s
arms.

"Some trading vessel may sight us in the nick o' time," hopefully
suggested Joe. "Never say die!"

"Trust most honest skippers to give the Inlet a wide berth," was the
lugubrious reply. "This harbor was used by pirates afore Blackbeard's
time. I was a silly 'prentice-boy, same as you, Joe, wi' Cap'n Willum
Kidd when we lay in here to caulk his galley for the long voyage to
Madagascar."

"A poor figger of a pirate was that same Kidd," spoke up another. "He
ne'er scuttled a ship nor fought an action. An' his treasure was all in
my eye. What did he swing for, at Execution Dock? For crackin' the skull
of his gunner with a wooden bucket."

"They can't h'ist this Cap'n Teach to the same gibbet any too soon to
please me, Sam," croaked a horse-faced rogue with two fingers chopped
off. "He's gone and murdered all us men, as sure as blazes."

Joe Hawkridge held his peace and wondered what had become of his
partner, Jack Cockrell, waiting alone in the pirogue. In the infernal
commotion at the camp, Joe had failed to note whether Bill Saxby and
Trimble Rogers had betaken themselves off or had been among those
killed. There was the faint hope that these trusty messengers might find
their way back to Captain Stede Bonnet's ship and so hasten his coming.

The boats crept over the burnished surface of the harbor and passed the
nearest islands which were green and wooded. Beyond them shone the
gently heaving sea, with the distant gleam of a patch of sandy shoal
ringed about with a necklace of surf. It was remote enough from any
other land to daunt the strongest swimmer. The boats kept on until they
had rounded to leeward of this ghastly prison. There was no means of
resistance. The captives were driven ashore by force of arms, carrying a
few of their wounded with them.

With emotions beyond the power of speech, they stared at the pinnace as
the oars splashed on the return journey to the _Revenge_. Joe Hawkridge
wept a little, perplexed that men could be so cruel to their own
shipmates. And yet what could be expected of pirates debased enough to
be Blackbeard's loyal followers? Recovering from their first stupor, the
twenty able-bodied survivors began to ransack the strip of naked sand on
which they had been marooned. It was no more than an acre in extent. A
few small fish were found in a pool left by the falling tide and perhaps
a hundred turtle eggs were uncovered during the afternoon. This merely
postponed starvation