In a sudden pique of shame-induced anger, he turned away from his birthplace and the family he was leaving behind and stared out into the darkness of the sea. Despite the guilt he felt inside, he loved his new ship. The single-masted Bermuda sloop was fast and nimble with fine lines and a shallow draught that would allow her to slip into small coves and inlets not accessible to British men-of-war or the powerful, well-armed privateers that might pursue her. Although light at sixty tons, she was big enough to carry ten heavy guns, and would be able to field more if necessary. But what made her most unique was her library. An avid reader of not only military history and piracy, but philosophy, theology, the natural world, and the history of conquest of Europe, Asia, and the New World, Bonnet had had the shipwrights install a commodious great cabin lined with enough shelving to serve as a personal library for his plethora of books.
He watched as his bosun Ignatius Pell directed the helmsman to steer a course out of Carlisle Bay northwestward into the swiftly moving waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He knew he had not been right in the head for quite some time now. There had simply been too much death around him. The passing of his father and mother before he had lived to see his tenth birthday had been the first crushing blow. Then there was sweet Mrs. Whetstone, the guardian that he and his older brother and two sisters had dearly loved who had died when he was twenty. And finally, five years ago, his first-born child Allamby had passed away in early childhood from the fever. The boy’s death had made him so distraught that he had seriously considered taking his own life. So much loss in the family, but it was the passing of his beloved Allamby when Bonnet was twenty-three that had pushed him over the edge.
Death tore him up inside and brought on terrible demons at night. He knew he was unable to cope well with loss—it was just the way he was mentally put together. Which was why he hated his wife so: she could never understand his bouts of melancholy and called him a coward, an unmanly disgrace for drinking away his misery and dwelling on the death of the boy. Since his childhood, death had been an ever-present reality in his life and he regularly fell into a depressed state. Even he was surprised that when his wife bore him three more children, his spirits still did not rise.
Behind his back, his planter friends whispered he suffered from a disorder of the mind. He knew it was true, but he also knew he could do nothing about it. There was certainly no one he could talk to, for even his own wife called him a coward for his bouts of sadness and inability to move beyond the death of their son. Desperate to find something that could distract him from his troubled mind, he had stumbled one day in the late fall on the idea of becoming a sea rover. Somehow, he thought that would be the cure for his affliction.
But what he needed most of all was to be separated from his wife, whom he genuinely detested. She nagged him constantly and was always telling him what a weak man and insufferable fool he was and how he should be expanding the size of their Barbados estate and obtain more Negroes to work the land, tend the crops, and top off the sweltering tubs of cane syrup in the sugarhouses. He had one of the most prosperous estates on the island: four hundred acres of sugarcane fields, two windmills, a cattle-operated mill to grind the syrup from the cane, three servants, and ninety-four slaves. But it still wasn’t enough for her. Mary Bonnet wanted more, and nothing he did was ever good enough. He could hardly blame her for growing increasingly annoyed with his bouts of depression and his admission that he was bored with his all-too comfortable life of a sugar planter on Barbados. But he still wanted to be free of her, enough that he was willing to give up his three young children that he genuinely adored.
Taking a deep breath of crisp sea air, he tried to clear his head. His mind was definitely not right, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it ever would be. Probably not, he decided. But at least he was making a fresh start by wiping the slate clean aboard his new sloop, amply stocked with provisions, powder, shot and, of course, his prodigious library of leatherbound books. He had christened his new pirate man-of-war Revenge in honor of James III, his Scottish ancestry, and his Jacobite proclivities, but the name was appropriate for another reason as well. He was also seeking vengeance against his cruel and nagging wife and the demons that had tormented him most of his life, and most especially since baby Allamby’s death. For the wealthy planter of aristocratic upbringing who knew nothing of the sea was waging a war against the misery of the world.
He lit his long-stem white clay pipe and began pacing the quarterdeck as a pair of clouds scudded past a pregnant moon. The new pirate captain wore a powdered wig, rakish black felt hat, neatly pressed blue militia jacket, ruffled full-sleeved shirt with lace at the wrists, knee britches, silk stockings, polished buckled shoes, a cape, silver hilted sword, and a brace of pistols. Compared to his barefoot, salty, and sunburnished crew, he looked like a dandy. And he was, at least when it came to the sea. As the nimble Bermudan sloop transitioned from the calm waters of Carlisle Bay into the rolling swells of the open ocean, he began to feel queasy. A seaman he was not and the new sensation put him into a cold sweat. Five minutes later, he gripped the stern railing and vomited over the side.
He retched once, twice, and then a third time. When he turned back around, his quartermaster, Ishmael Hanks, bosun Ignatius Pell, and the other officers on the quarterdeck were looking at him funny. Several of them exchanged knowing glances at one another and seemed to be suppressing laughter at this most improbable of pirates, this landlubber entirely unversed in the arts of seamanship and navigation. For the first time, he realized that he was going to have problems with his officers, despite the fact that he owned the ship and they were his subordinates since he was paying them a cash salary instead of shares based on prizes and booty taken, which was the traditional pirate custom. To ensure the loyalty of his officers, he had chosen to pay Hanks and the others well, since he was entirely reliant on them to operate the Revenge and needed to be able to count on them.
Assisted by a pair of crewmen, he retreated to his great cabin packed with books, collapsed in his bunk, and went to sleep. The next morning, he arose bleary-eyed and held a meeting with Hanks, Pell, and the other officers to determine the Revenge’s course. He made it clear that he wanted to put as many miles as possible between the ship and his previous life on Barbados. A course was promptly set northwest towards the Virginia and Delaware capes and the nearby crowded sea lanes of the North American mainland, more than two thousand miles away. He then dismissed them. But as his new pirate lieutenants were about to leave, he remembered one last thing.
“Oh, before you go, gentlemen,” he said from his commodious bed, “I have one last request.”
The men turned around and stared at him, already with noticeable disrespect on several of the faces. “And what would that be, Major?” asked Hanks.
“Captain, please call me captain.”
“Aye, captain it is. And what is your request, Captain Bonnet, sir?”
“I am issuing orders that I am no longer to be called by my last name.”
The men exchanged looks. “What shall we call you then, Captain?” asked his bosun Ignatius Pell.
“You are to address me as Captain Edwards.”
“Captain Edwards? That’s what you prefer?” asked Hanks, looking confused by the request.
“Yes, Captain Edwards. That is what you officers and the crew shall call me henceforth at all times.”
“Very well. Captain Edwards it is then. I must needs say what might be the reason for the name change?”
“It is quite simple, Mr. Hanks. I don’t want the captains of any of the prizes we take to know my real name. You see, gentlemen, in case we are captured, I want to spare my children.”
“Spare your children, sir?”
“Yes, I want to spare them the shame of being the son or daughter of an outlaw pirate.”
CHAPTER 17
NASSAU
AUGUST 24, 1717
WITH HORNIGOLD AT HIS SIDE, Thache spotted a pair of sails on the horizon from the no
rth battlement of Fort Nassau. Taking out his spyglass, he studied the vessels closely. They were too far away to make out their flags or identify, but something about the sloop to leeward seemed familiar. He passed the glass to the gray-whiskered Hornigold, but he didn’t recognize the vessels either. But the ships definitely appeared to be making for the harbor so they would know soon enough.
They returned to their survey of the fortifications and surrounding harbor. Since Hornigold had launched the fledgling pirate republic two years earlier, Nassau had grown into a bustling yet still governmentless little city. To defend against incursions by English, French, or Spanish men-of-war, the Flying Gang had gathered up cannon, pulleys, shot, and powder, and began rearming the old fortress as well as re-strengthening her ramparts, caissons, and buildings so she could withstand an all-out attack and keep meddlesome authority at bay.
The Flying Gang leader had also taken a large Spanish ship from Cadiz captured by a pirate company, anchored her at the harbor entrance, and armed her with thirty-two cannon scavenged from various prizes. The stationary man-of-war at the harbor entrance acted as a floating gun platform capable of fending off unwanted visitors. The pirates swiftly discovered what a strong deterrent the new improvements to the growing pirate enclave were. When a group of concerned British merchants sent a pair of ships over from London to investigate how the pirates might best be dislodged, Hornigold and his Flying Gang captured one of the vessels and sent the second packing back across the Atlantic.
The pirates had succeeded in driving out most of the law-abiding citizens that had taken up residence on the island prior to their takeover. Thomas Walker, who had assumed the role of acting deputy governor of the Bahamas in the absence of the lords proprietors, had been driven out months earlier along with his family, and most others followed soon thereafter. Though Walker and others had pleaded with the outside world to stamp out the pirates before they grew too strong, the Crown had done nothing. Some gathered their families and fled to the nearby islands of Abaca, Harbor Island, or Eleuthera; others wanted to put more distance between themselves and the outlaws, fleeing as far away as Port Royal, Charles Town, or Boston. The end result was the surrender of Nassau to the Flying Gang.
Hornigold and Jennings were now the undisputed leaders of the pirate republic. The crusty leader of the Flying Gang and pompous captain of the Barsheba maintained an uneasy alliance, but Jennings no longer harbored the delusion that he was a British patriot and licensed privateer who was better than his piratical cohorts. After all, he was a wanted fugitive himself who had escaped Port Royal just in the nick of time. Humbled by his change in status, he found that there was enough room for both himself and the rough-and-tumble Hornigold in the motley pirate enclave of Nassau. Unlike the Flying Gang leader though, he still refused to take British prizes and kept his lodgings far from town, lest he be forced to mingle too frequently with his low-brow peers.
New Providence was continuing to attract rogues, adventurers, and unemployed seamen from across the English-speaking world. But there was a new class of immigrant to whom the absence of government in the Bahamas held great appeal. Disaffected people willing to look the other way when it came to the law were now streaming into the pirate republic from the colonies. With ample affordable land, New Providence attracted small farmers, former indentured servants, and other poor people. Many blacks and native West Indians sought refuge in the new governmentless island. Even before the pirates took control, blacks, mulattoes, and West Indians had enjoyed considerable freedom in the Bahamas, intermarrying extensively with the white settlers. With the pirates now in control of the island, New Providence became a sanctuary for runaway slaves and free mulattoes alike, as many moved in to join the pirate crews or the merchants, tradesmen, and farmers who supported them.
The presence of the outlaw state was disrupting the slave societies of the Caribbean, and Thache and Hornigold delighted in the reversal of fortune. If a man was willing to sign the articles, join a crew, and work hard as a crew member, it didn’t matter to them if he was black, brown, yellow, or white in their eyes. Regardless of the color of his skin, he drew an equal share of the spoils and had equal voting rights, pure and simple, as long as he remained a consistently competent seaman who pulled his fair load on deck.
Thache stared out at the harbor’s clear pristine water. Nassau Harbor was littered with dozens of merchant vessels of various nationalities, most taken as prizes in the Florida Straits or Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola. Many of the prize vessels had been stripped of masts, riggings, and fittings and were piled up like whale bones on the white sandy beaches of the harbor. The bigger and more cumbersome vessels had been beached and burned on the shores of Hog Island. Several lay half-submerged, their exposed timbers still smoldering from having been set aflame. The harbor was a veritable junk yard of prizes taken by the pirates of New Providence. But to Edward Thache it was home, a safe haven, and most importantly, a place where one man didn’t rule over another by virtue of his birthright, the amount of property he owned, or the weight of the coin in his pocket. In his eyes, Nassau may have been uncouth and lawless, but here men were for the most part free and equal.
Though he had been born into wealth in Jamaica, he had never identified with the planter’s lifestyle or held the unshakable sense of entitlement of the upper-middle and ruling classes. For Edward Thache of St. Jago de la Vega had always identified with the common man, and his brief but illuminating experiences with Sam Bellamy and his band of Merry Men who had adopted the Robin Hood philosophy of taking from the rich and helping the poor had made a lasting impression on him. Now a successful and influential pirate captain, he was a “gentleman of fortune,” as freebooters of all nations enjoyed calling themselves, but he did it because he wanted to make a handsome living, loved adventure, was a natural leader of men, and had deep and pervasive feelings of egalitarianism. He truly believed in the equality of all men based on a system of merit and competence that was at odds with the landed gentry and merchant class of his day.
That was why he had decided to grow his beard so long: to symbolically defy authority, represented most prominently by the non-English-speaking, Hanoverian imposter King George. It was unfashionable to wear beards of any length in England or the colonies and shaven faces on men represented enlightenment, propriety, and Europeanism. So he did the opposite. True, his beard represented a certain identification with rugged masculinity and he enjoyed standing out from a crowd and intimidating the merchant captains of the vessels he took, but the beard was much more than that. He did it to show his discordance with mainstream society and his affinity for a world of justified piracy as a member of Robin Hood’s Merry Men transplanted to the high seas, a physical demonstration in support of the philosophy of his friend Black Sam Bellamy. On the one hand, the prominent dark beard set him apart from the civilized world; but more importantly it set him apart from the unfair world of the wig-wearing royals, merchant tycoons, and slave-holding plantation owners that dominated world affairs at the expense of the common man. He was at war with the Crown and the ruling classes and commercial leaders of all nations. He was a patriot for this new fledgling thing called ‘America’ and the ideas of democracy and equality. He felt its world-changing power deep in his bones.
“Can you make them out now?” Hornigold asked him.
From the battlement, Thache looked again through his spyglass at the vessels on the horizon. Now the leeward vessel looked familiar, though her sails were ragged, her mast jury-rigged, and she appeared to be limping into port.
“By God, I think it’s Paulsgrave and the Mary Anne. Here take a look.”
He handed Hornigold the brass telescope.
“Aye, it be Williams all right, the bastard,” observed Hornigold as he brought the ships into focus. “He and that impetuous brigand Bellamy stole my command from me, the rascals.”
“Oh shut up, Ben. You know you deserved it by refusing to attack English vessels. Your own crew wanted t
o string you up from the mainyard, not just Sam and Paul.”
“Aye, but I’m still sore about it.”
“I know you are. But you’ve got to get over it.”
The weathered old sea captain mumbled some curse that Thache couldn’t quite make out. He was less than a decade older than Thache, but the creaky-kneed, deeply-lined pirate looked much older. “I see Williams on the quarterdeck, but where’s your brother Black Sam?”
Taking the spyglass from him, he scrutinized the incoming sloops. Hornigold was right: Paulsgrave Williams stood at the quarterdeck, but his inseparable companion Bellamy was nowhere to be seen. The last he had heard of Bellamy, he and Williams had captured a massive slaver called the Whydah, converted her into a thirty-gun ship-of-force, and sailed her north to the Atlantic coast along with Williams in the Mary Anne and Richard Noland in the Anne Galley. Their goal had been to intercept vessels sailing to the colonies from Europe and the Caribbean. Thache had even heard that the French pirate Olivier La Buse had acquired a powerful twenty-gun ship of his own that he had intended to cruise to New England, reconnoiter with Bellamy, and continue on as far as Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. But he had heard no word of the pirates in more than a month.
“We’d better get down there to welcome them,” said Thache.
“I’m not going down there,” snorted Hornigold. “That bastard stole my men from me and sent me back here in humiliation.”
Blackbeard- The Birth of America Page 14
