rates and
bade them go off to the snow. First, however, he extracted from every
man the solemn promise that he would not divulge the secret of Joe
Hawkridge's presence nor reveal the fact that he had remained behind.
They were eager to promise anything. Several of them stole over to tell
him furtive farewells. They displayed no great emotion. The trade they
followed was not apt to make them turn soft over such a tragic episode
as this.

When the snow was ready to take her departure, with almost forty
seasoned pirates to seek their fortunes anew, the wind died to a calm
and the little vessel drifted within easy vision of the sandy island
through a long afternoon. Peter Tobey tormented himself to find some
pretext for smuggling food and water ashore. He invented a tale of a
precious gold snuff-box which must have fallen out of his pocket and
begged permission to go and search for it. But Ned Rackham sent up word
that he had no notion of being delayed by a fool's errand, should a
breeze spring up. He was not at all anxious to linger so close to
Cherokee Inlet whence Blackbeard might sight the spars of the snow and
perhaps weigh anchor in the _Revenge_.

Soon after dark the sails filled with a soft wind which drew the snow
clear of the coast. Peter Tobey had been mightily busy with an empty
cask. In it he stowed meat and biscuit and a bag of onions, stealthily
abstracted from the storeroom while his own companions stood guard
against surprise. This stuff was packed around two jugs of water tightly
stoppered. Then Peter headed up the cask with professional skill and
watched the opportunity to lower it from the vessel's bow where he was
unseen.

The wind and tide were favorable to carrying the cask in the direction
of the little patch of sea-washed sand upon which was marooned the
solitary young mariner, Joe Hawkridge. The carpenter's mate saw the cask
drift past the side of the snow and roll in the silvery wake. Slowly it
vanished in the darkness and he said to himself, in a prayer devoutly
earnest:

"That boy deserves a slant o' luck, and may the good God let him have it
this once. Send the cask to the beach, and I vow to go a-piratin' never
again."

CHAPTER XI

JACK JOURNEYS AFOOT

IT is often said that a thing is not lost if you know where it is. This
was Jack Cockrell's opinion concerning that weighty sea-chest which had
splashed to the bottom of the sluggish stream in the heart of the
Cherokee swamp.