Blackbeard- The Birth of America

by Samuel Marquis

  “She can be repaired and refit,” said Thache laconically. “And so can you and your crew, Captain Bonnet. I can help you and you can help me. We can help each other.”

  “What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?”

  “I will provide you with new crew members for the Revenge. I will send over my carpenter to repair your damaged sloop and my able surgeon to tend to your wounded. After handing over command of the Margaret to my first mate, Richards, I would assume command of the Revenge as a flagship—but only as long as it takes for you to recover from your appreciable wounds and earn back the trust of your crew. You would still occupy this great stern cabin with all your fine books.”

  Now that he had definitely not expected. “That is quite a proposition, Captain Thache. But what makes you think I trust you at all?”

  “Because I know you.”

  “You know me? We’ve met before?”

  “Aye, years ago on Barbados. But that’s not what I mean when I say I know ye.”

  “Then what do you mean? I’m afraid you have me confused.”

  “It means that I come from a similar background as you and we have a connection.”

  “A connection? Well, now you have me intrigued.”

  “I grew up the son of a sugarcane planter the same as you. Only I was in Spanish Town, Jamaica, not Bridgetown on Barbados. I know precisely why you left your family behind and went on the account as a pirate captain.” Here he paused, a gleam in his eye. “The sea called out to you, my friend, the same as it called out to me. You could no more stay put on that island than I could on Jamaica. It just took you longer to decide is all.”

  Mother Mary, it’s as if he’s peering into my very soul. “You presume a great deal, Captain Thache.”

  “But I am right, aren’t I? I see a lust for adventure in your eyes. Your boredom with the life of a landlubber and thirst for bold action on the high seas are what made you do it. Surely, it wasn’t just about your nagging wife and the loss you have endured. My parents are both dead so I, too, know a thing or two about loss, Captain Bonnet.”

  “So my crew told you about my wife and my son that died?”

  “Aye, they told me. And from the look in your eyes I can tell you loved that boy dearly, the same as I love my young step-siblings: Cox, Rachel, and young Thomas. The King’s men were coming for me and I had to sneak out without saying goodbye to them just last summer. Verily, I fear I will never see them again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the life I have chosen. It has changed my situation appreciably.”

  He stared off at the battered wall and bookcase. “It has changed mine as well,” he said with a note of sadness, like a crestfallen prince.

  “What was your son’s name? The boy that died.”

  “Allamby. His name was Allamby. He was our first child. He died in his first year.”

  “I’m sorry. I know it must have been hard on you. And what about your wife? How do you think she’s getting along now that you’ve gone a-pirating?”

  “I have no idea. I just know that I could no longer stand living with her. But you’re right, that wasn’t the main reason I left. It was just as you said.”

  “The sense of adventure.”

  “Yes.”

  “The freedom of the wind in your hair and your sails.”

  “Truly. But I must confess it’s not quite what I expected. In my mind, I romanticized it—all of it. And now there’s no going back.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make the mood glum.”

  “There’s no way around it. We may be gentlemen, you and I, but we have chosen a career with a short life expectancy and little hope of redemption.”

  “Aye, but we’re free and we’re judged by our skill and resourcefulness, not the wealth or title of our forebears—and there’s no bones about it. If you didn’t believe in that, as I do, you surely would have never become a master of the sweet trade, now would you? You would be sitting in the comfort of your fine plantation home dreaming of being on a ship sailing to Jamaica or Charles Town with the damp salt on your face and wind in your hair.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  They fell into silence. When he had first seen this Blackbeard fellow step into his cabin, he had feared that he would be dealing with some lower-class ruffian or cutthroat that had come here to shake him down or threaten him. But already the notorious pirate captain had put him at ease with his folksy charm. The man was an able listener with a sympathetic ear, had a sense of fairness about him, and appeared to be a good judge of character. Bonnet found himself quite taken by the pirate commander. At the same time, he knew he was suffering from mental and physical pain and was hardly in a position to refuse Blackbeard’s generous offer.

  He felt the man’s powerful gaze upon him. “Do we have an accord, Captain Bonnet?”

  “Yes, we have an accord, Captain Thache. But first you have to answer me one question. When did you and I first meet?”

  “It was over a decade ago. I was an officer aboard the HMS Windsor, the flagship of Rear Admiral Sir William Whetstone, and we met in Bridgetown.”

  “The admiral is my grand-uncle. My mother’s side is Whetstone.”

  “Aye, so I have been informed by your crew. You said as much when I met you as well. You came on board the ship to visit with your grand-uncle. That’s when we met.”

  “Now I remember.” He studied him more closely and gestured towards his lengthy ebony beard. “With the beard and all, I didn’t recognize you.”

  “That’s all right. ’Tis a bit different, isn’t it?”

  “I must confess that I like it. It must terribly frighten the ship captains of the prizes you take.”

  “Aye, I’ll admit it has a tendency to make them quake at the knees and cry out for their mothers. But that’s part of the magic of a long tangle of hair and its dressing up for show, isn’t it now?” He grinned with mock nefariousness and stepped to the door, turning around when he reached it. “I’ll send my carpenter and surgeon over straight away. We’ll have your Revenge up and sailing in no more than a week. How does that suit you, Captain Bonnet?”

  He couldn’t help but feel excitement at his sudden reversal of fortune. When he had first sailed into Nassau, he was certain that his pirate career was over—and now he would be sailing with a legend.

  Blackbeard.

  “It suits me just fine, Captain Thache,” he said with the composed smile of a gentleman. “It suits me just fine indeed.”

  CHAPTER 22

  CAPE CHARLES, VIRGINIA COAST

  SEPTEMBER 29, 1717

  WITH FLYING FISH SCATTERING BEFORE HER BOW and seagulls wheeling and shrieking around his head, Caesar gazed out from the maintop at the escaping merchant vessel. The Revenge sliced through the white-tipped waves off the Virginia capes towards the fleeing prey, which had tacked into the wind and passed hard to starboard in an effort to evade the pirates’ two-vessel flotilla. The captain had given the “Hands to quarters!” call minutes earlier when Caesar had first spotted the merchant vessel, and now every crewman was on high alert and every gun primed to deliver a warning shot or deadly payload—depending on whether the opposing captain chose to resist or not.

  “Crowd that canvas and let her run before the wind, Master Hands!” Caesar heard Thache yell down below from the quarterdeck. “To lay alongside her, we’ll need the weather, so get to it, man!”

  Caesar smiled. For him, this was the best part of being a pirate: the chase. From his lofty perch at the top of the mainmast, he looked down at the crew. Nearly one hundred seamen were busy manning the sails, rigging, and cannon. Still more lined the starboard rail ready to deliver a musket volley and board their quarry. They stared intently, like wolves, at the fleeing merchant sloop.

  Caesar shifted his gaze to Blackbeard, the name that the crew was openly calling their venerated captain now. He presented a tall, imposing figure even from a bird’s-eye view with his crimson rover’s
jacket, bandoliered pistols, and thick black beard tied in plaits and ribbons, fluttering in the brisk wind like a hoisted Jolly Roger. Standing next to him was the “gentleman pirate” Stede Bonnet, who had joined up with the company in Nassau. During the past week as they had navigated their way north up the Atlantic seaboard, the former Barbadian planter had spent most of his time in his cabin reading his books and healing from his wounds. Caesar had spoken to him only once when he had brought him supper and found him a curious fellow, since he appeared to be uncomfortable on a ship and more interested in his books. But the captain seemed to like him and treated him with respect, allowing Bonnet to quarter in the great cabin though he carried no apparent command aboard the ship.

  Caesar had seen the captain teaching the Barbadian gentleman pirate about seamanship. In Bonnet’s quarters and once upon the deck, he had observed Thache showing him how to navigate by the sun and stars using a strange device the captain called an “English quadrant.” The only crew members Caesar had seen using the instrument were Israel Hands, Richard Richards who was now captaining the Margaret, and now Bonnet, so he knew it was a difficult and important instrument to master to navigate a ship. He made it a point to listen in whenever Thache was on deck and in command of a vessel, usually during and after a chase, so he could learn what it took to be a sea captain.

  It was clear from what Caesar had seen that Thache had mastered a wide variety of maritime skills. These included the ability to navigate, read charts and piloting instructions, recognize tidal changes, evaluate currents, and understand varying weather systems. Not only could he read, write, and make quick decisions about seamanship, he was able to make complicated mathematical computations. But his greatest gift was the simplest: he knew which way to point a ship to get to where he wanted to go, and he went ahead and did it time and again without hesitation. Caesar knew that very few others aboard the Revenge and Margaret—including Major Bonnet who spent most of his time in his cabin—could do that. Which was why he wanted to learn how to captain a ship so badly; if he could learn to command and navigate a boat, he would truly be someone to contend with in a world where most black men like him were worked to death and died at an early age as impoverished slaves.

  It took them an hour before they had the weather gage on their target and hoisted the black flag from the Revenge’s topmast. The sloop flew British colors and was named Betty. As they drew closer, Caesar estimated her size at forty tons and saw that she was armed with six carriage guns that looked to be two pounders. He wondered why the Betty hadn’t struck her colors. Why wasn’t the captain surrendering and instructing his helmsman to turn his sails into the wind? Was the man stupid enough to actually dare to put up a fight?

  “Helm quarter to starboard, Mr. Hands!” commanded Thache down below.

  “Aye, Captain!”

  “Mr. Cunningham, you may prepare your guns and fire a single shot across her bow when ready!”

  “It would be my pleasure!”

  As the Revenge angled nearly alongside the merchant ship, twelve cannon muzzles rolled out from her gunports, primed and ready to fire. Caesar waited with tense anticipation. It was always a thrill to hear the boom of the cannons and the whistling sound of the cannon balls as they arced in front of their prey. He especially enjoyed it when he was lucky enough to be up high on lookout with a good view. Below William Howard—the Revenge’s new quartermaster who had left Hornigold to sign on with Thache, replacing John Martin—stood along the starboard railing with the boarding party he would lead. The men were armed to the teeth with not only muskets and pistols, but blunderbusses, cutlasses, boarding knives, fuse-lit grenadoes, and ammunition pouches secured with leather straps about shoulders and belts. It was a determined, motley group of mostly white men with perhaps twenty percent African, West Indian, and mulatto—democratically united as one—that would brook no opposition and take what they wanted. Among them was Caesar’s fellow black friend, Richard Greensail, who had streaked white, black, and red war paint on his cheeks along with several of the other Africans and smattering of West Indians to terrify their prey. The boarding party brandished and waved their weapons menacingly to strike fear into the captain and crew of the Betty to compel him to surrender without a fight—for if there was one thing a savvy pirate didn’t want to do it was fight. Fighting, and the injuries and destruction it resulted in, posed a serious risk to profits and was to be avoided like the plague.

  It was then something happened that stunned and incensed everyone. Caesar was the first to see it and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “She’s rolling out her guns, Captain!” he yelled down to the quarterdeck.

  “Aye, I can see! Fore and aft, all hands!”

  “She’s coming into the wind!” cried Israel Hands. “They’re going to heave to!”

  “Bring us about, damnit!” Then to the master gunner. “When you have her in your sights, open fire, Mr. Cunningham!”

  “Across her bow?”

  “Aye verily. Two shots, Mr. Cunningham—we’ll give her two shots. Though she’s made the mistake of rolling out her cannon, we’ll give her captain a fair chance to acknowledge who is master and turn into the wind!”

  Cunningham nodded and waved his arm forward in a dramatic gesture. “Fire a double across her forefoot!”

  Before Caesar had taken another breath, the first cannon erupted along the starboard gun port, followed quickly by another blast that again rocked the Revenge. The shots screamed across the bow of the merchant sloop, and he saw at least a dozen seamen dive for cover. Shifting his gaze to the quarterdeck, he saw Thache, Bonnet, and Israel Hands nodding their heads in approval at the show of force. The warning shot sent a clear message: yield and strike the colors immediately, without a fight, or no quarter would be given. Clearly, they were confident that the stubborn captain of the Betty would finally be cowed into submission and lay by to be boarded with no further resistance.

  But again, Caesar and everyone else on board was stunned by the Betty’s next move. Instead of striking her colors, the captain proceeded to set more sail and try to escape, his British Union Jack flapping defiantly astern in the stiff breeze.

  “I dare swear I’ve never seen the likes of such a thing before!” roared Thache in disbelief, so loud that to Caesar he sounded like he was standing next to him and yelling into his ear. “Whoever be that stubborn squab who calls himself a sea captain, he needs to be taught a lesson!”

  Caesar agreed. What could her captain be thinking? There was no escape: he would be caught sooner or later and would have to submit. And then his punishment would be far more severe on account of his resistance. Below, Thache was livid with anger at this stunning lack of respect for him and the force at his command. Caesar wondered if perhaps the notorious Blackbeard would have the captain flogged in front of his men or tortured in some way for his ill-advised defiance. Or would he even go so far as to kill him and his crew as a warning to other merchantmen?

  “Mr. Cunningham, please take down her mast and sails with a round of carefully placed shot! Mr. Howard, a volley from your muskets would do nicely as well! Make her surrender, gentlemen, and do it quickly! I’m fast running out of patience with this deviltry!”

  All along the starboard gunwale, Caesar now saw an eruption of cannon and musket fire. The Revenge hummed and vibrated from the concussive blasts and the Betty was quickly enveloped abovedecks in bar and chain shot. The tide of battle swiftly turned. With her mast and spars severely damaged, her mainmast shredded and jib ripped apart, her forward lines snarled, and her crew driven belowdecks, the captain of the Betty had no choice but surrender. Caesar saw the colors struck. The helmsman turned the sloop into the wind and the captain relinquished his command as the vessel drifted to a halt and bobbed up and down in the rolling swells. The crew aboard the Revenge raised their weapons and gave a raucous cheer that echoed across the water, reverberating all the way to the trembling crewmen aboard the Betty. They knew they would pay a heavy price for the
ir captain’s defiance, even as feeble as it was.

  Caesar scrambled down the rigging to claim first prize with the boarding party for spotting the vessel. He still had his sights set on another pistol like the captain’s, which would give him four total to be slung about his midriff. When his bare feet touched down on deck, he saw Thache standing with Bonnet at the quarterdeck. He appeared to be explaining something to the portly gentleman pirate, but overall he seemed angry over the ill-advised defiance of the Betty and her captain. As the boarding party threw grapnel irons over the side and lashed the two ships together, Thache stepped away from the Barbadian and came over to the starboard rail to join the boarding party. Given the Betty’s open defiance, it would be a strong show of force and most of the crew would take part to send a message.

  “You’ll be joining us then, Captain?” Caesar said to him as the two men withdrew their primed pistols.

  “Aye, I’ll be joining you,” he said. “I want a word with the captain.”

  And with that, an angry horde of yelling and taunting pirates swarmed aboard the Betty with pistols and blunderbusses, knives and cutlasses, ready to bring severe harm to any soul that offered the least bit of further resistance.

  CHAPTER 23

  MARCUS HOOK, PENNSYLVANIA

  OCTOBER 9, 1717

  THACHE WAS IN THE THROES OF RAPTURE.

  He had waited nearly two years for this. The world spun in a pleasant way, as if he were swimming the aquamarine waters off the stately granitic Baths of Virgin Gorda, one of his favorite places on earth. He arched his back and kissed his love Margaret’s lips as she slid back and forth on top of him. A churning euphoric sensation took hold of his lower stomach, and he suckled on her hard, slippery nipple as they continued to thrust in unison. Her womanly scent was sweet and thick, like the dense tropical air of his father’s Spanish Town plantation when he was a boy. His arms reached out, clasping her smooth bottom, and he pulled her to him, penetrating upward, deeper. She let out a moan and he could feel himself about to let go.