t he would have
given bushels of doubloons to regain his sailing-master and men.

In the _Plymouth Adventure_ things were in far better plight, even with
the feeble, short-handed prize crew. Prudently snugged down in ample
time, with extra hands at the steering tackles, they let her drive. She
would perhaps wear clear of the coast and there was hope of survival
unless the tempest should fairly wrench her strong timbers asunder.

Lashed to the weather rigging, Captain Jonathan Wellsby wiped the brine
from his eyes and waved his arm at the helmsman, now to ease her a
little, again to haul up and thus thwart some ravening sea which
threatened to stamp his ship under. Sailing-Master Ned Rackham was
content to let the skipper con his own vessel in this great emergency.

The mind of Captain Wellsby was very active and he pondered on something
else than winning through the storm. He had been helpless while under
the guns of the _Revenge_, with the two sloops in easy call. Now the
situation was vastly different. He had been delivered out of
Blackbeard's clutches. And in the forecastle were thirty British seamen
with hearts of oak, raging to be loosed with weapons in their hands.
Peering into the gray smother of sea and sky, Captain Jonathan Wellsby
licked his lips hungrily as he said to himself:

"Not now, but if the storm abates and we float through the night, these
lousy picaroons shall dance to another tune."

CHAPTER IV

THE CAPTIVE SEAMEN IN THE FORECASTLE

JACK COCKRELL was seasick. This was enough to spoil any adventure.
Curled up under a boat, the spray pelted him and the wild motion of the
ship sloshed him back and forth. He took no interest even in piracy. Joe
Hawkridge, tough as whip-cord and seasoned to all kinds of weather, came
clawing his way aft while the water streamed from his thin shirt and
ragged breeches. The pirates of the prize crew had sought shelter
wherever they could find it. The waist of the ship was flooded with
breaking seas. A few of the larboard watch were huddled forward, close
to the lofty forecastle where they were stationed as sentries over the
imprisoned sailors of the _Plymouth Adventure_.

The commotion of the wind shrieking in the rigging and the horrid crash
of the toppling combers were enough to convince a landlubber that the
vessel was doomed to founder. But Joe Hawkridge clapped young Jack an
affectionate clout on the ear and bawled at him:

"For his work h