CHAPTER XIII
OUR HEROES SEEK SECLUSION
AN hour before dawn the anchor was aweigh and the Royal James drifted ahead like a shadow, in between the outer islands where the fairway was wide and safe. Her gun-ports were open and every man was alertly at his station. It was a silent ship excepting when an officer passed an order along. Joe Hawkridge began to feel more sanguine of winning against odds. He had never seen such iron discipline as this in the bedlam aboard the Revenge. Stede Bonnet knew how to slacken the reins and when to apply the curb. His men were loyal because he dealt out justice as well as severity.
"The captain says we must go below when the action commences, Joe," dismally observed Jack Cockrell.
"It goes against the grain but we will not dispute him," was the sage reply. "We needn't be idle. You can lend a hand with the powder or pass the water buckets to douse the fire if she gets ablaze. And there's the wounded to carry into the cockpit and the blood to mop up, and——"
"Enough o' that," cried Jack, getting pale about the gills. "You take it like a butcher!"
"What else is it, you big moon-calf? Set me safe ashore in that Charles Town of yours, and I hope ne'er to see another weapon barring a spoon and a knife to cut my vittles."
"There is sense in that," agreed young Master Cockrell.