Things were stirring about in Blackbeard’s fleet as well as in the town. Especially when two days went by and no word came over to the bar from Richards or Marks. On the evening of that day, Blackbeard, steeped in rum, lined his hostages along the deck and raved and thrust his awful beard into their faces and generally behaved in a most ungenteel manner. “Shake your heads, my pretty landlubbers,” he bellowed; “shake ’em while they’re on your necks, for if Richards don’t come back in the mornin’ your heads will go to town at noon.” The wretched part of it was that the ruffian meant what he said. A messenger came from Richards, however, in the morning, and so reprieved Mr. Wragg and his fellows for a few hours more. The messenger stated that in going from the bar to town the boat in which Marks was being taken capsized and there had been no end of trouble and delay in getting ashore. Further that the provincial council had been called together and were debating Blackbeard’s proposition. Another day or so of strain and another silence from the town. Again Blackbeard stamped about and waved his cutlass and carried on as any obstreperous and brutal drunk might be apt to do. Oh, for a king’s ship to happen along as chucker-out! But king’s ships, like the night watch, are generally anywhere but where they’re needed. Blackbeard filed the frightened hostages forth again. This time he had the machinery of their destruction ready,--a huge black, his great-muscled right arm bare to the shoulder, his hand hefting a bright cutlass. Blackbeard, perched on a keg of powder, beckoned to his captives in mocking solicitude. “Step up, pretties,” he leered, “and get your hair cut.” This was no opera, comic or otherwise. It was a situation to be met, and immediately. One whom history does not remember spoke up. “Cap’n Blackbeard,” said he, talking for his life, “we’ve decided if you’ll be so good as to let us, to join with you if you’re going to take the town. We’ll help you. They’ve betrayed us for a few pills and powders, so we owe them nothing.” “Spoke like a man,” said Blackbeard. “You’re proper men; you’ll be real cocks of the old game. Heave the anchor and shot the guns--the tide will be right in an hour.” Perhaps this was not a heroic subterfuge; but let those judge who have been hostages, helpless in the hands of such a desperado. It saved the lives of a number of folk. For ere the tide lifted them over the bar the longboat returned with Richards, the pirate boatmen and great piles of all sorts of medicines. The town had capitulated. There would come another day, it properly figured, and its wisdom was justified by the event. Blackbeard left the merchant brig and its passengers rocking at the bar, but by an unfortunate oversight he sailed off with the ship’s chest containing the gold coins and the pieces-of-eight.