repeak. The upright
beams between the keelson and the deck threw black shadows over them and
they were in no great peril of detection so long as they stayed
motionless.

Joe Hawkridge had heard gossip of this extraordinary amusement as a kind
of initiation for hands newly joining Blackbeard's ship. He therefore
read it that these unfortunates were some of Stede Bonnet's men who had
been captured with the brig. They had been allowed to enlist and were
being taught to respect their new master.

Jack Cockrell had hugely admired young Joe for his ready wit and
coolness in other crises of their mutual fortunes but now came a moment
in which the astute sea urchin surpassed himself. It was not too much to
say that he displayed absolute genius with the sturdy Master Cockrell to
aid and abet him. Joe clawed in the dark until he found the sack with a
few pounds of wheat flour in it. A quick whisper and his comrade grasped
the great idea. They took no thought of a sequel. They would trust to
opportunity. Hastily they rubbed the flour into their shirts and
breeches. They covered their faces with it and lavishly sprinkled their
hair. They looked at each other in the shadow of the beams and were
pleased with their handiwork.

Another whispered consultation and Joe possessed himself of the
cannon-ball of a cheese while Jack grasped the side of salt-fish by the
tail. They resembled two whitened clowns of a pantomime but in spirit
they were as grimly serious as the menace of death could make them.

Blackbeard was dancing clumsily, like a drunken bear, and deriding with
lewd oaths the two or three tortured survivors of his brimstone
carnival. In a high, wailing voice which rose to a shriek there was
borne to him the words:

"Ye dirked poor Jesse Strawn and left him rotting in the swamp. I was a
true and faithful seaman, Cap'n Teach."

A deeper voice boomed out, filling the hold with unearthly echoes:

"I am the shade of the master mariner whom ye did foully murder off
Matanzas and there is no rest for me ten fathom down."

The apparitions flitted out of the shadow and were vaguely disclosed in
the flickering glare from the brimstone pots. The smoke gave them a
wavering aspect as though their shapes were unsubstantial. Blackbeard
stood beholding them in a trance of horror. With an aimless finger he
traced the sign of the cross and his pallid lips moved in the murmur:

"_The ghost o' Jesse Strawn! For the love of God, forbear._"