, so
that we could not fire them incautiously, for he never wanted to fight
with Indians or pirates if he could escape without fighting.

By four o’clock we reached an island where we stopped rowing, and Bill
steered the boat into a little cove so completely surrounded with bushes
that a savage might have stood within a yard of the boat without seeing
it. Then we went ashore and searched for Bill’s landmarks.

The big tree was there, and Bill showed me something that might have been
a cross cut in the bark, though it was now hardly visible because of the
growth of the bark. Then he showed me three trees standing close together
about fifty yards from the tree with a cross. Between these two landmarks
the island was quite clear of trees and large bushes, so that it was easy
to measure off twenty-one paces.

“Now,” said Bill, after we had made the measurement, “right under us lies
our fortin’. We’ll share and share alike, young masters, won’t we?”

“Certainly we will,” I replied.

“Better give Bill a good half of the lot,” said Tom. “That is, if there
is any money there, which I will believe when I see it. It’s more Bill’s
than ours, by rights.”

“No, no,” said the old man. “You took me out of the cave and I took you
here. So share and share alike’s the right thing. But don’t let’s waste
any more time, but let’s dig this minute.”

“All right,” said Tom, “but what are you going to dig with?”

We had not thought of this before, but we had absolutely nothing to dig
with except a hatchet; so we saw that before we could do anything we
must cut some sharp sticks to use as spades. It was not easy to find any
sticks which we could use for this purpose, since we did not want to cut
down and trim a whole tree to make one stick.

We wandered some distance from the boat while we were searching for our
sticks, and at last we saw, lying in a heap on the ground, just the
sticks we wanted. But Bill was not at all pleased to see them.

“Don’t touch ’em,” he whispered to me. “They belong to the Injuns, and
there must be a village close to us. If they catch sight of us they’ll
scalp us, sure.”

In fact there was a narrow path leading from the pile of sticks into the
forest, and Bill proposed that we should follow it and see if there were
any Indians in the neighborhood.

“You see,” said he, “the path hasn’t been used lately, for the new grass
is growing in it. That means either that the Injuns don’t come this way
very often, or else they used to have a village here last winter and have
gone somewhere else this summer. Any way, the best thing for us to do is
to find out just how things are before we go to diggin’ and get fired on
as I was the other time.”

We followed the path as silently as we could. We dropped on all-fours
when the bushes were so low that our heads would show above them; we
walked on tiptoe the rest of the way. After walking nearly half a mile we
came to a large open place where there was every sign that there had once
been an Indian village, but which was now entirely deserted. Naturally we
were greatly relieved, and ventured to talk in our natural voices, being
still careful, however, not to make any unnecessary noise.

“They’re gone, that’s certain,” exclaimed Bill, “and now, perhaps, we can
dig without being interfered with. We’ll go back, now, and get our sticks
and go to work.”

We sharpened three good-sized sticks, and when we had reached the place
where the treasure was buried Bill once more paced off twenty-one paces
and we began to dig.

It was slow work, for while we could break up the earth with the sticks,
we had to stop every little while and scoop the loose dirt up in our
hands. As we could not be quite sure that Bill’s paces were the same
length as those of the man who buried the treasures, we dug a long
hole—say six feet long by eighteen inches wide—so as to allow for any
reasonable difference in measurement. By and by my stick broke off so
many times that it was useless, and both Tom and Bill’s sticks were worn
so dull that they needed to be sharpened. By this time we had made our
hole not more than a foot deep and were beginning to get very tired.

“How deep must we dig, Bill?” said I.

“I can’t rightly say. As a general rule, when a man buries a chest in
the sand he buries it about six feet deep, and I suppose this chest lies
about that deep.”

“Then we must sharpen up our sticks before we work any more,” said Tom.
“And, come to think of it, we left the hatchet by the wood-pile, and I’ll
go back and get it.” “You won’t go alone,” said I. “We must not run the
risk of being separated.”

So we all walked back to the pile of sticks, and I selected a new one,
and we sharpened all three with the hatchet that Tom had carelessly left
on the grass.

“We’ll get on faster if we make something like a real spade,” said Bill.
“I don’t believe there’s any Injuns about here, and if there are we’ve
got to take the risk of their hearin’ us. I’m goin’ to chop down that
there young tree yonder and make a spade while you take a rest.”

Tom and I sat down on the grass and watched the old man at his work. He
chopped away as if he had forgotten all about the Indians, and made noise
enough to have been heard half a mile away.

In the course of half an hour Bill had finished his spade.

“Now,” said he, “you may think I’ve wasted time with this, but you’ll
find we’ll get the chest out sooner than we would if we’d kept at work
with nothing but sticks.”

Bill put his spade on his shoulder and Tom and I rose up ready to follow
him. Tom had just stooped to pick up the hatchet, which Bill had left for
him to carry, when six savages armed with guns stepped suddenly out from
behind the bushes. Two of them seized Bill’s arms; the rest stood quietly
by looking at Tom and me and ready to shoot us down if we made the least
attempt to escape.




CHAPTER VIII.

PRISONERS.


It would have been foolish for us to try to resist our captors, and we
neither did nor said anything, except that Bill whispered cautiously,
“Keep quiet, young masters; it’s our only chance.”

The two Indians who had seized Bill by the arms marched off with him, and
Tom and I followed close behind with the rest of their number. We walked
slowly, for Bill had suddenly become very lame, and walked with his left
knee perfectly stiff. In about a quarter of an hour we reached a clearing
where there was an Indian village, consisting of twenty or more huts made
by covering a framework of poles with skins and old blankets. One large
hut was covered with canvas, which must have been part of a ship’s sail.

A crowd of savages, who were chiefly women and children, came to meet us,
and surrounded us as we stood waiting to see what would be our fate. Some
of the women made hideous faces at us, but they behaved decently compared
with a horrible old man, with a painted face, and a row of sharks’ teeth
hung around his neck, who spit in our faces, and several times made
believe to stab us with his long sharp knife.

After talking about us for a while the Indians took us to a hut where
they bound us hand and foot with pieces of rope, making us sit down on
the ground and tying our feet together and then tying our wrists under
our knees. Then they placed a guard at the entrance of the hut and left
us to ourselves.

“I’ve been lashed up in Blackbeard’s cabin two days at a time in just
this fashion,” said Bill. “I wonder if they learned it of him. These
bits of rope come from some wreck they’ve plundered. I hope it was
Blackbeard who was wrecked.”

“What will they do with us, Bill?” asked I.

“They mean to torture us in the morning and then they’ll kill us. Most
likely they’ll burn us at the stake. But they hain’t done it yet, you
know, and they won’t if we can get away to-night.”

“Much chance of our getting away,” exclaimed Tom.

“It don’t look much like it,” said Bill, “but more unlikely things has
happened. Master Jack knows a clipper of a prayer, and I know a sort of
one, and probably you know one. I propose that we all turn to and take a
spell at prayin’. It may fetch us out of this, for it fetched us out of
that cave.”

We were all silent for a long while, and I don’t believe that more
earnest prayers were ever said than those that were offered in that hut
by old Bill the pirate, and his two miserable companions.

“Our being tied up don’t matter much,” said I, after a while, “for I
could always slip my hands through any rope that was tied around my
wrists, and, if that Indian would move away from the door for five
minutes I would undertake to have our feet and hands free in less than
that time.”

“Why, now I told you we weren’t killed yet by no manner of means. The
only thing that troubled me was these lashin’s, for I couldn’t see my
way to get out of this camp so long as we couldn’t move hand or foot.
But don’t you move yet a while, Master Jack. Wait till night, when them
heathens will be asleep. We’re safe to be left here till mornin’, and if
we can manage that chap that is keepin’ guard over us, we can walk out of
here some time to-night.”

“Then you think we will have to lie here till the Indians are asleep?”
said I.

“Of course we will, and if you’ll take my advice you’ll heave a groan
now and then, just as if you were sufferin’ terribly and had no hope of
gettin’ off. Oh! I know them savages. Nothin’ pleases them so much as to
see a feller suffer. I’d like to serve that medicine man out, though,
before we go.”

“What is a medicine man?” I asked.

“He’s a sort of Indian parson and fortin’-teller and doctor,” replied
Bill. “That chap with the sharks’ teeth is the medicine man, and he’ll
be for puttin’ us to the worst kind of torture. It was pretty hard to
have him spit in your face, and never be able to heave as much as a
belayin’-pin at him. But we mustn’t let them hear us talk or they’ll
think we’re plottin’ somethin’.” So saying, Bill groaned in a way that
almost made me laugh, and then rolled over on his side and lay perfectly
still.

After it was dark the Indians must have built a big fire in the middle of
the village, for we could see the light and hear the flames crackle. Bill
whispered that they were holding a council to decide what they would do
with us.

“Or,” he added, “I ought to say how to do it, for they’ll never dream of
lettin’ us save our scalps.”

It must have been very late, for the fire had died down and all was quiet
when the medicine man came to our tent. He sent away the guard and,
entering, sat down and stared at us. He was evidently gloating over his
victims, and his sending away the guard meant that he intended to watch
us himself.

He was an old man, but for all that he looked as if he was very tough
and wiry. Still, I had made up my mind that I would risk freeing my
hands, and jumping on him in hopes of getting possession of his knife,
and frightening him into keeping quiet while I cut the ropes that held
Bill and Tom. It was a mad plan, and would doubtless have failed, but,
fortunately, I did not have to try it. The Indian had placed his knife
on the ground beside him, probably in order to make us think that he
intended to cut our throats. But he was half tipsy, and, after sitting
awhile in the hut, he fell sound asleep.

I quietly slipped my wrists out of the rope, untied the rope from my
ankles, and cautiously reached out and grasped the medicine man’s knife.
Then, without making the slightest noise, I set Tom and Bill free, and
handed Bill the knife.

Bill crept noiselessly up to the Indian, and had him by the throat with
the point of the knife close to his eyes before the savage knew what was
the matter. He had the good sense, however, to remain perfectly still,
and it did not take long for me to tie his hands behind his back. Then
Bill tore off a piece of his new flannel shirt and made a gag which he
lashed on the Indian’s mouth so that he could not call for help if he
wished to. Finally Bill tied a long rope around the Indian’s neck and
then told me to cut a slit in the back of the hut and creep out.

We crept out on all-fours, Bill and the medicine man being the last to
leave the hut. Not a soul except ourselves was stirring in the village,
and as the hut stood close to the woods we were soon in the shadow of the
trees and could stand upright.

“Do you know the way to the boat?” I asked.

“I should think so,” replied Bill. “What was I pretendin’ to have a stiff
knee for except so as to be able to dig my heel into the ground and leave
a mark?”

So that was why Bill had suddenly become lame. As he said, we had no
difficulty in finding our way back to the wood-pile where we had been
captured, and of course we knew the way from there to the boat.

As soon as we reached the boat Bill tied the Indian hand and foot just
as we had been tied, and laid him under the thwarts. I supposed that
we would lose no time in shoving off, but Bill was still bent upon
carrying off the treasure, and he had brought his spade with him from the
wood-pile.

“We’re safe enough for a while,” he said; “you can bet that the medicine
man gave orders that nobody should come into our hut while he was there.
That’s the way they always do. They won’t look for him till daylight, and
we can get that chest out in a few minutes. Come on now and dig your very
best, if you want to be rich men.”

I was so anxious to get away from the Indians that I would gladly have
abandoned the treasure, and as for Tom, he had never really believed that
it was there. However, it did not seem probable that our escape would
be discovered for an hour or two at least, so I took the medicine man’s
knife to dig with, for I had no stick, and we set to work.

In the course of a few minutes I struck something with the point of my
knife which proved to be the lid of, not an iron chest as Bill had said,
but a small iron-bound one. We had it out in almost no time, and Bill
carried it to the boat without opening it. Then, casting loose, we
shoved off.

We rowed about a quarter of a mile up the channel and then Bill tossed
his spade into the bushes, where the Indians would be sure to find it.
Next he turned the boat around and we rowed rapidly to the southward past
the place where we had dug up the treasure chest.

“Them fellows will never think that we are going further south,” said
Bill; “especially when they find that spade. They’ll paddle up the lake
for a day or two before they give it up, and by that time we’ll be safe
at sea.”

“And what are we going to do with our prisoner?” I asked.

“I’d like to string him up to a tree,” replied Bill, “but seein’ as I’ve
knocked off piracy for good and all, I’ve knocked off piratical fashions
too. We’ll take him with us till we get to the beach and then we’ll turn
him loose. He won’t dare to go back to his tribe after this, for they
won’t believe in a medicine man that let himself be captured by unarmed
prisoners.”

The savage lay perfectly quiet in the bottom of the boat, and probably
thought that we meant to torture and kill him. He was, I doubt not,
greatly surprised when I gave him a bit of biscuit and a drink of water,
but he said nothing.

“Now that there was a chest buried there, after all, and we’ve actually
found it, I wonder what is in it?” said Tom. “It can’t be gold, that I
know, for I lifted it and it don’t weigh but very little.”

“There’s diamonds and rubies and pearls in it—you can be sure of that,”
replied Bill. “And they’re worth a sight more than gold. It stands to
reason, don’t it, that nobody would bury a chest unless it had treasure
in it? I ain’t in any hurry to open it, for it’s safe in our hands now,
and the first thing we’ve got to do is to get safe to blue water.”

It must have been about two o’clock when we left the Indian village,
for it began to grow light very soon after we had begun to row. We rowed
steadily for at least four hours, winding in and out among a countless
number of islands, so that I began to be afraid that Bill would lose the
way.

“No danger of that,” he said, when I spoke to him about it. “It took four
of us four hours to pull up from the place where the river leaves the
Everglades to the place where the diamonds were buried, and I remember we
kept due north by compass. Now we’ve only two oars, but then our boat is
lighter than the other boat was, and what it took her four hours to do we
ought to do in five. We’ll keep on a while longer, and when we find the
river we’ll stop and take a rest. It can’t be far off now.”

Indeed, in what I should think must have been just about five hours
of rowing we found the channel turning to the left, and with a very
perceptible current, so that there could be no doubt that we were in
Bill’s river. We rowed on a few miles further and then the current
became so strong that we let the boat drift, and Bill and I being both
very tired of rowing, lay down to take a nap while Tom steered the boat.

When we awoke, and Tom took his turn at sleeping, we got out the
oars again and pulled leisurely along. The river was very much like
Blackbeard’s river, though somewhat smaller, and Bill said it was very
much shorter. We met with no adventures while on the river, and saw no
signs of savages. Toward the end of the day we came in sight of the sea
and found that the river ended in a stagnant pool of water, separated
from the sea by a narrow line of sand beach.

“There’s goin’ to be some heavy work for us,” said Bill. “The sea has
dammed up the river, and we’ll have to haul the boat over the sand. We’ll
have our supper first, and then camp on the beach till mornin’. There’s
lots of turtles all along the shore here, and they’re as good eatin’ as
anythin’ that comes to the king’s table.”

Bill told the truth about the turtles. We caught a good-sized one and
broiled it, shell and all, over a fire made of the brush-wood that the
river had brought down, and Tom and I agreed that we had never tasted
anything so delicious.

We took our prisoner ashore, and tied his feet together with a short
rope, so that he could walk very slowly, and gave him a share of our
supper. Then we tied him securely for the night, lashing him in the boat,
and we were then ready to sleep on the sand.

“Bill,” said I, “before we turn in, I, for one, should like to see what’s
in the chest.”

“So should I,” said Tom.

“All right then, young masters,” said Bill; “we’ll have it open in a
jiffy, and after that we’ll fasten it up again, and divide the diamonds
after we get to a settlement. If we divide them now, somebody will lose
his share while we’re knocking about in the boat, and I’m willin’ to
trust Master Jack with chest and all till we go ashore for good.”

This was agreed to, and Bill brought the chest out of the boat and
proceeded to pry the lid open with his knife. “Those Spaniards,” said he,
“was always good judges of precious stones, and I don’t doubt that at
this identical minute the vally of a million pounds is in this chest.”

The lid came open easily, and I never again expect to see such a look of
dreadful disappointment as came over poor Bill’s face. For instead of
precious stones, the chest contained nothing but a human skull, mounted
with a few shillings worth of old silver.

“It’s a Saint’s skull!” exclaimed Tom. “Some pirate thought it was a
great treasure, and buried it to keep it out of the way of the Indians.
I always thought it was strange that pirates should go such a distance
into the woods to bury gold, when the beach is always handy.”

Bill said not a word, but walked away about a quarter of a mile down
the beach and threw himself on the sand, and Tom and I thought that the
kindest thing we could do was to leave him alone until morning.

[Illustration]




CHAPTER IX.

ON BLUE WATER.


It was very easy to see how the mistake about the buried treasure had
been made. Certain Spanish priests, escaping from the Indians, had buried
the skull of some Saint which they prized above everything else, and
had written down a description of the place where they had buried their
“treasure,” so that it might be found again. This writing had fallen
into the hands of a pirate chief, who had probably captured and murdered
the poor priests, and who of course supposed that if anybody buried a
treasure it must consist of gold or precious stones.

I will confess that I was greatly disappointed, for it would have been
very pleasant to have become suddenly rich, but I was very young and I
did not begin to care so much about it as Bill did; as for Tom, he seemed
to think it was a good joke to run so many risks merely to dig up an
old skull, and he apparently did not care in the least about losing the
fortune that Bill had promised us.

In the morning Bill aroused us early, and said that we must try to launch
the boat before the sun should be too hot; so we set to work with a will.
We let the medicine man help us, for it was a terrible task to drag the
heavy boat through the deep sand. We loosened the rope around his feet,
and made him push the boat, which he could do perfectly well with his
wrists tied together. But we could never have got the boat through the
sand had we not taken out the bottom boards and laid them down for a
track over which the keel could slide.

Two hours of hard work were needed before we got the boat to the water’s
edge; then we had a breakfast of turtles’ eggs, and put a lot more of
them into the boat. We filled the breaker with fresh water, and were then
ready to start.

The Indian was much surprised when we took off his lashings and told
him, by signs, that he was free. I was astonished to see Bill present
him with the chest and the skull, for he had seemed very bitter against
the medicine man. But we did not care to take the skull with us, and
if the Indian wanted it he was perfectly welcome to it as far as I was
concerned. The last we saw of him he was walking up the beach with the
chest under his arm.

“That skull will bring that chap the worst luck he ever had. Two priests
and four men have been killed already on account of it, and we come
mighty near being burnt alive. I’ve served that medicine man out now for
spitting in my face, and he’ll wish he had never been born before that
skull gets through with him.”

This is all Bill ever said about his great disappointment, and all the
time that he was with us he never once mentioned the buried treasure
again.

The wind was blowing off shore and there was very little surf; so we
launched the boat without any accident. Although we had no compass, the
weather was fine, and we had no fear of losing our reckoning so long as
we could see the stars at night. Bill advised that we should stand out to
sea far enough to be sure that we could not be seen from the shore; for
of course we could see the land from a distance when our boat could not
be seen by any one standing on the beach.

As Bill was the best sailor of the three he naturally took charge of the
boat, though he always treated me as if I was his captain. We ran out to
sea under sail for a long distance. When the coast began to look rather
dim we hauled up to the northward and started on our voyage to Charleston.

After we had eaten our dinner, Bill said that he felt very tired and
sleepy, and that if I would take the steering oar he would lie down. He
stretched himself in the bottom of the boat and fell asleep. I think his
disappointment, together with the hot sun on the beach, must have had a
bad effect on him, for he did not seem at all like himself.

A boy may learn to handle a boat as well as the most skillful seaman,
but to read the signs of the weather can only be learned by years of
experience. I could handle the boat, but when a low black cloud gathered
in the west, I thought it only meant that we should have a shower, and I
paid very little attention to it. Tom had followed Bill’s example and was
sleeping in the stern sheets, and I was half nodding myself when I heard
a strange noise, and, looking to windward, saw an awful sight.

A white wall of water was coming down upon us with a roar that every
moment grew louder. One of those terrible tempests which spring up
so suddenly in these southern seas was close at hand. It did not seem
possible that the boat could live a moment after the gale should strike
us. I called loudly to Bill and Tom, and threw the boat’s head up to meet
the coming squall; but the wind had shifted a little, and the change in
the boat’s course took the breeze out of the sail and left it flapping.

Bill sprang up and saw at once what was the matter. He lowered the sail
and unstepped the mast in a moment, calling to Tom and me at the same
moment to get out the oars. Then he took the steering oar himself, and
heading the boat directly toward the roaring, advancing wall of water,
told us to row for our lives.

Tom forgot all about his wounded arm, and we both put our backs into the
work till our oars bent. Old Bill stood crouched over the steering oar,
and watched the great white roaring swell which was close upon us. “Now
give way,” he cried, “and never mind how much water comes aboard. Don’t
lose your stroke, if you ever want to see land again.”

In another moment the gale was upon us. The boat dashed partly over and
partly through the sea, but although it filled us half-full of water it
did not swamp us; the worst of the danger was over almost in an instant.
“Keep her head to it,” called out Bill, at the top of his voice, for the
wind almost carried his words away from us, “while I bail.” So saying, he
seized Tom’s hat and bailed out the water faster than I had ever seen it
done before.

It was a long job to get the boat free of water, but Bill did not stop
till it was done. There was as yet but little sea on, with the exception
of the one great wave which we had passed, for the wind blew so hard that
it kept the sea down. However, we knew that before very long there would
be a very ugly sea, and we noticed that although we were rowing hard
directly in the teeth of the wind we were making stern way all the time.
I was not surprised, therefore, when Bill said that we must put the boat
before the wind while the sea was yet smooth enough to permit us to do so.

The boat’s sail was a good-sized lug, but there had been no provision
made for reefing it. As, however, we had plenty of small cordage of one
sort and another in the boat, including fishing lines, Bill soon made
shift to reduce the sail to a mere handkerchief, by cutting away more
than half of it, and by partly rolling up and lashing the rest of it; so
that when it was set there was no danger but that the boat could carry
it before the wind, no matter if it were to blow a hurricane. Then we
put her directly before the wind, and taking in the oars Tom and I sat
up almost on the gunwale—one on either side of the boat—to keep her from
rolling, while Bill steered her.

She started like a racer; she fairly flew before the wind. Tom and I were
excited by the rapid rate at which we were sailing and had gotten over
our fright, but Bill looked anxious.

“We’re all right now, are we not?” I asked him.

“We’ve got a good boat under us, and if we handle her careful she’ll
carry us to England or anywhere else, but it’s goin’ to blow harder than
it blows now, and you can see for yourself it’s blowin’ us off the coast.”

I had not thought of that, but already the land was out of sight, for the
air was thick with fine spray, and I saw that we were in danger of being
blown hundreds of miles out to sea, with a short supply of food and water
and no compass.

“Just take a look at the water breaker, will you,” said Bill, “and see if
it is tight.”

I went forward to where the breaker was stowed and found that it was
all right; but when I looked at the bag of sea biscuit, I found it
soaked with water, while all but seven of the turtles’ eggs were broken,
probably because Bill had stepped on them while working with the mast
and sail.

“Seven eggs,” said Bill thoughtfully; “if we serve out half an egg a day
to each man, that’ll be about four days’ provisions. It’s a good job the
water’s all right, for if we’ve got water we can live four or five days
without food. So cheer up, my lads; we’ll weather this gale and fetch
Charleston yet.”

Tom groaned at the prospect of only half a turtle’s egg a day, for he was
rather fond of eating, but there was no help for it, and I knew that he
would not grumble when it came to real starving.

The wind blew harder and harder, and by degrees the sea got up until
there was great danger that a following sea would come aboard and swamp
us. Bill took a strip of canvas that had been cut from the sail, and
telling Tom and me to sit one on each side of him, he passed the canvas
behind our backs, bringing the ends in front of us, and so made a sort of
breakwater that partly kept out the seas. Still every now and then a sea
would strike us on the back and nearly knock the breath out of us, and
of course more or less of it would get into the boat. After a while Bill
gave me the steering oar while he bailed, and after that he and Tom and
I took turns in steering and bailing—two of us being always in the stern
sheets to break the force of the seas.

The sun was hidden by clouds and mist, and although we knew that the wind
had come from the west we could not tell if it still blew from the same
direction, and in consequence we could not feel sure to what quarter of
the compass we were drifting. Still Bill was cheerful and said that we
might be in a far worse condition than that in which we found ourselves.
He had once been in a boat with sixteen men and not a drop of water, he
said, and assured us that we should certainly be picked up in the course
of a few days.

I will not dwell long on the story of our wild run before the gale. That
we were in great danger all that day and the next night I knew very well,
but we were mercifully preserved. Tom and I always felt that we owed a
great deal to Bill’s skillful seamanship.

The next morning the wind died away almost as suddenly as it had sprung
up, and in an hour or two the sea had gone down so that it was no longer
dangerous. We were in hopes that we would be able to lay a course for
the American coast again, but when the wind came up it came from the
northwest, and we knew that it would be useless to try to work the boat
to windward.

Bill took advantage of the calm to repair the sail, sewing the part
that he had cut off to the rest of the sail with fishing-line, and
making holes in the canvas with the point of his knife instead of using
a needle. When he had finished his work he set the sail and turned the
boat’s head to the south.

“We can’t work to wind’ard in this boat and get anywhere while our food
and water hold out,” said he, “so the best thing we can do is to run to
the south’ard and find some island where we can revictual. There’s the
Bermudas and the Bahamas and the West Indies. They’re all somewhere to
the south’ard of us, and all we have to do is to stand to the south’ard
till we find them; and I don’t believe it will be very long before we
find them, ’specially if we get a fresh northerly breeze.”

The northwest wind sprang up very gently at first, but it soon freshened
and the boat slipped on before it at a rate of at least six knots an
hour. It was a good steady breeze, and we were able to take turns in
sleeping, leaving only one of us to manage the boat.

We saw no land that day, but early the next morning we sighted an island
directly ahead of us. We were so hungry that Tom and I suggested that
as we were so certain to be on shore in a few hours, we could, without
danger, eat all the turtles’ eggs. Bill, however, would not listen to
this.

“Sightin’ land is one thing,” said he, “but makin’ it’s another. We may
be blown off again before we can make a landin’, or we may land and find
nothin’ to eat. Only half an egg apiece for us to-day, young masters,
unless we get ashore and find plenty of provisions.”

We saw that the old man was right and agreed to follow his advice,
although we felt as if we were starving.

But we reached the island before noon and landed on a little beach where
trees grew almost down to the water. Tom and I were overjoyed at being
ashore once more, but Bill was not so well satisfied. He cautioned us not
to make much noise, for pirates often landed on uninhabited islands, and
we might find that we had sailed into a nest of pirates.

“We’ll all explore the island together,” said Bill, “but we’ll do it as
quietly as we can till we find out if we are alone here. We’ve got to
find a spring of water here, and I hope we’ll find somethin’ to eat, but
so far I don’t see anythin’.”

We hauled the boat up on the sand, and taking our guns we entered the
woods. The trees and underbrush were so thick that it was plain that
nobody had passed through the woods in a long time, and this gave us
reason to hope that there were no pirates on the island. But after
reaching the top of a steep hill that we had seen from the beach, Bill
suddenly stopped and whispered, “I see the spars of a vessel.”

He was a little in advance of me, and I cautiously made my way to him. We
were just at the top of the little hill and could see below us, in what
appeared to be a land-locked cove, the spars of a vessel that I instantly
knew to be our old brig the Swansea.




CHAPTER X.

THE SWANSEA AGAIN.


For some time we lay flat on the ground with only our heads in sight
of any one who might be on board the brig and might be keeping a sharp
lookout with a spy-glass; so we felt pretty sure that no one would see
us. We could see the greater part of the island, and Bill remembered that
he had once before landed there when he was on his first piratical cruise.

There was a long and narrow inlet that reached from the sea nearly to
the centre of the island. Here the pirates had a sort of camp or village
where they lived when ashore. Sometimes they kept heavy cargoes of
vessels in store, waiting for a chance to dispose of them. Bill explained
that the reason that the brig did not go up to the camp was that there
was a ledge of rock directly across the channel which a vessel could only
pass at high tide, and not even then if she drew more than three feet of
water.

It was the habit of the pirates when they came ashore to leave their
vessel at anchor just below the reef, with two or three men on board, and
to make their way up the inlet in boats. There was a battery, so Bill
said, of two twenty-four-pounders, concealed among the trees near the
anchorage, and in case a man-of-war should come into the inlet it would
be quite easy for the pirates to sink her with a few shots at such short
range.

We could not see the camp from where we were, nor the deck of the
Swansea, so we took the risk of creeping along the brow of the hill
till we could get a better view. There was a small boat lying at the
main-chains of the Swansea, but we could not see a soul on board the
brig. At the camp there were two men cooking, and two or three moving
lazily about; but it was clear that most of the pirates were still asleep.

There was a schooner lying near the camp, and she was so high out of the
water that she could have had nothing in her except the three guns that
were on her deck. From her size Bill felt sure that she could only pass
over the reef at very high tide, and that she must have been brought up
to the camp in order that she might be repaired in some way.

After we had seen everything that we could see we cautiously made our way
back again until we were on the side of the hill where the pirates could
not see us. Then we got on our feet and went a long way into the woods,
where we sat down to talk over our situation.

“We’re safe enough here for a while,” said Bill. “Pirates when they’re
ashore are too fond of gettin’ drunk and sleepin’ all day to care for
cruisin’ around in the woods. Unless they were to catch sight of our
boat lyin’ on the sand, we might stay in these woods a month without
bein’ roused out by them.”

“But we don’t want to stay here a month,” exclaimed Tom. “We want to get
away the first moment we can do so.”

“We can’t start till after dark,” said I, “for if we do some one will be
sure to see the boat before she can get out of sight. It stands to reason
that the pirates must keep a lookout over the sea, even if they don’t
over the island.”

“Then we’ll lie here till night and start as soon as it gets dark,” said
Tom.

“For my part,” said Bill, “I’ve had enough of cruisin’ in a small boat.
In course I’m ready to do anythin’ that’s ordered, but if we’re to do any
more cruisin’ I say let’s do it aboard the Swansea.”

“So, after all you’ve said, you want to join the pirates again,” said I.
“It’s hard to believe it of you, Bill.”

“Who said anythin’ about jinin’ pirates?” replied he. “What I says I
sticks to, and I said no more piratin’ for me, never.”

“Then what do you mean?” asked Tom and I both together.

“I mean this. Here’s the Swansea with no more than two men aboard her,
and both of them sure to be snorin’ all night. Here’s three of us, and
here’s a boat to take us to the Swansea. Here’s the tide, that’ll begin
runnin’ out about six o’clock, and by nine, certain, that schooner can’t
pass the reef. Why shouldn’t we go aboard the brig about nine o’clock,
heave them two chaps overboard, cut her cable, make sail on her and have
everythin’ comfortable? Why, it can be done as easy as anythin’; and if
you, young masters, don’t care to try it, I’m game to try it myself, and
pick you and the boat up afterwards.”

“What do you say, Tom?” I asked, though from the look in his face I knew
what he would say.

“Say!” cried Tom. “I say I’ll go with you two, now, if you say so,
without waiting for night.”

“Then it’s settled,” said I. “Bill knows what he’s talking about, and I
ask his pardon for thinking for a minute that he meant to turn pirate
again.”

“No offense, young master,” replied the old man. “It’ll be many a year
before people will believe that a man like me has turned over a new leaf.
I don’t blame ’em, for I wouldn’t believe it myself of any pirate I ever
knew yet.”

When we came to discuss our project more seriously it did seem rather
rash. To be sure we had two guns and a hatchet, and we had no fears that
we could not overpower two sleepy pirates. But then we could not be sure
that there were only two of them on board the brig. Then how could we
make sail on her without making considerable noise, and if the noise
should attract the attention of the pirates who were ashore they would
recapture the brig at once and would show us no mercy. But, after all,
the risk was no greater than the risk that our boat would be seen and
overhauled if we tried to leave the island in her.

I thought of all the difficulties in the way of capturing the brig and
getting off clear with her, and I am sure Tom thought of them, too, but
we did not speak of them, for we had made up our minds to try it, and
when you have once looked a thing in the face and decided that it must
be done, it is foolishness to discourage yourself by counting up the
obstacles in the way.

We were so determined not to lose the chance of capturing the Swansea by
any fault of our own that we did not leave the woods until it began to
grow dark. Then we were so hungry that we ate up all our provisions, and
a great quantity of bananas that we had found on the edge of the woods.
For if we did not succeed in capturing the Swansea we knew very well that
we should never need any more food, while if we did capture her we would
be sure to find food enough aboard her.

We had come across a small spring of very good water, and by Bill’s
advice we filled our water-breaker, for, as he said, it was possible that
we should not find any water aboard the Swansea, and he had a sailor’s
horror of dying of thirst.

We ate our supper in the woods, only going down to the boat to get the
turtles’ eggs. We felt much more courageous after supper than we had felt
before, and I found myself getting very anxious that nine o’clock should
arrive. I was troubled by no doubts whatever as to the success of our
attack on the brig.

When we thought that it must be about eight o’clock we all went up to the
top of the hill again. The brig lay in the darkness where we could hardly
make her out except by the appearance of her spars against the sky. There
was no light aboard her so far as we could see, and Bill said that
either the men in charge of her were asleep or that they had gone ashore.
There were a number of lights at the camp and occasionally we could hear
voices. Once the pirates sang part of a song with a long chorus. So it
was plain that they were wide awake, although there was no sign that they
were keeping any lookout.

It did not seem to me that it would be safe for us to stir as long as the
camp seemed to be awake; but Bill thought differently. He said that the
chances were that there was not a soul on board the brig, but that if we
waited long enough the men whose duty it was to be on board her would
return. Then he reminded us that the more noise the people at the camp
might make the less they would notice any noise that we might make in
getting the Swansea out of the inlet. Besides there was the tide, and it
was of the greatest importance for us to get away from the island while
the tide was so low that the schooner could not get across the reef to
pursue us. So we resolved that we would not wait any longer, but would
start at once.

We went down to the boat where we muffled the oars, and placed our arms
where we could lay our hands on them in case of need. It was quite dark
when we pushed off, though the stars were bright, and there was a nice
fresh, southerly breeze.

Tom and I rowed while Bill steered. He kept close in by the shore and we
only spoke to one another in whispers. Tom had the bow oar, and it was
agreed that when we reached the brig he was to make our painter fast in
the main channels, and that he was then to follow me on board. Bill was
to climb on board first and Tom and I were to follow him and obey his
orders.

It was a longer pull around the island to the inlet than we thought it
would be, but when we came in sight of the brig there was no sign of life
on her deck, though there was a glimmer of a light coming through one of
the cabin windows. Bill did not hesitate a moment, but steered straight
for the Swansea, and we made the boat fast and climbed on board without
the least difficulty. Tom and I left our shoes in the boat, and when we
once reached the deck we followed Bill noiselessly as, first forward and
then aft, he went, searching the deck thoroughly.

We found no one, and it then occurred to us to look over the side for the
boat in which the pirates went to and from the shore. There was no boat
but ours anywhere near the brig except one which hung from the davits, so
that I at once felt sure that the pirates were ashore and that we were
alone. I was just about to speak in a louder tone of voice when Bill who
understood what I was thinking of gripped my arm and whispered “Remember
the light in the cabin.”

It was of course impossible for us to risk cutting the cable until we
could make sure that there was no one in the cabin ready to come on
deck and give the alarm. So leaving Tom to watch for any boat that might
come from the shore, Bill and I stole down the companion way as quietly
as possible. There in the cabin, in the very chair where poor Captain
Fearing used to sit, sat his wicked mate, Mr. March, the very man who had
stolen the Swansea.

March was sound asleep. His arms were on the table and his head rested
upon them.

We crept up to him and Bill had one arm around his chest and his hand on
the man’s mouth, before he awoke. When he did awake he found that Bill
was holding him firmly, that my gun was pointed directly at him, and that
it was useless to resist.

“Now you make just the least bit of noise and you’re a dead man,” said
Bill to the mate. “Keep quiet and you won’t be hurt; that is, not at
present. I’m old Bill Catchley, the same that was shipmate with you in
the Ruby, and you know I’m a man of my word.”

The mate never offered to say a word while Bill lashed him fast with the
fellow’s own silk sash and then gagged him with his cap.

“Now,” said the old man, “you’re quite comfortable, and you can just
lie here where we can keep an eye on you through the skylight. If you
offer to move we’ll shoot you out of hand; so bein’ as you’re a sensible
sailor-man you’ll keep precious still. And now, young master, we’ll go on
deck and set the men at work.”

I was on the point of asking “What men?” when I saw that Bill wanted the
mate to think that we had a strong force with us.

On deck we found Tom anxiously watching for the pirates’ boat, which, as
we feared, might come off to the brig any moment.

“The first thing to do,” said Bill, “is to run up the jib and get her
head round before we cut the cable. I’ll lay out and loose the jib and
you’ll hoist it; but remember that any noise will bring the pirates on
us.”

We got the jib up without much noise, though the hanks did rattle in
a way that frightened me, and then, after the sheet was trimmed, Bill
rushed to loose the fore topsail, telling me to cut the cable the moment
the sail filled, and then to sheet home as quickly as possible.

I obeyed orders strictly, and in a few minutes the cable was cut and
before Tom and I had the weather clue sheeted home Bill was with us. He
sent me to the wheel, and with the help of Tom he managed to get the sail
set and the braces trimmed after a fashion, though he had to leave the
yard on the cap.

The brig was now before the wind, though she had nothing on her that drew
except the topsail, and that was partly masked by the high ground of the
island. Still the tide was running out of the inlet, and what with the
wind and tide, we were dropping down to the open sea at a fairish rate.

Having satisfied himself that I could see which way to steer, Bill took
the topsail halyards to the capstan, and with the help of Tom managed
to mast-head the yard. Then he went aloft to loose the main topsail. I
ventured to lash the helm amidships and thus to leave it in order to help
Tom with the topsail sheets.

The clanking of the pawls of the capstan had made a terrible noise, and
it seemed to me impossible that the pirates on shore should not hear it;
but there was no help for it, for we could not get the yard up without
the capstan. It was the same thing with the main topsail, only it took
longer to get the yard up and it seemed to me that the capstan made more
noise than ever. Still we heard nothing of the pirates, and soon the main
topsail was drawing nicely. I had gone back to the wheel while Bill was
aloft loosing the maintop-gallant sail. I was beginning to think that we
were out of danger, when suddenly a terrible roar like a clap of thunder,
and a bright flash from the shore, changed my mind. At the same instant
a twenty-four pound ball flew over the brig, and Bill yelled at the top
of his lungs, “Jump below there and put out that cabin light.” Almost at
the same moment he slid down the back stay, and calling for Tom hauled
away with the strength of a giant at the top-gallant sheets.




CHAPTER XI.

GOOD-BY TO OLD BILL.


The light shining from the cabin window made a fine mark for the battery,
and I lost no time in blowing it out. Our prisoner was lying where we
had left him, but as he was gagged he naturally did not speak to me, and
I was in too much of a hurry to speak to him, for there was no one at
the wheel. When I returned to the deck Bill and Tom were hoisting the
top-gallant yard, and when they had mast-headed it they came aft to where
I was standing.

The battery had not fired but once. This surprised me, for I knew that in
a very few minutes the brig would be clear of the inlet and out of range.
We waited rather anxiously for another shot, but it did not come; and
when we had edged around a point of land at the entrance to the inlet and
felt perfectly safe I expressed my wonder that they had not sunk us.

“It was only one or two chaps that fired that gun,” replied Bill. “S’pose
now, that two fellows did happen to sight us under sail. Well, as they
couldn’t man a boat and board us alone, they jest jumped into the battery
and fired a shot so as to bring down the whole gang. But we can’t stop
here, for we must trim them yards a bit.”

When the yards were trimmed—for we now had the wind a little on the
starboard quarter—Bill dropped on the deck to rest. He seemed to be
completely exhausted. But he had only rested a very few minutes when he
got on his feet again and said he would loose the foretop-gallant sail.
He seemed to stagger as he walked along the deck, and I called to him,
begging him to wait and rest. He only answered, “There’s got to be more
sail on her if we’re goin’ to get clear of the schooner,” and climbed
slowly up the rigging.

From where Tom and I were standing—for, as I have said, I was at the
wheel—we could not see the old man on the foretop-gallant yard, and we
waited a long while for him to make his appearance on deck. He did not
appear, however, and at last we got so uneasy that Tom, after hailing him
and receiving no answer, went aloft to look for him. In a few minutes Tom
came to me with a scared face and said that Bill was nowhere to be found.

I told Tom to take the wheel while I searched the deck fore and aft
for the old man, but without success. The sail that he had gone aloft
to loose was hanging in the brails, and it was evident that Bill had
either fallen overboard in a fit, or that he had missed his footing. Of
course it was idle to think of searching for him, for even if we had been
strong-handed enough to put the brig about, I had heard Bill say that
he could not swim a stroke, and we knew that he must have gone to the
bottom long before we missed him.

What with grief for the loss of the old man—for Tom and I had come to
feel a strong attachment for him—and the certainty that we two lads could
not work the brig without help, I felt more discouragement than I had
yet experienced even when Bill and I were lost in the cave. It was Tom
who put heart into me by reminding me that we were not alone, but that
we had a man in the cabin who was at least as strong as poor Bill. “Why
shouldn’t we make him work his passage?” asked Tom.

Why indeed? The idea was an excellent one, and taking my gun I went down
into the cabin, lit a candle, put it where it could not light up the
stern windows, and then took the gag out of Mr. March’s mouth, and asked
him if he was hungry.

“Thankee, my lad,” he answered very cheerfully. “I could make shift to
eat a bit of cheese which you’ll find in the pantry, and I’m as thirsty
as a bucket of sand.”

I found the cheese and some water, and gave the mate as much as he
wanted. I did not venture to set his hands free, so I had to feed him as
if he was a baby. This seemed to amuse him very much, and when he had
finished his supper he asked me to get his pipe and tobacco out of his
pocket and give him a smoke.

“You’ve captured this brig very handsome,” he said after his pipe was
lit. “It was well done considerin’ there were only three of you—an old
man and two boys.”

“How do you know how many of us there are?” said I.

“Because, young gentleman, I’ve got a pair of ears and you forgot to gag
’em. I’ve heard your voice and your brother’s voice and Bill’s voice on
deck, and never another voice. I don’t say but what you may have a gang
of deaf and dumb chaps with you, but it don’t look probable.”

I did not say anything, and Mr. March presently said, “I suppose you know
your own business, but my advice to you is to get all the sail you can on
her, for before daylight the schooner will be in chase of you, and she is
faster than the Swansea, unless it blows a livin’ gale.”

I told him that the brig was doing very well, and that we knew how to
sail her.

“But you don’t know how to navigate her,” he rejoined. “Bill, I know,
can’t read, and couldn’t work up observations even if he knew how to take
’em. It’s mighty lucky for you that you found me here, instead of some
ignorant, lazy fellow who would only have been a trouble to you.”

“So you are ready to join with us, are you?” I asked.

“Am I a natural born fool?” he replied. “Why, what else could I do? I
joined the men when they mutinied because I’d rather be captain of the
brig than walk the plank. All the same they didn’t keep their word, and
after I had navigated them to the island they made another chap from the
schooner captain of the Swansea. Now if I join you and navigates this
ship into port, I expect you’ll stand by me, and get the owners to allow
me salvage. Whereas, if I don’t join you, I’ll have to lie here till you
run up against the land somewhere, and then I’ll either be drowned or
hanged, accordin’ as I get ashore or don’t.”

“But how can we trust you, Mr. March?” I asked. “You helped seize this
brig; you’re a pirate, and you naturally want to get the brig in your
hands and deliver her to the pirates again.”

“I don’t naturally want to do any such thing,” he answered. “They’d
shoot me even if I brought the brig back to them, because they’d say you
couldn’t have captured her if I’d kept a good lookout; and they’d be
right about it, too. I’ve as much reason to want to get away from the
island as you have, and you need me a great sight more than I need you.
So do as you choose. Take me or leave me. Only you’ll make a mistake if
you lose the services of an able navigator.”

“Very well, Mr. March,” I said, “we’ll trust you. Come on deck at once
and help us make sail. I might as well tell you that Tom and I are alone.
Old Bill has fallen overboard from aloft.”

“Then you couldn’t get on without me, even if you wanted to,” said the
mate. “Please remember that when you come to see the owners. They’d ought
to give me half the value of the brig for salvage. It’s a great pity that
there isn’t anything in her but ballast and stores, and mighty little
stores, too.”

I unfastened Mr. March’s arms and he stood up and stretched himself. Then
he clapped me on the back and said, “Never fear, my lad. We’ll take this
brig into Charleston and make all our fortunes. But we’ve got to get
every foot of canvas on her that will draw, and we mustn’t lose any time
about it, either.”

We went on deck, and as soon as we had set the top-gallant sail Mr. March
braced the yards around and changed the course of the brig from due
north to due east. By this means he hoped to deceive the pirates, who
would naturally suppose that our first attempt would be to run directly
before the wind and reach the nearest American port as soon as possible.
Besides, the Swansea’s best sailing point was with the wind abeam, as I
ought to have remembered, but did not.

We worked hard for hours, and finally succeeded in setting every sail
that the Swansea owned, except the studding sails. It was two o’clock by
the time we had finished, and then Mr. March insisted that either Tom or
I should go below till four o’clock. It was finally agreed that I should
have the first rest, so I went below, and in two minutes was fast asleep
in the captain’s stateroom.

When Tom called me it was broad daylight, and I noticed that instead of
staying below to rest he hurried on deck as soon as he saw that I was
awake. I was not long in following him, and as soon as I put my head out
of the companion-way, I saw that something was the matter.

A fine fresh breeze was blowing and the Swansea, being lighter than I had
ever known her to be, was rushing through the water at the rate of nearly
ten knots an hour. Tom was at the wheel, and the compass told me that we
were still heading east. The mate was standing near the main rigging,
with a telescope in his hand, and away to the westward, so far that I
could not make out her rig, I could see a sail.

“That’s the schooner,” he said, as he shut up the glass and came aft. “I
know her as well as if she was a cable-length from us.”

“Do you think she sees us?” I asked.

“Sees us! Why, if we can see her, she can’t help but see us.”

“Can you tell how fast she is gaining on us?” asked Tom.

“I can’t, tell yet, but the odds are that she’s running two feet to our
one. She’s a much faster boat than we are, and this is just the wind that
suits her.”

“Is there anything that we can do that we haven’t done?” I asked
anxiously.

“Nothing. The only thing we can do is to overhaul the gun and try to
knock a stick out of her when she comes near.”

So saying the mate asked me to come with him and cast loose the long gun,
which we did in a few minutes, for he knew all about the handling of big
guns. Then we went below to where the pirates had made a magazine on the
lower deck, and brought up a dozen rounds of ammunition, which we stowed
on deck in the lee of the deck-house. Then Mr. March loaded the gun, and
built a fire in the galley so that he could heat a poker to use in firing
the gun.

“Now that we’ve got a fire, we’ll have some coffee, and then Master Tom
and me will take an hour below, for we need to feel fresh when the pinch
comes. The brig is going along as steady as a wagon, and if you want to
rouse me out you can pound on the deck with a handspike.”

We had our coffee, and then the mate and Tom left me alone at the wheel
with a handspike within ready grasp.

My gun and Tom’s were still loaded, but we had no more ammunition. We had
left our ammunition and all our other traps in our boat when we boarded
the brig, and Tom must have made her fast carelessly, for when we went to
look for her, after we had got clear of the inlet, she was gone. However
the guns I knew would be of little use in a fight with the schooner; for
if she once should get near enough to board us, it would be useless to
resist.

I let my companions sleep as long as I dared, but the schooner gradually
gained on us, and in two hours after I came on deck she was so near that
I could easily make her out. I therefore pounded on the deck and almost
immediately Tom and the mate were with me.

“In an hour more she’ll be near enough for her big gun to reach us. She
won’t try to hit us, though, for they don’t want the job of repairing the
brig when they get her. She’ll come alongside, and if we don’t surrender
she’ll board us.”

“When her gun can reach us, our gun can reach her, can’t it?” asked Tom.

“To be sure it can,” answered Mr. March, “and may be we’ll have the luck
to cripple her. Anyway we’ll try.”

It was slow work waiting through the next hour, but by that time the
schooner was near enough for us to try a shot. Tom went to the wheel and
the mate and I went forward.

I brought the poker from the galley, and Mr. March trained the gun with
great care and primed it. Then he took the poker and touched the loose
priming, while I watched with the glass to see where the shot would
strike.

But Mr. March had been so long in getting ready that the poker was cold,
and we could not fire the gun. I had to heat it again, and when after all
this preparation we fired and did not touch the schooner I was greatly
disappointed.

The mate was not in the least discouraged. “No man ever hits anything the
first time, and mostly he misses the second time. Wait till I get a third
shot, and perhaps it will do some work.” He was always a cheerful man,
and whatever it might be that he was doing, he was better satisfied with
himself than any man I ever saw.

Our second shot was as bad as the first one, and it took us so long to
load and fire that the schooner kept gaining on us frightfully. We had to
bring the brig up pretty close to the wind every time we fired, so as to
bring the gun to bear on the schooner, and of course every time we did
this we lost headway.

But the third shot went through the schooner’s main topmast, just above
the hounds, and took in her topsail for her in a hurry. This brought her
speed down to just about ours, and the mate said that he would only fire
one more shot, and that then he would go to the wheel and see what close
steering would do to help our sailing. This fourth shot made a hole in
the schooner’s foresail and evidently put her captain in a rage, for he
began firing at us as rapidly as his men could work their long gun. They
were much better marksmen than Mr. March, too. Their second shot carried
our foretop-mast, and the brig, coming up in the wind, was very nearly
taken aback.




CHAPTER XII.

THE LAST OF THE SWANSEA.


We could now no longer run, and our only chance of escape lay in
crippling the schooner worse than she had crippled us. When she saw the
effect of her shot she ceased firing, and came after us, luffing up to
windward so as to board us on the weather side. Mr. March and I worked
at the gun, loading as rapidly as possible, and aiming with the greatest
care for the schooner’s spar. We did little damage for some time, and
it was not until the pirates were within half a mile that a lucky shot
carried away their mainmast. We gave the loudest cheer that we could
give, and then the mate and I jumped aloft and cut adrift the wreck of
the foretop-mast. Meanwhile Tom was hanging on to the wheel which he
had to keep jammed hard up, for the brig had now no head sail on except
the foresail. We drew steadily away from the schooner, however, and as
soon as we had cleared away the wreck we managed to set the foretop-mast
staysail flying, leading the halyard to a block lashed to a bolt in
the head of the foremast. This helped her a little, and made her steer
somewhat easier.

All the while Mr. March and I were at work aloft the schooner was firing
at us. Sometimes she aimed apparently at our spars with the hope of
dismasting us, but for the most part her shot struck us in the hull, and
I was convinced that in their rage, the pirates were trying to sink us.
But beyond cutting up our running gear and putting a few holes through
our sails, the schooner seemed to do us little harm. The wind was
freshening, and the pirates were brought almost to a standstill by their
mainmast which was towing overboard with all its gear, and which they
were unwilling to cut adrift probably because they had no spare mainsail
with them.

[Illustration: WE DID LITTLE DAMAGE UNTIL THE PIRATES WERE WITHIN HALF A
MILE.

179]

The schooner made no further effort to follow us, and when we had
distanced her so far that it was useless for her to waste shot on us, she
ceased firing. We were, you may be sure, pretty well tired with hard work
and excitement, and after we had eaten our breakfast, such as it was, I
relieved Tom at the wheel and he and the mate lay down on the deck to
rest.

“It’s very queer that all that cannonading did us so little harm,” said
Tom. “I always thought a cannon was such a terrible thing. But its bark
is worse than its bite.”

“We were in a bad way at one time,” said the mate. “What would you have
done if I hadn’t been here to work the gun? It was my shot that saved
us, and considering that I’m entitled to half the value of the ship for
recapturin’ her, I’ve earned the other half by beatin’ off the pirates in
a fair fight. Not but what you young gentlemen have behaved very well,
and I promise you that I’ll see to it that the owners stand something to
you in the nature of a reward.”

“It seems to me,” said I, “that the brig feels heavier than she did. She
doesn’t rise to the seas as lively as when we were running away early
this morning.”

The mate started up and looked over the side. “You’re right,” he cried.
“She’s deeper than she was. I’ll go below and see if she is leaking.”

He dived down the main hatchway, and in a very short time came back
looking rather grave. “Some of those shot have hit her below the water
line,” he said. “I can hear the water runnin’ into her. The lower hold
has got four feet of water already. We must start the pumps or we’ll
never see Charleston.”

The pump was so heavy and cumbersome that two men could not work it long
without being tired out. The mate and Tom, however, went to work with
a will, and kept a big stream of water pouring out of the scuppers for
at least half an hour. Then the mate sounded the well and found that
the water had gone down an inch. This was a proof that the leak could
be kept under as long as we could keep the pumps going. We were much
encouraged—at least Tom and I were—and I took Mr. March’s place at the
pump while he took my place at the wheel.

We pumped another half-hour, and lowered the water another inch. Mr.
March then went below and tried again to find the leak, but it was where
he could not get at it. He and I then fell to pumping again, but before
the half-hour was up we were so utterly exhausted that we dropped the
brakes and threw ourselves on the wet deck.

“There’s no use in pumpin’ any more,” said the mate. “We can’t free her.
All we could do with the pump would be to keep her afloat a little while
longer than if we didn’t break our hearts and backs.”

“But we can lower the water an inch every half-hour,” said I.

“There’s four feet in her now, let’s say. That’s forty-eight inches,
ain’t it? Very well. Suppose we could pump two hours at a spell; that
would lower the water four inches only. Then we’ll have to rest an hour,
and she’d make a foot or two of water in that time. I’m willin’ to pump
another hour and a half, after we’re rested a bit, just so as to get as
far away from where we left the schooner as we can, but after that we’ll
let the old Swansea go and take to the boats.”

There was good sense in what the mate said. It did seem a hopeless task
to try to save the brig by pumping. However, Tom had an idea, and as
usual it was a good one.

“Mr. March,” said he, “why can’t we get a sail over the side, and stop
the leak that way?”

“That’s just what I was goin’ to do,” replied the mate. “It may not work,
but we’ll try it. There’s the fore topsail lying on the deck all ready
as soon as we cut it adrift from the yard. Wait till I rest a bit longer,
and then we’ll see what we can do.”

It was a long job getting the sail over the side, and stretching it over
the place where we supposed the leak must be, but we did it at last, and
then went to the pumps again. We pumped a good half-hour and sounded the
well, only to find that we had lowered the water just an inch and no
more. So it was plain that the sail did no good. This was discouraging,
especially as the water had been gaining all the time we were working
with the sail, and was now four feet and six inches deep.

“Never mind,” exclaimed Mr. March. “Thunder away at the pump, boys, for
another hour if we can do it, and then we’ll knock off for good. I reckon
that she’ll float a good four hours yet, and we’ll have plenty of time to
get a boat ready and start away comfortably.”

We pumped as long as we could, without regard to time, and only gave up
when we had so little strength left that we really could not work the
pump.

The schooner had long been out of sight, and as it was now five o’clock
in the afternoon, we resolved to rest till seven, and then get a boat
ready. In the meanwhile there was nothing to gain by carrying sail, so we
brought her close to the wind under the main topsail, and the makeshift
fore staysail that we had set after losing our fore topmast. Under this
sail she would very nearly steer herself, and we were able to leave the
wheel; only we had, of course, to keep a sharp lookout, and run to the
wheel whenever she came up too close.

I think I never was so exhausted in my life as I was that day, and the
mate and Tom were quite as much exhausted as I was. We made some coffee
and made a supper of coffee and biscuit, and then we all lay down on
the poop. We must have dropped asleep almost instantly. I was awakened
by the loud flapping of a sail, and sprang up just as Mr. March and Tom
awoke. It was bright starlight.

It was a beautiful quiet night with a light breeze, but I was alarmed
to see that the main deck was all awash, and that the brig was fairly
water-logged. I ran to help clear away the boat, while Tom filled a
breaker from a fresh-water cask, and the mate went to the binnacle and
took out the compass. We put the water and the compass in the solitary
quarter-boat that remained to us, and then Mr. March told us to jump in
and lower away as soon as possible, for the brig might sink any moment.

We got the boat in the water safely, for the brig had little way on her
and the sea was smooth. Then we rowed a short distance from her and
waited for her to sink. We did not have to wait very long. Quietly enough
the Swansea settled down and disappeared. Had we slept fifteen minutes
longer we should have gone down with her.

We were again adrift in a small boat, and very much worse off than we
were when, with old Bill, we started in a small boat from Florida. Then
we had provisions and a sail. Now we had no sail and there was nothing
in our boat besides the oars except a compass and a breaker of water.
Besides, we were far out at sea, and had not the least idea where we were.

“Keep your courage up, boys,” said the mate. I noticed that lately he had
ceased to call us “young gentlemen,” and instead always called us “boys.”
“We’ll make Charleston yet; never fear. We’ve got no grub, but we’ve got
plenty of water, and we’ll make the Florida coast before we starve, let
alone that we may be picked up or may catch a fish or a turtle. Just pour
a little water into my shoe, will you, and give me a drink. It’s mighty
lucky for you that you’ve got an experienced sailor to look after you.
Without me, now, you’d have walked the plank hours ago.”

Mr. March took off his shoe and passed it to Tom to be filled with water,
but when he had taken a drink he spat it out, and cried, “Where did you
get that water? It’s salt.”

“I got it out of a cask on deck,” said Tom.

“Well, the salt water has got to it, and we’ve got nothing to drink.
Unless we’re picked up we’re all dead men. This comes of trusting to
boys.”

“I thought you’d done everything, Mr. March,” said I, “and that we boys
were under your care.”

“Don’t answer me back, boy,” said the mate, “for I won’t have it. It’s
all your fault that we haven’t any water, and I was a fool ever to have
anything to do with you.” So saying he lay down in the bottom of the
boat, with his face on his arms, and remained silent until he fell asleep.

We were undoubtedly in a perilous position, but I could not hear poor Tom
blamed for what was not his fault. He came aft to where I was sitting and
said, “I’m sorry, but I could not help it.” So I comforted him and told
him that the Lord who had preserved us so far would not let us die of
thirst; and we put our arms about each other and sat still.

There was so little sea that the boat did not need any attention, so we
let her drift, and being so excessively tired we too fell asleep after
a while, and slept as soundly as if we had been in our beds. We did not
awake until daylight, and then I startled the mate by a loud cry, for
there was a big ship not half a mile away and heading directly for us.

There was no fear that the ship would miss us, for we could see men on
the forecastle head looking at us, and by the time we had got on our legs
and hailed her at the top of our lungs, we saw the main topsail yard
swung round and the ship was hove to.

We got out our oars and pulled as if we were crazy, but it seemed an
endless time before we reached the ship and found ourselves safe on board.

She was the London City, bound to Charleston from the Mediterranean, and
the captain was as kind and pleasant as he could be. As soon as we came
on board he called us down into his cabin, where he asked us who we were
and where we came from.

I was going to answer, but before I could speak Mr. March told the
captain that he was in charge of the boat, and that after the crew of
the Swansea—of which he had been mate—had mutinied and set the captain
adrift, and carried him (the mate) a prisoner to the Bermudas, he had
watched his chance and carried off the brig single-handed, with a little
help from us two boys, who had been passengers; that he had fought the
Swansea when she was afterwards attacked by a pirate schooner and had
beaten the schooner off, but that afterwards the Swansea had sunk in
consequence of the injuries received during the battle. He added that we
were both good boys, and had really been of considerable help to him.

We did not contradict him, but we resolved to tell the whole truth as
soon as we reached Charleston. We were afraid that the captain of the
London City would not believe us, and thought it did not make much
difference to us what story the mate might tell.

But when we got to Charleston the mate told the same story to the owners
of the ship—or rather to their agents—and when Tom and I tried to tell
what was really the truth no one believed us, because the captain of the
London City said that we had admitted that the mate’s story was true
while we were on board his ship. So Mr. March was paid a handsome sum of
money for what was called his noble conduct, and we were warned to stop
telling stories against him. Soon afterwards Mr. March went to sea again,
and I never heard of him afterwards. All in good time, when my uncle came
to know Tom and me, and to know that we could be trusted, he believed
our story, and that was of more consequence to us than the opinion of
strangers who knew nothing of us.

This is the end of the story of the Swansea, and I am glad to say that
piracy has almost ceased, and that honest seamen can now follow their
profession without fear of such wretches as the bloodthirsty Blackbeard,
the ferocious England, and other cruel rovers of their like.

[Illustration]




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*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76536 ***