teran sinner of the lot, old Trimble Rogers,
fumbled in his breeches and withdrew a small book carefully wrapped in
canvas. Solemnly he hooked behind his ears a pair of huge, horn-rimmed
spectacles and knelt beside the dying pirate. In the manner of a priest
the buccaneer intoned a chapter of Holy Writ which he appeared to know
by rote. Then he said a prayer in a powerful broken voice. Silence
followed. The others waited with bared heads until Trimble said:

"His soul has passed. Shall we give the poor lad a decent burial?"

"His grave is ready. He helped dig it himself," said Bill Saxby. "And
may his ghost be a torment to the fiend that slew him."

It seemed a fitting suggestion. In the freshly made treasure pit on the
knoll they laid the dead pirate and used the spade to cover him. Jack
Cockrell had a sheath knife with which he fashioned a rude cross and
hacked on it:

JESSE STRAWN
A. D. 1718

"Aye, his ghost will flit to plague this Cap'n Teach," said Trimble
Rogers. "We can leave Jesse Strawn to square his own account. Now for
the sea-chest, though I misdoubt we can fish it up."

CHAPTER X

THE SEA URCHIN AND THE CARPENTER'S MATE

FOR the sake of a treasure sordid and blood-stained, it would seem
shabby to overlook the fate of hapless Joe Hawkridge marooned along with
the hands of the _Revenge_ who were suspected of plotting mutiny. His
behavior was courageous and unselfish, for he could have fled back into
the swamp when Blackbeard's wily attack threw the camp into tumult. From
a sense of duty he flung himself into the fray. What friends he had in
the ship were those of the decenter sort who were tired of wanton
brutalities and of a master who was no better than a lunatic.

When the sloop opened fire with her guns, it was time to surrender.
Unhurt save for a few scratches and a gorgeous black eye, Joe was
dragged to the beach and thrown into a boat. Promptly the armed pinnace
took them in tow, as arranged beforehand. Several of the prisoners had
visited this rendezvous at Cherokee Inlet during a previous cruise and
had some knowledge of the lay of the coast. Five or six miles out were
certain shoals of sand scarcely lifted above high tide, so desolate that
nothing whatever grew upon them nor was there any means of obtaining
fresh water.

"A pretty fancy,--to cast us where he can enjoy the sight of it when the
ship sails out," said one of them who held a wounded comrade in hi