arson Throckmorton had rapped his knuckles and fired him
with rebellious dreams of piracy. At length, the buccaneer was willing
to acknowledge:

"Unless an Indian drive an arrow through the lad's brisket, Bill, I can
trust him to find our ship. Best give him the musket."

"Me shoulder that carronade and trudge a dozen leagues?" objected Jack.
"I travel light and leave the ordnance with you."

They insisted on his taking more than a third of the food but he
refused to deprive them of the water jug. There would be streams enough
to slake his thirst. It was an affectionate parting. Bill Saxby's
innocent blue eyes were suffused and his chubby face sorrowful at the
thought that they might not meet again. Trimble Rogers fished out his
battered little Bible and quoted a few verses, as appeared to be his
habit on all solemn occasions. Jack Cockrell knew him well enough by now
to find it not incongruous. Among this vanishing race of sea fighters
had been many a hero of the most fervent piety. Their spirit was akin to
that of Francis Drake who summoned his crew to prayers before he cleared
for action.

And in this wise did Master Jack Cockrell set out to bear a message from
comrades in dire distress. Moreover, in his hands were the lives of Joe
Hawkridge and those other marooned seamen, as he had every reason to
believe. It was a grave responsibility to be thrust upon a raw lad in
his teens who had been so carefully nurtured by his fretful guardian of
an uncle, Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes. Jack thought of this and said to
himself, with a smile:

"A few weeks gone, and I was locked in my room without any dinner for
loitering with Stede Bonnet's pirates at the Charles Town tavern. My
education has been swift since then."

He was expectant of meeting no end of peril and hardship and he fought
down a sense of dread that was not to his discredit. But it was so
decreed that he should pass secure and unmolested. At first he went too
fast, without husbanding his strength, and loped along like a hound
whenever the country was clear of brushwood. This wore him down and he
failed to watch carefully enough for his landmarks. Toward the end of
the day he became confused because he could not discern the sea even by
climbing a tree. But he tried to keep bearing to the northeast until the
sun went down. Afraid of losing himself entirely and ignorant of the lay
of the land by night, he made his bivouac in a grove of sycamore
saplings and im