The Story of Jack Ballister's Fortunes

Jack wrenched open the bundle, and with hands and teeth tore the shawl into strips. Dred had stripped off his shirt. Jack looked at him. He saw it, and he thrilled dreadfully and turned his eyes away. “Come, come, lad,” said Dred, “this be no time for any such-like foolishness. Well, give me that strip, I’ll do it for myself.”

The young lady still sat crouched down in the bow. It was all perfectly silent as Jack busied himself about Dred. “Are you more comfortable?” he said, at last.

“Yes,” said Dred. “M-m-m-m,” he groaned. “Let me lie down.” Jack had helped him on with his coat again, and had buttoned it under his chin. He had rolled up the shirt and thrown it overboard. “’Tis all right now, mistress,” he said; “you can come back here again now.”

He supported Dred as the wounded man lay down upon the stern thwart, then he covered him over with the overcoats. He did not leave him to help the young lady as she came aft to sit down upon the bench opposite to where Dred lay. Suddenly she burst out crying.

Dred lay with his eyes closed. His face was white and his forehead covered with a dew of sweat. He opened his eyes for a moment and looked at her, but said nothing, and closed them again. Jack, his breast heaving and panting, sat at the tiller. As he did so he saw that there were stains of blood upon it and upon the seat. Then he drew in the sheets, and the yawl once more came up to its course.

The pirates must have landed from the sloop, for they had come out across the land and down to the beach. They fired a few muskets-shots after the boat, but the bullets fell short, and Jack held the yawl steadily to her course, and soon they were dropping the hills of the inlet far and farther away behind.

After a while Dred began every now and then to sigh recurrently, and it was very dreadful to listen to him. All about them was the bright sunlight and the swift salt wind driving the boat onward with its tragic freight under the warm, mellow sky, so serenely calm and so remotely peaceful. Jack, sitting there, heard, as from a distance, the young lady’s convulsive sobbing. Suddenly Dred spoke hoarsely. “I want another drink of water,” he said.

“Will you get the water for him, mistress?” said Jack. Then he knew that he too was crying, and he wiped his eyes with the skirt of his jacket.

She instantly arose and went forward to the barraca in the bows, presently coming back with a brimming cup of water. Dred raised himself upon his elbow and drank it off, and again they sailed onward for a long time of silence.

Suddenly Dred spoke in a low, uncertain voice. “You’ve got to run ashore, lad,” he said. “I can’t stand this any more; I’ve got to get ashore.”

“Do you think I can get the boat through the breakers?” Jack said, chokingly.

“Ye’ll have to,” said Dred, groaning as he spoke, “for I can’t bear it here.” Then Jack drew in the sheets and brought the boat up with its bow diagonally toward the distant beach. The sand-hills of the inlet were lost in the distance, and all danger of pursuit was over. As the yawl drew nearer to the beach, Jack could see that very little surf was running. “You’ll have to bring her around with her bows to the sea,” whispered Dred, opening his eyes; “and then take to the oars – and let the surf drive her in to the beach. Try to keep her off – lad – keep her bows steady.” He panted as he spoke.

Jack left the tiller and shipped the oars. They were now close to the beach, and the ground-swell was sharpening to the breakers that burst into foam a little further in. He brought the bows of the boat around to the sea, and then backed water toward the shore. “Keep her off,” panted Dred, “she’ll go in fast – fast enough of herself.”

Presently they were among the breakers; they were not very heavy, but enough to make it needful to be careful. Suddenly, a coming breaker shot the yawl toward the beach. As the water ebbed, the boat tilted upon the sand. Jack dropped his oars and leaped out. The sweep of the next wave struck against the yawl and tilted it violently the other way. The barraca and the oars slid rattling. Dred groaned, and the young lady grasped convulsively at the rail. “Pull her up!” exclaimed Dred.

“I will,” said Jack, “but I can hardly manage her.” He held to the bows, and when the next wave came he pulled the boat around up upon the beach. The wash of the breaker ebbed, the sand sliding from under his heels. Then came another wave, and with its wash he dragged the yawl still further up the beach. Then he ran up with the bow-line and drove the anchor into the sand. He came back, his shoes and stockings and loose breeches soaked with the salt water. “You get out, mistress,” he said, “then I’ll help Dred.” She obeyed him silently, going a little distance up from the edge of the shore and there sitting crouched down upon the sand. “Now, Dred,” said Jack. Dred groaned as he arose slowly and laboriously. “Easy, easy, lad,” he whispered, as Jack slipped his arm around him. Then he laid his arm over Jack’s shoulder and heavily and painfully clambered out of the boat. He sat for a while upon the rail, the wash of a breaker sweeping up around his feet and ankles. “What a lucky thing ‘twas,” he said, looking down at the thin slide of water, “that we had high tide to carry us through the inlet, else we’d ‘a’ been lost.” Then Jack burst out crying. There seemed something very pitiful in Dred’s thinking about that now. After a while Dred steadied himself and then arose slowly, leaning heavily upon Jack, who supported him as he walked up to the little bank of sand that fronted upon the beach. Here the wounded man made an effort as though to sit down.

“Can’t you go a little further?” said Jack.

“Not much,” he whispered.

“O Dred!” said Jack, “I’m afraid you’re worse, I’m afraid you’re worse – ” Dred did not reply. His hand touched Jack’s cheek, and it felt cold and limp.

“What can I do?” said the young lady, rousing herself.

“You may fetch up the two overcoats from the boat,” Jack said, “and be quick about it.”

He had seated Dred upon the sand, where he instantly sank down and lay at length. Jack supported his head until the young lady came with the two rough overcoats. He rolled one of them up into a pillow which he slid beneath Dred’s head, and then he went down to the boat and brought up the oars, and with them and the other overcoat, he and the young lady arranged a shelter over the wounded man’s face.

“Bring me a drink of rum, lad; I feel sort of faint-like,” Dred whispered, and Jack again ran off down to the boat, presently returning with the bottle. He poured out some of the liquor into the cup, and Dred drank it off. It seemed to revive him. “Come here, lad, there’s summat – summat I want to say to ye.” Jack came close to him, and the young lady also approached. “I want to speak to – Jack hisself, mistress, – if you’ll leave us alone a bit,” said Dred; and then she turned and walked away.

Jack watched her as she sat down upon the sand some distance away, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. The sun stood midway in the heavens and it was very warm, and he stripped off his coat as he sat down alongside of Dred. Dred reached out his hand. Jack hesitated for a moment, then, seeing what he wanted, took it. Dred pressed Jack’s hand strongly. “I believe I’ve got my – dose, this time – lad,” he whispered.

“Don’t say that, Dred,” said Jack; “I – ” and then he broke down, his body shaking convulsively.

“I don’t know,” said Dred, “but I kind o’ think I – won’t get over this. But if I should die, I want to ax you, lad – don’t you never tell the young mistress ‘twas I – shot her brother.”

“No, I won’t,” gasped Jack. “I won’t tell her, Dred,” and again Dred pressed the hand he held.

He waited for a long, long while, – his breath every now and then catching convulsively, – thinking Dred might have something more to say; but the wounded man did not speak again, but lay there holding his hand. “Is that all, Dred?” he said at last. “Have you nothing more on your mind to say?”

Dred did not answer for a while. Then, as though collecting himself, “No – that’s all,” he said; and then again, presently, “I’ve been a bad man, I have. Well, I – can’t help that now – now – now,” and then he lapsed away into silence. He loosened his hold upon Jack’s hand and let his own fall limp.

Then Jack realized with a shock, how very much worse Dred was than he had been. He had been growing ever weaker and weaker, but Jack only fully realized it now. He sat watching; Dred seemed to be drowsing. “I want another drink of rum,” he whispered presently. “Another drink o’ rum – another drink o’ rum – drink o’ rum – drink o’ rum,” and he fell to repeating the words with lips that whispered more and more.

Jack arose instantly. The bottle and cup were at a little distance. The cup had sand in it, and he wiped it out. The young lady, who was sitting a little piece away, arose as she saw him coming. “Is he any better now?” she asked.

Jack could not answer; he shook his head. He knew that Dred was going to die. He was so blinded that he could hardly see to pour out the liquor. But he did so and then brought it to Dred. “Here ’tis, Dred,” he said, but there was no reply. “Here ’tis, Dred,” he said again, but still there was no answer.

Jack thrilled dreadfully. He bent down and set the cup to the wounded man’s lips, but Dred was unconscious of everything. Then he stood up and tossed out the liquor upon the sand. “Mistress!” he called out in a keen, startled voice – “mistress, come here quick! I do believe he’s passing.”

She came over and stood looking down at Dred. She was crying violently. Jack sat squatting beside him. He reached out and felt Dred’s hand, but it was very cold and inert. The young lady crouched down upon the other side, and so they sat for a long, long time. But there did not seem to be any change. The afternoon slowly waned toward sundown, and still they sat there. “You’d better go and rest a bit,” said Jack, at last, to the young lady. “You’re worn out with it all. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

She shook her head; she would not go.

The sun sank lower and lower and at last set, but still there was no change. The young lady moved restlessly now and then. “You’d better get up and walk a bit,” said Jack, as the gray of twilight began to settle upon them. “You’re cramped, sitting there so long.” Then she got up and walked up and down at a little distance. Jack sat still. By and by he leaned over Dred. Dred had ceased breathing. A sharp pang shot through him. Was it over? Then suddenly Dred began again his convulsive breathing, and Jack drew back once more. The young lady still walked up and down, and the twilight settled more and more dim and obscure. There was a slight movement, and again Jack leaned over and touched Dred. He began breathing again, and again Jack sat down. Then there came a longer pause than usual in the breathing. It is over, thought Jack. But no; he breathed again, now fainter and shorter. He ceased. He breathed. He ceased. There was a long, long pause, then there was a rustling movement, and then silence. Was it over? Jack sat waiting, tremblingly and breathlessly, but there was no further sound. Then he reached over in the darkness and touched Dred’s face. He drew back his hand quickly and sat for a moment stunned and inert. He knew in an instant what it was. He arose.

The stars had begun to twinkle in the dim sky, but sky and sea and earth were blurred and lost to his flooded eyes. He walked over toward the young lady. She stopped as he approached. “How is he?” she said.

“He – he’s dead,” said Jack; and then he put up his arm across his face and began crying.

CHAPTER XLI

THE BOAT ADRIFT

NEARLY two months had passed in Virginia since Eleanor Parker had been abducted, and nothing yet had been definitely heard concerning her. There were many vague rumors from Ocracock, and it was known that Blackbeard the pirate had been for some time past up into Virginia waters. He had been seen at Norfolk two or three times, and it was known that he had been up into the James River. It was almost more than suspected that he had been concerned in the outrage, but there was as yet nothing definite to confirm such a suspicion.

Colonel Parker was still too ill to quit his room, though he had so far improved that he had begun to think of taking some steps for the recovery of his daughter.

One day Governor Spottiswood went up to Marlborough to see him. He was almost shocked to find the great man so weak and broken. “The villains!” said the sick man, in a weak and querulous voice, so different from his usual stately tones, “‘twas those men murdered my Ned, and now they have taken all that was left me.”

There was something very pathetic in the helplessness of the proud, great man, and in that weakened, tremulous voice. The governor did not reply, but he pressed the hand he held.

Mr. Richard Parker stood by his brother’s chair during his Excellency’s visit. The governor looked at him and wondered how he could be so calm and unmoved. He had never liked Mr. Richard Parker.

“My brother Richard,” said the invalid, putting his weak hand to his forehead, “my brother Richard seems to think it would be better to wait until we have some word from the villains who kidnapped Nelly.” He turned his eyes towards his brother as he spoke. “But I can’t wait; I must do something to find her, and I can’t wait. Just as soon as I am well enough I am going to take steps to find her. They say that villain Teach hath been seen up in the James River. Maybe ‘twas he took her away, and I am going to fit out a boat, – or two boats, if need be, – and go down to North Carolina and try to find her.”

Colonel Parker’s plan appeared singularly weak and inconsequential to the Governor, but he chose to comfort his friend by encouraging any plan that might bring hope to him.

“The Pearl and the Lyme are lying at Jamestown now,” he said. “I was talking t’other day about your dreadful misfortune to some of the officers who had come over to the palace. Lieutenant Maynard was there, and I am sure, from what he said, if you will fit out two such boats and will raise volunteers for such an expedition, he will take command of it. He is a brave and experienced officer, and hath had to do with the pirates before at Madagascar. He would make the best commander you could have, especially if it came to fighting with the villains.”

“To my mind,” said Mr. Richard Parker, cutting into the talk, “‘twould be a mistake to push against the villains. To my mind, ‘twould be better to rest for a while until we hear from them. I sha’n’t need to tell you that they can have no reason for kidnapping Nelly except for the ransom they can get for her. If that is so – and I’m sure it is so – ’twill be to their interest to treat her well, and to look after her with all tenderness, and to let us know about her as soon as possible; but if we should use violence toward them there is no telling what they might do out of revenge. Maybe, if we press them too closely, they may carry her elsewhither from place to place, or, if they find themselves driven into a corner, they may even make away with her for their own safety or out of revenge.” Colonel Parker shuddered at the words, but Mr. Richard Parker continued calmly, as before, “I should advise to wait a little while longer. We have waited so long as this, and it can do no harm to wait a while longer with patience.”

At this Colonel Parker cried out in his sick, tremulous voice, “Patience! patience! ’Tis easy enough for you to talk of patience, brother Richard, but how can I be patient who have all I hold most precious in the world taken away from me? O Nelly, Nelly!” he cried, covering his eyes with his trembling hands, “I would give all I have in the world to have thee safe back again! I would! I would!”

The Governor could not bear to look at the sick man in his grief. He turned away his face and gazed out of the window. Mr. Richard Parker said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders.

Before the Governor went, he took Mr. Richard Parker aside and said to him, “Sir, there may be truth in what you said just now about the inadvisability of driving too hard against the villains, but surely you must see that ‘twill be infinitely better for your poor brother to have something to think of – to arouse himself. He sitteth here eating his heart out, and any plan of action is better for him than none. Were I in your place, I would encourage him in thinking of such things rather than discourage him from such hopes.” But Mr. Richard Parker only shrugged his shoulders as before, without vouchsafing any reply.

Governor Spottiswood had not thought that Colonel Parker’s rambling plans would result in anything, but within two weeks two boats were really fitted out – the schooner that belonged to Marlborough, and a larger sloop that was purchased for the purpose. It took a week or more to victual the boats and arm and man them, and by that time Colonel Parker was able to be up and about. He would listen to no advice, but insisted that he himself should have chief command of the expedition. Mr. Richard Parker advised him vehemently not to go, and Madam Parker besought him with tears to remain at home, while the doctor assured him that it was at the danger of his life that he went. “Sir,” said the great man to the doctor, “I have been a soldier; shall I, then, stay at home when my own daughter is in danger, and let others do the fighting for me? You shall go along, if you please, to look after my poor body, but go I shall, if God gives me life to go,” and so he did, in spite of all that his family could say against it.

At Norfolk he had another though slight attack of his malady, and by order of the doctor, who had sailed with the expedition, he rested for over a week at the home of a friend at that place.

It was while he was lying at Mr. Chorley’s house that he received the first fragment of news concerning the young lady that was at all definite.

A coasting vessel from South Carolina ran into Norfolk on Saturday night, coming direct from Ocracock, where she had put in during a storm a few days before. The captain of the coaster said that while they were lying at the inlet he had heard a good deal of talk about a strange lady whom it was said Blackbeard had brought down from Virginia to North Carolina a month or so before, and whom he had taken somewhere up into the sounds. It was a general report that she was extremely beautiful, and a lady of quality, and that she had been brought to North Carolina against her will.

It was on Sunday morning that somebody told Lieutenant Maynard about the coasting captain and his news, and he lost no time in coming to speech with the man. He took him directly to Mr. Chorley’s house, where Colonel Parker was still staying. Mr. Chorley and Mr. Chancellor Page and Dr. Young were all present when Captain Niles told his story to Colonel Parker. “It must be Nelly!” cried out the poor bereaved father. “It can be no one else than she!”

“I would not build too much upon such a rumor,” said Mr. Chorley. “Nevertheless, it does seem as though, at last, you have really news of her. And now the question is, how do you propose to act? ‘Twill never do to be too hasty in such a delicate matter.”

But Colonel Parker was so eager to set sail at once in quest of his daughter that he would listen to nothing that his friends advised to the contrary. Mr. Chorley urged again and again that the utmost caution should be used lest the pirates should carry the young lady still further away from rescue, or maybe take some violent action to protect themselves. He suggested that Governor Eden be written to and requested to take the matter in hand. “Write to Governor Eden!” Colonel Parker cried out; “why should I write to Eden? Why suffer so much delay? Have I not boats fitted out and sufficiently armed and manned with brave fellows to face all the pirates of North Carolina if need be? Nay; I will go down thither and inquire into this report myself without losing time, and without asking Governor Eden to do it for me.”

This, as was said, was on Sunday morning, and Colonel Parker determined that the expedition should set sail for North Carolina early upon the morning of the following day.

It was on this same day that the news was first brought to Virginia of the loss of the French bark. One of Colonel Parker’s two boats – the sloop, which was at that time under command of an ex-man-of-war boatswain, known at Norfolk as “Captain” Blume – one of Colonel Parker’s two boats had been beating up and down the mouth of the bay for several days past, hailing incoming or outgoing vessels in the hope of obtaining some news concerning the young lady. It was about ten o’clock that Sunday morning, when the lookout in the foretop of the schooner sighted an open boat under a scrap of sail, beating up into the bay against the wind. By and by they could make out with the glass that there were men in the boat waving their hats and something white, apparently a shirt or a shift, at the end of an oar. When the sloop ran down to the boat they found it loaded with twenty men and two women; one of the women very weak and exhausted from exposure, all of them haggard and famished.

The boat was one of those belonging to the French bark that the pirates had taken, and it had been adrift, now, for eleven days, having been parted from the others at sea during a time of heavy and foggy weather.

One of the women and three of the men were French; all the others were English – the remnant of the crew of the English bark that the Frenchman had rescued from the water-logged and nearly sinking vessel.

The man in command of the boat had been the mate of the English bark, and the story he told when he came aboard the sloop was one of continued mishaps and misfortunes that had followed them ever since they had quitted Plymouth in England for Charleston in South Carolina. Two days out from England, he said, the smallpox had broken out aboard, and the captain had died of a confluent case. Then, while the crew was still short-handed with the sickness, a storm had struck them and driven them far out of their course to the southward. Then the vessel had sprung a leak and was actually sinking under them when the French bark had picked them up. Then the Frenchman had been attacked and captured by the pirates, and all hands had been set adrift in the open boats with only three days’ provisions. That, as was said, had been eleven days before, and since that they had been trying in vain to make the Chesapeake capes, having been again and again driven out of their course by the heavy weather.

It is strange how much misfortune will sometimes follow an ill-fated vessel, one mishap succeeding another without any apparent cause or sequence. The mate said with a sort of rueful humor that he would not trust even yet that his troubles were over, nor until he felt his feet on dry land at Norfolk. He said that the Englishwomen and six of the Englishmen were redemption servants who had been shipped from Plymouth for Charleston.

After having heard the castaways’ story, Captain Blume thought it best to put back to Norfolk with the rescued crew. He reached that town late at night and reported immediately to Lieutenant Maynard, who was aboard of the schooner at the time, making ready for the departure on the morrow. The lieutenant, together with Captain Blume and the shipwrecked mate, went ashore and to Mr. Chorley’s house, where Colonel Parker still lay.

It was then nearly midnight, and as it was too late to find the magistrate, Colonel Parker gave orders that the rescued boat’s crew should be transferred to the schooner – it being the larger vessel of the two – and so held until the morning. They could then be turned over to the proper authorities for an examination under oath, and the bond-servants deposited in some place of safekeeping until they could be duly redeemed.

Lieutenant Maynard himself went aboard the sloop with Captain Blume to see that the transfer of the shipwrecked crew was properly made. As he stood by the rail while the men were being mustered a man came across the deck and directly up to him. He was one of the castaways, and when he came near enough for the light of the lantern to fall upon him, the lieutenant could see that he was a little man with a lean, dark face, and that he had a stringy, black beard covering his cheeks. His face was peppered over with the still purple pits of recent smallpox, and he was clad in a nondescript costume made up of a medley of borrowed raiment. Mr. Maynard looked the little man over as he approached. “Well, my man,” he said, “and what can I do for you?”