They were. Very soon a shot whistled over the nightcap of Mr. Marks, who had thrust his head from his cabin with that sense of something amiss peculiar to shipboard. “Heave back the tops’ls,” growled the master. The sails flatted down, and the ship came to. She was quickly circled by Blackbeard’s fleet. The skull grinned amiably at them as the black flag stood out tautly in the wind. Somebody shouted something from the pirate ships; and the merchant captain ordered the boat lowered, and with two of the crew to row him set off for the marauding flagship. “I’ve been pirated in these waters twenty times,” grumbled the captain, steering with an oar, “so I know what they want.” The pirates wanted everything. They put a prize crew over on the captured brig. Mr. Marks was paged. “Mistah Blackbeard’s compliments, suh,” grinned a big black fellow, looking coy in a hat made of a twisted red silk handkerchief, “and if you be Mistah Marks, suh, will you be so ’bliging as to step over to his ship.” Mr. Marks, with pallid face, looked pathetically at Mr. Wragg, whose sympathy was again subjected to a heavy sight draft. “Why didn’t he send for you, Wragg?” he complained unheroically. “You’re a councilor--you’ve got the precedence.” Mr. Wragg patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. “I’ll advise your family, Marks, if anything happens,” he said kindly; “but I’m sure it won’t.” He felt pretty sure it would. All stood in for Charles Town. Mr. Wragg once or twice thought he saw Mark’s hand waving at him from Blackbeard’s ship, where he and the merchant captain were detained. Or was it poor Mark’s nightcap tossed in a dreadful struggle with the villains? Who could tell? Captors and captives lay at the bar; and Blackbeard sent the longboat off to town, carrying Mr. Marks under guard of Richards and half a dozen nasty rascals. The astonishment of the town was unwordable when it saw the respectable Marks in company so dreadful. But when they heard what Mr. Marks had to tell them their astonishment turned to fighting wrath. For Blackbeard ordered four hundred pounds’ worth of medical supplies delivered to Richards or, first, Mr. Marks would be shot on the spot; second, Mr. Wragg’s head and those of all the other passengers would arrive by the next boat; third, the pride of the province, Charles Town itself, would be blown from its foundations. Governor Johnson was a strong man, and his council were strong men; but here was a puzzle for them. Sixteen years before this they had beaten off the French invaders with a courage that is notable in the history of municipalities; but now the gun was right straight at them, and it looked like hands up.