an this treasure chest. And it is my notion that the need of
fitting the _Revenge_ for action is too urgent to spare a crew to
attempt this errand."

"We shall have it yet," cried Trimble, much consoled. "And Stede
Bonnet'll blithely furnish the men and gear. For a mere babe, Master
Cockrell, ye leak wisdom like a colander. Our duty is to tarry no longer
at this mad business."

"The first sound word I've heard out of the old barnacle, eh, Jack?"
said Bill Saxby. "We must be out of this swamp by night and layin' a
course for Cap'n Bonnet and the _Royal James_."

"Whilst you empty Blackbeard's boat of water so we can tow it, let me
make a rude chart," was Jack's happy idea. "Some mishap or other may
overtake us ere we get the chance to seek the treasure again. And our
own memory of this pest-hole of a swamp may trick us."

Bill Saxby's tattered diary supplied a scrap of paper and Jack dug
charred splinters from the inside of the canoe which enabled him to draw
a charcoal sketch or map. It traced the smaller stream from the fork
where it had branched off, the stretch in which it widened like a tiny
lagoon or bayou, and the point of shore just beyond which the pirogue
had unexpectedly rammed Blackbeard's boat. A cross designated the spot
where the treasure chest had sunk in eight feet of water.

The knoll and the grave of Seaman Jesse Strawn were also indicated, with
the distance estimated in paces and the bearings set down by the
position of the sun.

"There," said Jack, well pleased with his handiwork, "and once we are
aboard ship, I can make fair copies on parchment, one for each of us."

"Thankee, lad," gratefully exclaimed Trimble Rogers who now had
something to live for. "'Twas a fond dream o' mine, when I sailed wi'
the great Cap'n Edward Davis in the South Sea, some day to blink at a
chart what showed where the gold was hid."

They were, indeed, recovered from the intoxication of treasure and
recalled to realizing the obligation that was upon them. They had
swerved from it but now they pressed forward to finish the appointed
journey. The canoe moved down to the fork of the waters with the light
cock-boat skittering in its wake and perhaps the unhappy Blackbeard,
stranded in the swamp, hurled after them a volley of those curses for
which he was renowned. Once Jack Cockrell laughed aloud, explaining to
his laboring comrades:

"Captain Teach will be combing the burrs from his grand beard when he
boards his s