The sailors began to rig the spars and tackle as a derrick set up on the bank of the creek, with grapple hooks like huge tongs to swing out over the water and grope in the muddy depths. Absorbed in this fascinating task, they were startled beyond measure to hear the _thump, thump_ of thole-pins sounding from somewhere below them in the swamp. It was no Indian pirogue. Only a ship's boat heavily manned could make that cadenced noise of oars. Bill Saxby bade the men be silent while he held a hand at his ear and harkened with taut attention. The mysterious boat, following the winding channel of the creek, was drawing nearer. Voices could be heard, a rough command, a curse, a laugh.

"No honest men, I warrant," growled Captain Jonathan Wellsby, ready to take command by virtue of long habit. "Who else can they be but pirates, plague 'em. And they are betwixt us and the sea. All hands ash.o.r.e and look to your arms. Lively now."

They were bewildered and taken all aback. In this holiday excursion after Blackbeard's treasure the party had reckoned only with dead or phantom pirates. There was some confusion, while Bill Saxby bawled at the seamen as addle-pated lubbers. Deserting their boat, they scrambled to cover in the tall gra.s.s while those busy with the derrick gear rushed to catch up muskets and powder-horns.

The strange boat was steadily forging up-stream and presently it was disclosed to view no more than a cable-length away. It was a pinnace filled with ruffianly fellows, more than a score of them. No merchant seamen these but brethren of the coast, freebooters who were gallows-ripe. Bill Saxby was quick to recognize two or three of them as old hands of Blackbeard's crew who must have deserted their leader in time to escape his fate. Presumably they had recruited others of their own stamp to go adventuring in the Cherokee swamp. They could have only one purpose. The very sight of them was enough to explain it. They were in quest of treasure like bloodhounds trailing a scent.

Against such a force as this, discretion was the better part of valor. A ferocious yell burst from the pinnace and a flight of musket b.a.l.l.s whistled over the heads of the fugitives who had so hastily abandoned their operations with the derrick and gear and the boat. Stout Bill Saxby and his comrades, finding concealment in the swamp, primed their muskets and let fly a volley at the pinnace which was an easy target. A pirate standing in the stern-sheets clapped a hand to his thigh and sat down abruptly. Another one let go his oar to dangle a b.l.o.o.d.y hand.

The pinnace drifted with the tide and stranded on a weedy shoal while the blue powder smoke hung over it like a fog. For the moment it was a demoralized crew of pirates, roaring all manner of threats but at a loss how to proceed. The other party took advantage of this delay to beat a rapid retreat along the path which led to the knoll where the camp was pitched. Upon this higher ground they might hope to defend themselves against a force which outnumbered them. They ran at top speed, bending low, hidden from observation, avoiding the pools and bogs.

The pirates were diverted from their hostile intentions as soon as they caught sight of the tall spars and tackle, and the boat with its sounding rods and other gear. With a great clamor they swarmed out of the pinnace and began to investigate. This gave the refugees on the knoll a little time to make their camp more compact, to wield the shovels furiously and throw up intrenchments, to cut down trees for a barricade, to fill the water kegs, to prepare to withstand an a.s.sault or a siege.

The sun went down and the infatuated pirates were still exploring the creek, convinced that they could straightway lay hold of the treasure they had come to find. They kindled a fire on the bank and evidently intended to pa.s.s the night there. This mightily eased the minds of the toilers upon the knoll. Their predicament was still awkward in the extreme but the fear of sudden death had been lifted. And it seemed possible that these bothersome pirates might conclude to leave them alone.

It went sorely against the grain, however, to be driven away from the precious sea-chest when it was almost within their grasp, to have to scuttle from this crew of scurvy pirates. Jack c.o.c.krell was for making a sortie by night, gustily declaiming to his companions:

"The sentries will be drunk or drowsy. I know these swine. A well-timed rush and we can cut 'em down and pistol the rest. Didn't they open fire on us from the pinnace?"

"Aye, Jack, and we'll fight to save our skins," said the cool-headed Captain Wellsby, "but 'tis a desperate business to attack yon cut-throats, even by night, and there will be men of us hurt and killed.

Blackbeard's gold is not worth it."

"Right sensibly put," declared Mr. Peter Forbes. "We had best spend this night in felling more trees and notching logs to pile them breast high.

If these pirates find the sea-chest, they will leave us unmolested. If they fail to find it, they may conclude that we have already discovered the treasure. In that event, they will storm the knoll and give us no quarter."

"It would be rank folly to surrender," said stout Bill Saxby. "There be men in the pinnace who have no love for me nor for the two lads. 'Twas a shrewd suspicion of theirs that Blackbeard had played secret tricks in this Cherokee swamp, what with his excursions in that little c.o.c.k-boat."

Keeping vigilant watch, they labored far into the night until the camp on the knoll was a hard nut to crack, with its surrounding ditch and palisade of logs behind which a man could lie and shoot. Now and then it might have been noted that Jack c.o.c.krell and Joe Hawkridge conferred with their heads together as though something private were in the wind.

As soon as they were relieved from duty, some time before the dawn, they stole very softly away from the knoll and groped along the path which led to the creek. Curiosity and the impetuous folly of youth impelled them to reconnoitre the pirates' bivouac.

"We may hear something worth listening to," whispered Jack, "and perhaps we can crawl close and steal some of their arms."

"None of that," chided young Hawkridge. "I am a man of goodly station in Charles Town and I would go back with a whole hide."

"You have grown too respectable," grumbled Jack. "Here is the chance for one last fling----"

His words stuck in his throat. A gurgle of horrified amazement and he tumbled headlong into the gra.s.s with a bare, sinewy arm wrapped around his neck. He fought to free himself but the breath was fairly choked out of him. Joe Hawkridge was desperately thrashing about in the swamp, gasping and snorting, his cries also smothered. In a twinkling they were captives, their arms tightly bound behind them, the stifling grip of their necks unrelaxed. Weakened almost to suffocation, the two lads could make no lively resistance. Jack uttered one feeble shout for help but subsided when those strong fingers tightened the clutch on his windpipe.

The a.s.sailants made no sound. Not a word was uttered. There were several of them, for the helpless prisoners were picked up bodily and lugged along by the head and the heels. They expected to be taken into the pirates' camp, believing they had been surprised and overpowered by an outlying sentry post. It was an old game, reflected Joe Hawkridge, to hold them alive as hostages. But he was vastly puzzled when these silent kidnappers, deftly picking their way in the darkness, took a direction which led them away from the bank of the creek. They had forsaken the trampled path and were proceeding through the trackless swamp whose pitfalls were avoided by a sort of sixth sense.

A mile of this laborious, uncanny progress and the bearers dumped their burdens and paused to rest. The two lads dizzily crawled to their feet and peered at the shadowy figures surrounding them. They heard a guttural exclamation and words exchanged in a strange, harsh tongue.

"Indians, blow me!" hoa.r.s.ely whispered Joe, his throat sore and swollen.

"Comrade ahoy!" croaked Jack. "No pirates these, but Yema.s.sees. Do they save us for the torture?"

"G.o.d knows. 'Tis a sorry mischance as ever was. I'd sooner meet up with Blackbeard's ghost. Are ye badly hurt?"

"Like a man hanged by the neck, Joe, but no mortal wounds. Had we minded Uncle Peter we would be safe in the sloop by now. One more day of hunting that filthy treasure undid us."

The half dozen Yema.s.sees squatted about them, talking in low tones, and offered no further violence. Presumably they were waiting for daybreak, having conveyed their prisoners beyond all chance of rescue. The two lads shivered with fear and weariness. They were bruised and breathless and the thongs which tightly bound their wrists made their arms ache intolerably. Bitter was the regret at invading this baleful Cherokee swamp when they might have remained safe from all harm in pleasant Charles Town.

Sadly they watched the eastern sky grow brighter while the gloom of the desolate swamp turned wan and gray. The Indian captors became visible, brown, half-naked men wearing leggings and breech-clouts of tanned deerskin. Two of them carried muskets. They were not made hideous by war-paint, as Jack c.o.c.krell was quick to note. He said to his companion:

"A hunting party, Joe. They were spying on our camp, like enough, or keeping watch of the pirates. No doubt they wonder why white men come to fight one another in the swamp."

"They will wish to find out from us," was the hopeful reply. "They seem a deal more curious than bloodthirsty. A stout heart, say I, and we may weather it yet."

Soon the lads were roughly prodded ahead and went stumbling and splashing through the marshy verdure and slippery ooze until they came to higher ground and easier walking. Upon this ridge they descried the camp of the Yema.s.sees--huts fashioned of poles and bark and boughs, a freshly killed deer hanging from a tree, smoke rising from beneath a huge iron kettle, plump, naked children scampering in play with several barking dogs, the squaws shrilly scolding them. Several warriors lazily emerged from the huts, yawning, brushing the long black hair from their eyes.

They moved more actively at perceiving the procession which approached from the swamp. Two or three ran back to the largest shelter and presently a big-bodied, middle-aged man strode out, his mien stern and dignified, his rank denoted by the elaborate fringed tunic of buckskin and the head-dress of heron plumes. He shouted something in a sonorous voice. The hunting party hastened forward, dragging the two English lads by the elbows and flinging them down at the feet of the chief. He stood with arms folded across his chest, scowling, formidable.

Then he spoke a few words of broken English, to the astonishment of the captives. He mentioned the names of settlements on the Cape Fear River where, it was inferred, he had been on friendly terms with the colonists. His manner was not so much hostile as questioning. In Charles Town both Joe and Jack had learned the common phrases of the Indian tongue such as were used among the merchants and traders. Pieced out with signs and gestures, they were able to carry on a halting dialogue with the chief of this small band.

They were able to comprehend that he hated pirates above all other men.

He recognized the name of Blackbeard and indicated his great joy that this eminent scoundrel had met his just deserts. Many times the freebooters of the coast had hunted and slain the Indians for wanton sport. And perhaps the word had sped of that expedition of Captain Stede Bonnet out of Charles Town when he had exterminated the Yema.s.sees who had set out to harry and burn the near-by plantations. The two uneasy lads felt that they still stood in the shadow of death unless they could persuade the chief that they were not pirates, that they were in no way to be confused with the crew of blackguards which had ascended the creek in the pinnace.

The chief delayed his judgment. Two young men lifted the huge kettle from the fire. It was steaming with a savory smell of stewed meat. The captives were invited to join the others in spearing bits of venison with sharpened sticks. Chewing l.u.s.tily, with a n.o.ble appet.i.te, Joe Hawkridge confided:

"My spirits rise, Jack. An empty belly always did make a coward of me.

How now, my l.u.s.ty c.o.c.kerel? Shall we flap our wings and crow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hours pa.s.sed and the verdict was delayed. Two young braves stole away into the pine woodland on some errand, at the behest of the chief.

It was after noon when they returned. With them came a dozen Yema.s.see warriors from another hunting camp, strong, quick-footed men in light marching order who were armed with long bows and knives. The chief spoke a few words and mustered his force. All told he had more than thirty picked followers. The English lads were told to move with them.

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

The cautious Yema.s.sees concealed themselves as though the swamp had swallowed them up. The chief made certain signs, and the lads understood his meaning. Jack c.o.c.krell ripped a sleeve from his shirt and tied it to a stick as a flag of truce. Joe Hawkridge advanced with them, the stalwart chief between them, his empty hands extended in token of peace.