Blackbeard's
crew."

"Well, if I can but slip a word of comfort in his ear, it'll cheer him
mightily, unless his throat be cut by now," was the stubborn response.
"Sit thee taut, Jack, old _camarada_, and chuck the worry. Care killed a
cat. These rogues yonder in the camp won't _molest me_ if I walk boldly
amongst 'em."

"What if you don't return?" persisted Jack. "How long shall I wait here
with the pirogue?"

"Now what the deuce can I say to such foolish queries? If things go
wrong with me and Bill and his mate, you will have to cruise alone or
hop back to the _Revenge_."

With a laugh and a wave of the hand, the dauntless adventurer leaped
from the nose of the canoe, nimbly hauled himself into a tree, and then
plunged into the gloomy swamp where he was speedily lost to view. Jack
Cockrell settled himself to wait for he knew not what. Clouds of midges
and mosquitoes tormented him and he ached with fatigue. Soon after
sunrise the mist began to burn away and the mouth of the creek was no
longer obscured by shadows. In the glare of day Jack thought it likely
that the canoe might be detected by some pair of keen eyes aboard the
_Revenge_.

To move it far might imperil Joe Hawkridge and Bonnet's two seamen
should they come in haste with a hue-and-cry behind them. Jack paddled
the pirogue up the creek and soon found a safe ambuscade, a stagnant
cove in among the dense growth, where he tied up to a gnarled root. Then
he climbed a wide-branching oak and propped himself in a crotch from
which he could see the open water and the two vessels at anchor. Clumps
of taller trees cut off any view of the beach and the camp but he dared
stray no farther from the pirogue.

Tediously an hour passed and there was no sign of Joe Hawkridge. He had
a journey of only a few hundred yards to make, and Jack began to imagine
all kinds of misfortune that might have befallen him, such as being
mired beyond his depth in the swamp and perishing miserably. The
sensible conclusion was, however, that he had tarried among his
shipmates in the camp with some shrewd purpose in mind.

A little later in the morning, Jack's anxious cogitations were diverted
by the frequent passage of boats between the _Revenge_ and the sloop
which was anchored nearer the beach. One of these small craft was
Blackbeard's own cock-boat, or captain's gig, which he used for errands
in smooth water, with a couple of men to pull it. Jack was reminded of
that secret confere