Rackham by name, who had deserted from the Royal Navy, after being
flogged and keel-hauled for some trifling offense. Rumor had it that he
was able to enforce respect from Blackbeard and would stand none of his
infernal nonsense.

"In this autumn season we may catch a storm from the West Indies, Mr.
Rackham," said Captain Wellsby. "The sea has a greasy look and this
heavy ground swell is a portent."

"The feel of it is in the air, shipmaster. There fell an evil calm like
this come two year ago when I was wrecked in a ship-of-the-line within
sight of Havana. Four hundred men sank with her."

"If my sailors were not penned in the fo'castle----" suggested the
merchant skipper.

"None o' that," was the stern retort. "This ship is a prize to
Blackbeard and so she stays, and you will sink or swim with her."

The morning wore on and the two days of grace had passed for those
doleful hostages in the _Plymouth Adventure_. They beheld the black flag
hoisted to the rigging of the _Revenge_ as a signal of tragic import,
but the bandy-legged monster with the festooned whiskers was not to
disport himself with this wanton butchery. The sky had closed darkly
around the becalmed ships, in sodden clouds which were suddenly obscured
by mist and rain while the wind sighed in fitful gusts. It steadied into
the southward and swiftly increased in force until the sea was whipped
into foam and scud.

Staunch and well-found, the _Plymouth Adventure_ went reeling off across
the spray-swept leagues of water, showing only her reefed topsails and
courses. The two pirate sloops vanished beyond the curtain of mist. When
last seen, one of them was dismasted and the other was laboring in grave
peril. The _Revenge_ loomed as a spectral shape while Blackbeard was
endeavoring to get her running free in pursuit of the _Plymouth
Adventure_. But slovenly, reckless seamanship had caught him unready.
His sails were blowing to ribbons, ropes flying at loose ends, and it
was with great difficulty that the vessel could be made to mind her
tiller.

Already the sea was rising in crested combers which broke with the noise
of thunder and the fury of the wind was insensate. Slowly the struggling
_Revenge_ dropped astern, yawing wildly, rolling her bulwarks under,
splintered spars dangling from the caps. She was a crippled ship which
would be lucky to see port again. It was to be inferred that Blackbeard
had ceased to cut his mirthful capers on the poop and tha