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Updated: June 27, 2025
THE ship's boat was bound into the bay, probably to lie there for daybreak, and Jack Cockrell rushed down to the beach where he set up such a frantic hullabaloo that the sailors ceased singing and held their breath and their oars suspended. They had come to look for Bill Saxby and Trimble Rogers, but this was a strange voice.
The boat waited alongside the Revenge and the men scrambled aboard to swap yarns with the ship's crew. Jack Cockrell hovered near the group as they squatted on their heels around a tub of grog and learned that the Triumph had rescued the crew of the other sloop just before it had foundered.
Senator Cockrell retired from the Senate in 1905, his State for the first time in its history having elected a Republican Legislature. President Roosevelt had the very highest regard for him, and as soon as it was known he could not be re-elected, he wired Senator Cockrell, tendering him a place on either the Interstate Commerce Commission or the Panama Canal Commission.
The sea fight off Cherokee Inlet had taken a heavy toll of brave seamen and there were vacant chairs and aching hearts ashore, but the fiendish Blackbeard had been blotted out and would no more harry the coast. Small and rude as was this pioneer settlement, it was most fair and attractive to the eyes of young Master Cockrell and Joe Hawkridge.
Cockrell and their friends had first been tolled out to prayer meeting and then had come to witness a tennis match. Billy, in great glee, recounted to me the first time they had stayed to dinner with him and father and Mr. Cockrell. They had been enjoying the prayer meetings to the utmost and had come out with Mother Spurlock by mistake on a Tuesday night, which was the regular dinner dance night.
In the small hours of the night, the twain drowsed upon their frail platform which floated as a speck on the shrouded ocean. The waves splashed over the spars as the breeze grew livelier and the piteous voyagers were sopping wet but the water was not chill and they slept through this discomfort. Jack Cockrell dreamed of walking in a green lane of Charles Town with lovely Dorothy Stuart.
He therefore read it that these unfortunates were some of Stede Bonnet's men who had been captured with the brig. They had been allowed to enlist and were being taught to respect their new master. Jack Cockrell had hugely admired young Joe for his ready wit and coolness in other crises of their mutual fortunes but now came a moment in which the astute sea urchin surpassed himself.
The latter were well aware an encounter must necessarily be of a most desperate character. The Indians had evidently recognized Carson, who had so frequently severely punished them, and they made no further attempt to molest the trappers, much to the relief of the beleaguered men. Jim Cockrell, as he was known in the mountains, was one of the earliest of the old trappers.
Jack Cockrell aroused himself to stumble after the skipper who halted to grasp the lad by the shoulder and shove him headlong into the little room. The door was quickly bolted behind them. A lurch of the vessel flung Jack into the bunk but he managed to sit up, holding his head in his hands, while he feebly implored: "Did you note me wave my hand, sir, when I came below?"
He would have hastened to overtake her but just then Captain Stede Bonnet came striding back in a temper so black that it terrified his own men. His wrath was not aimed at Jack Cockrell, for he laid a hand upon the lad's arm and exclaimed: "A shrewd stroke, boy, and a mettlesome spirit! You struck him swift and hard. 'Twould please me better if you had killed the dog."
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