us to engage an enemy of heavier metal. If, however, this
should happen to be Blackbeard in the _Revenge_ they were in no mood to
avoid him, despite the odds. After an hour of sailing in a strong
breeze, it was seen that this other vessel was a small merchantman which
shifted her course as though to shake off pursuit.

"They take us for a pirate," chuckled Captain Wellsby. "I have no wish
to scare 'em, poor souls. They will feel easy as soon as we bring the
wind abeam."

He was about to give the order when Joe Hawkridge, gunner's mate, called
to Jack Cockrell standing his watch at the helm:

"Remember the snow I told ye of? Yonder is the same rig and tonnage,
alike it as peas in a pod."

Jack spoke to the shipmaster who summoned Joe to the quarter-deck. The
boy was confident that this was the New England coasting vessel in which
Ned Rackham and his pirates had appeared off Cherokee Inlet and had
carried the marooned seamen from the sandy cay.

"A brown patch in the big main-topsail, and the bowsprit steeved more'n
ordinary," said Joe. "Tit for tat, Cap'n Wellsby. Your men can have the
fun of jamming them in the fo'castle. And you won't find me or Jack
helpin' these picaroons to break out."

"No fear of that," sternly spoke the shipmaster. "They shall make their
exit with a taut rope and a long drop when I deliver them in Virginia."

It was to be gathered that the bold Ned Rackham had failed in his
desperate enterprise of capturing a larger ship and that he was probably
cruising up the coast in hopes of rejoining Blackbeard. The snow had too
few guns to cope with the _King George_ brigantine which could throw a
battering broadside. As soon as identification was certain, Captain
Wellsby hauled to windward to hold the weather gauge and Colonel Stuart
called the men to quarters. The _Plymouth Adventure_ hands were
disappointed that they would be unable to pay their own grudge. They had
no doubt that Ned Rackham would strike his colors without a battle.

The _King George_ ran close enough for Captain Wellsby to shout through
the trumpet:

"The snow ahoy! Send your men aboard or I'll sink you. No tricks,
Rackham. Lively, now."

They saw the men running to cut the boat lashings and struggle to
launch the boats from the deck. Ned Rackham, handsome and debonair,
stared coolly at the brigantine but gave no sign that he had heard the
ultimatum. With a shrug he walked across the poop, glanced up at the
British ensign wh