"Both your guesses are right! One is the pirate younker that served our cause in the Plymouth Adventure and t'other is Master Jack Cockrell!"
One of the Charles Town volunteers heard only the word pirate and growled, with an oath:
"One o' Blackbeard's spawn? We'll make precious short work of him. Hand me a musket and I will save trouble for the hangman."
"Here, stop that," said Captain Wellsby, beckoning his own men. "You old Adventure hands know better. Quell these lubbers. If there's to be hostile feeling ashore I shall take this lad aboard under my own protection."
During this argument the sea-worn pilgrims in the jolly-boat had recognized the shipmaster and were joyfully yelling at him. In response to his gesture, they pulled down the sail and rowed to the gangway of the brigantine. There was no need to fear the wrath of the Charles Town seamen, because the Adventure hands stood by as a guard while they explained how this young Joe Hawkridge had valiantly helped to turn the tide of battle against the prize crew of pirates. And there was such a rousing welcome for Master Cockrell that all else was forgotten. His old shipmates fairly mobbed him.
"I will fire a gun and hoist all the bunting to signal the town," cried the skipper, his face shining. "And presently I'll send you to the wharf in my own boat, but first tell me, boys, who took you off the little raft and whence come you in this ship's boat?"
"Blackbeard rescued us. And we borrowed the boat from him," demurely answered Jack, watching the effect of this bombshell of a sensation.
"Blackbeard!" echoed the bedazed shipmaster and the others chimed it like a chorus.
"Aye, old Buckets o' Blood hisself," grinned Joe Hawkridge. "We had him tamed proper when we parted company. First we chased him through a swamp till his tongue hung out and left him mired to the whiskers. Then for another lark we scared him in his own ship so he begged us on his knees to forbear. We learned Cap'n Ed'ard Teach his manners, eh, Jack?"
This was too much for the audience which stood agape. A dozen voices at once implored enlightenment. With a lordly air for a youth whose costume was mostly one leg of his breeches, Master Cockrell reproved them to wit: