is.

"Farewell, ye hairy son of Tophet," said Joe Hawkridge, waving his hand
at the disappearing vessel. "And here's hoping I set your whiskers
ablaze when I turned the pot over 'em."

"Did you hear him swear not to touch the treasure chest, Joe? That was a
master stroke of yours."

"Aye, it was bright of me. But he thinks different now. He knows we made
a booby of him."

"But we learned one thing,--he hasn't recovered the treasure yet,"
suggested Jack.

"He is such a powerful liar that I don't know as the ghost o' Jesse
Strawn could budge the truth out of him. However, it was comfortin' to
hear him swear it on his marrow-bones. I fetched away the navigation
chart, the one I poached from the cabin table. It gives us the lay o'
the coast."

"What ho and whither bound?" was Jack's question. "Here is a sail wound
round a sprit beneath the thwarts."

"The wrong wind to head for Cap'n Bonnet and the _Revenge_. This
swag-bellied jolly-boat handles like a firkin. We had best wait for day
and then decide the voyage."

"Nothing to eat and no water, Joe. All I can find is an empty pannikin."

"You're a glutton," severely exclaimed young Hawkridge. "After the
banquet I served in the hold!"

What Master Cockrell said in reply sounds as familiar and as wistful
to-day as when he spoke it two hundred years ago.

"I have had enough of wandering and strange adventures, Joe. I want to
go home."

CHAPTER XV

MR. PETER FORBES MOURNS HIS NEPHEW

IT seems a long time, in the course of this story, since the honorable
Secretary of the Council, Mr. Peter Arbuthnot Forbes, was forced to sail
in to Charles Town from the _Plymouth Adventure_ on that most
humiliating errand of finding medicines for Blackbeard's fever-smitten
rogues. For the sake of his own dear nephew and the other hostages
detained on board, he had endeavored to perform his bargain and was
returning across the bar when the threatening clouds and other portents
of a violent storm caused the seamen to lose heart. They put about and
drove back into the harbor for shelter in the very nick of time.

These were pirates from Blackbeard's crew, it may be recalled, with his
grizzled, scarred boatswain at the tiller. They had felt safe enough to
swagger and ruffle it through the streets of Charles Town and to terrify
the people. Their worthless lives were protected by the hostages who
waited in fear and trembling. The town seethed with indignation and was
hot wi