It was a petition as pious as ever Christian uttered. Forgotten was his
wicked counterfeit of the nether region. Again the shrill voice wailed:

"Pity poor Jesse Strawn. I'll haunt ye by land and sea, Cap'n Teach.
Swear by the Book to let that treasure chest lie at the bottom of the
creek else I tear your sinful soul from your body."

The terrible Blackbeard was incapable of motion. Huskily he muttered:

"I'll ne'er seek the chest, good Jesse Strawn, an' it please you to pass
me by."

The two spectres moved forward as the one of the deeper voice declaimed:

"Doomed I was to find no rest till I overtook your ship, Ed'ard Teach.
Each night you'll see me walk the plank from your quarter-deck."

The unhappy Blackbeard gibbered something and would have fled as the
spirits approached him. But those bandy legs tottered and before he
could turn the awful visitants were upon him. One raised a round shot
above his head, or so it appeared to be, and smote him full upon the
crown. The other whirled a flat bludgeon and hit him on the jaw. With
the smell of brimstone was mingled the pungent flavor of ripe cheese and
salt-fish. Blackbeard measured his length, and the ghost of Jesse Strawn
delayed an instant to dump a pot of sizzling combustibles over him.

Then the spirits twain made for the cabin at top speed. Several of the
crew had rushed down to harken to the strange disturbance. They
scattered wildly at the first glimpse of these phantoms, being
superstitious sailormen with many a wicked deed to answer for. It
flashed into Joe Hawkridge's mind that all the men of the watch might be
chased below, the hatches clapped on them, and the mastery of the brig
secured. Blackbeard was absent for reasons best known to himself and his
pirates lacked leadership. A brace of ghosts could put them to panic
rout. And, no doubt, that wailing message of dead Jesse Strawn had
carried like the cry of a banshee.

The poop was deserted in the twinkling of an eye, even to the pair of
helmsmen and the officer of the watch. Against the sky of night the
unwelcome phantoms were wan and luminous while the groans which issued
from them were enough to curdle the blood of the brawniest pirate. He
who had been Jack Cockrell in mortal guise was quick to slide the cabin
hatch closed and fasten it. For the moment they had captured the armed
brig _Royal James_ and as ferocious a crew of rascals as ever scuttled a
merchantman.

Joe Hawkridge glided to the