Blackbeard’s pirate gang now numbered more than three hundred men, including a pilot, three surgeons, two carpenters, two cooks, a gunsmith, and a musician pressed into service from La Concorde. Augmenting these numbers were four other crewman and two cabin boys who voluntarily joined the company and one hundred fifty-seven black Africans retained by the pirates. While dozens of the blacks were inducted into the crews of the three vessels and would draw equal shares and voting rights, more than sixty were retained unshackled in the hold of the Queen Anne’s Revenge to serve as laborers and perhaps be available for future sale as commodities from which all the crew—black, white, mulatto, and West Indian—would benefit. Though Blackbeard had several crewmen in addition to Caesar that were of African descent, they had been born in or had lived most of their lives in the West Indies or Carolinas, conversed in English, and were familiar with European customs and technology. Only those “straight off the boat” Africans with useful maritime skills, or that appeared to have the qualities necessary to make good warriors for boarding parties, were treated as equal seamen instead of as cargo or creatures from an alien culture who were ineligible to join the pirates’ ranks. While Blackbeard was philosophically opposed to the institution of slavery from his childhood experiences on Jamaica, he and his pirates were driven by the motive of profit first and foremost, and only those African slaves who could serve right away as valuable crew members were accepted into their democratic floating society, and thus allowed to vote and draw an equal share of the profits.
From the French slaver the pirates also plundered all the cannons and the usual haul of alcohol, medical supplies, sail cloth, close-combat weapons, navigational instruments, foodstores, and linen they could get their hands on. They also took most of the Frenchmen’s clothing and togs, literally stripping the shirts off their victims’ backs.
In addition to taking these items and a large number of slaves, the pirates took a valuable haul of gold dust from Dosset and his officers. One of La Concorde’s cabin boys, fifteen-year-old Louis Arot, had informed the pirates that the officers had a secret stash of gold dust hidden somewhere on the ship or their persons. From Howard, Caesar had learned that Arot had had an axe to grind against Dosset and his lieutenants. As one the worst-paid members of the slaver’s crew, he went out of his way to cause them harm and then offered to join the pirates. Howard and other members of Blackbeard’s crew proceeded to interrogate Dosset and his officers, threatening to cut their throats if they failed to turn over the gold. The Frenchmen complied, and were subsequently rewarded by Blackbeard with the small, forty-ton sloop since the pirates were keeping La Concorde for themselves. Thache also had Howard give them three tons of beans to feed the remaining slaves and ensure that they did not starve. Dosset promptly rechristened the eight-gun sloop Mauvaise Recontre—Bad Encounter—and would use it to transport his crew and remaining slaves to Martinique.
Since leaving Bequia, Blackbeard’s armada had taken several vessels and accumulated even more plunder. The biggest prize was the Great Allen of Boston. The massive merchantman was en route from Barbados to Jamaica and they took her in the deepwater passage north of St. Vincent. Blackbeard, still furious with Massachusetts authorities over their treatment of Bellamy’s crew, allowed the crew to threaten the Great Allen’s captain, Christopher Taylor, to get him to reveal the whereabouts of his valuables and then burned his huge New Englander to the waterline. Upon making his political statement, Blackbeard the next day politely put the uninjured but thoroughly terrorized Taylor and his crew aboard a longboat and had him rowed to a sparsely inhabited shore on Martinique.
As the British island of Nevis came into close view, Caesar went amidships to the water barrel and ladled himself a cupful. It tasted coppery but was refreshing. Off the starboard beam, the central volcanic peak of Nevis soared more than three thousand feet above the shimmering ocean, its top shrouded in a bank of gray-rimmed clouds. At the base of the volcano, he saw several fumaroles slowly releasing volcanic gas and steam, and stretching towards the ocean in all directions were endless sugarcane fields. He felt badly for his black brothers who would be forced to toil under a tropical sun day in and day out under threat of a whip from their slave masters. Once again, he was glad that he was no longer a slave and that Blackbeard had granted him the opportunity to become a full crewman aboard his growing flotilla.
He remembered back to the dreadful Atlantic crossing after he had been kidnapped from his Ibo village in the West African slave-trading province of Benin. Like the trans-Atlantic journey of La Concorde, the voyage had been a disaster, killing a quarter of the people on board. No one was spared as slaves, convicts, indentured servants, and even the captain and many among the crew all suffered through the diseases brought on board and the lethally unhealthy conditions belowdecks. Slave traders were driven by greed and crammed as many people into the holds as possible, packing them onto wooden racks like codfish on a fishmonger’s tray. He remembered the oppressive stench of the overcrowded humanity and the airless gloom of the main ship hold. He remembered the aching in his legs and the biting cold of the heavy leg irons shackled about his ankles. He remembered shoveling the slop of horse-beans and rice down his famished throat and being whipped by the slavers when he and the others refused to dance on deck, so they would retain their physical stature and fetch a good price when sold. For seven weeks, he was chained to another slave like an animal, and he was only allowed on deck for fresh air once or twice a day during the course of the horrible journey. He had been lucky to survive.
They soon came to the approach to Nevis Harbor. He and Howard went to check on the captain, but he was still too ill to leave his quarters. Stepping back on deck, Howard summoned Israel Hands and the other officers and they inspected, through a spyglass, the vessels anchored against the sugarcane-fringed shores. A general excitement spread amongst the crew. Caesar quickly learned what all the commotion was about. There anchored in the harbor were a variety of merchant vessels for the taking: sloops, sailing canoes, a few large brigantines, and one frigate that was almost as big as the Queen Anne’s Revenge.
“I swear by God that be the HMS Seaford herself!” exclaimed Howard, referring to the sixth-rate warship assigned to the Leeward Islands.
“No, that can’t be her!” Caesar heard William Cunningham the master gunner reply.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s her or not,” proclaimed Israel Hands. “She’s just sitting there for the taking.”
“Aye! Aye!” roared a crowd of crewmen that had gathered at the edge of the quarterdeck and along the larboard gunwale. “We should strike now while the iron is hot!” cried one among them.
Howard agreed: “We’ll pounce on her where she lies, storm her decks, and cut her anchor line! Then, before the King’s men ashore have time to react, we’ll sail her out to sea as our own prize ship!”
“Aye, this be our chance to humiliate the Royal Navy!” said Cunningham. “If we can quickly board that frigate, we can outman her right smartly!”
“It will be easy to take her if we surprise her at anchor!” said Israel Hands.
A rumble of agreement navigated across the deck. Caesar could tell that the men were not only unafraid but excited at the prospect of taking on the Royal Navy vessel. It would be an extremely bold action, he knew, but even he couldn’t help but be swept up in the enthusiasm of the moment.
“We should talk to the captain!” announced Howard. “Once he hears about this, he’s going to want to attack!”
“Aye! Aye!” the crew roared back.
It was then Caesar noticed Blackbeard had arisen from his bed and stepped from his great cabin. He looked terrible: a gaunt, wraith-like figure and mere ghost of the legendary sea captain whose name was now being uttered in children’s bedtime stories throughout the maritime world. He had lost so much weight in the past few days that he appeared diminutive and exceedingly fragile despite his towering height. His skin was sallow and chalky as if he had jaundice. His eyes were p
uffy and bloodshot from lack of sleep. Whatever the terrible disease carried from Africa aboard La Concorde was exactly, it was taking a heavy toll on him. A blanket was draped loosely across his bony shoulders, like a woman’s shawl.
“What’s this I hear about us taking on the Seaford?” he demanded hoarsely.
Caesar watched with great anticipation as Howard stepped forward and recounted his bold plan to Blackbeard. Once again, he proposed to race into the harbor and take the frigate at her anchorage, storm her decks, cut her anchor line, and before anyone ashore could resist, sail her out to sea, thereby adding another man-of-war to the growing pirate armada. As he made his case, Thache calmly withdrew his spyglass and studied His Majesty’s warship bobbing gently up and down in the harbor.
When Howard was finished with his flowery and quite convincing oratory, the crew roared its approval, fully expecting their captain to raise the war cry and turn them loose. But Thache just stood there with a knowing smile on his haggard face, the kind of wistful smile that Caesar suspected King Arthur would have worn. When the noise failed to die down, he signaled his men to quiet down so he could speak and, in a grand paternal-like gesture, he made a big show of shaking his head.
“I admire your spirit, lads, surely I do, but I’d drink a bowl of brimstone and fire with the devil himself before I would recommend such a course of action.”
The faces of the men instantly dropped, as if they had been reprimanded by their fathers. “But why, Captain?” asked Caesar.
“Aye, why sir indeed?” echoed Israel Hands.
Thache nodded to indicate it was a good question. “Two reasons, gentlemen. First off, whether the man-of-war we see before us is in fact the HMS Seaford or not, I consider it to be too risky an enterprise at this juncture,” he said.
“And the second reason?” asked William Howard.
“Because my ill health will not allow me to lead you into battle. Which I believe adds to the risk and makes it even altogether more dangerous and inclined to fail. I don’t want to be sounding overly apt with my tongue, gentlemen, and confess that this be just my point of view, but I see danger afoot and am not willing to risk ye lives for booty. You can heed my captainly words or spit on them altogether—it be your choice. The articles give each man aboard this ship a proper vote in all matters.”
For a moment, the men just stood there in silence. Though Caesar thought he saw a few expressions of disagreement, not a single man offered a word of protest.
“There will be other opportunities—opportunities in which I will not be laid up in my bed stricken with illness and will be able to lead you decisively. In fact, I would venture that once we are more familiar with our newly christened flagship, we will be as formidable as the mightiest man-of-war in all the Atlantic. But until then, methinks we should concentrate on easy targets. What say you men?”
The officers and crew looked around at one another. After a moment, Howard stepped forward. “I agree with the captain and say we sail for Antigua,” he said, referring to the capital of the British Leeward Islands. “It is supposed to be without naval protection.”
Howard then put it to a vote. It was unanimous. The crew of more than one hundred fifty men voted for pulling out of Nevis and sailing directly for Antigua.
“By all accounts, that settles it then,” said Thache. “Make all sail, Mr. Hands. And Caesar, my friend, if you would be kind enough to fetch me some breakfast, I believe my stomach is feeling better now that we have a plan of action in place.”
“Straight away, Captain,” snapped Caesar, feeling a new spring in his step. But he was still a little stunned. He had never heard or seen anything like what just happened before: a pirate captain calling off an attack because he was too sick to fight. It showed how powerful Blackbeard truly was, underscoring the impressive authority he wielded over his large, unwieldy crew. True, pirate captains were only in command during pursuit and engagement of an enemy ship or prize, or during a storm, but with three vessels bristling with cannon and hundreds of pirates under his command, it was amazing that one man not feeling well caused the entire company to call off the attack on the Seaford or whatever Royal Navy vessel lay anchored in Nevis Harbor, especially when it appeared that’s precisely what the majority wanted to do. Most pirate commodores would have been deposed for such weakness—but not Blackbeard. His competent seamanship, charismatic personality, and gentlemanly nature endeared him to his men as if he was some sort of god. He pushed his men hard, Caesar knew, but they would go to hell and back for him if he asked them to because he knew when to back off and not put their lives at risk—unless he was guaranteed of success. It was true a pirate captain best served his own interest by serving his crew’s interest, but this was much more than that. In Caesar’s view, this was the very essence of leadership.
He realized he had absorbed yet another important lesson from the master. It was a lesson he would never forget.
CHAPTER 30
CRAB ISLAND, EASTERN TIP OF PUERTO RICO LEEWARD ISLANDS
DECEMBER 5, 1717
FROM THE LARBOARD RAIL, Edward Thache watched intently as the captain of the Margaret of St. Christopher clambered down into his sloop’s tender and rowed over with five of his crew members to the now thirty-six-gun Queen Anne’s Revenge. Wisps of smoke drifted menacingly from the flagship’s open gunports, announcing to the prisoners that his gunners were ready with lengths of burning slow-match held in their fists, while his terrifying-looking boarding party stood leering at the railing. They were armed to the teeth, and several of the Africans and West Indians and three of the Scotsmen brandished colorful war paint. Thache’s fever had broken the day before, and though he had lost several pounds and was not fully recovered from the Africa-borne illness that had plagued him for the past week, he was well enough to leave his cabin and resume his responsibilities as captain. He closely studied the approaching captain of the Margaret, whose name he did not yet know, as the man cast an experienced eye over the massive pirate ship looming above him.
As always, Thache made sure to present his signature frightening appearance to cow his victims into submission. His pirate’s beard was long, unkempt, and plaited, hanging wildly down over his chest. The same wild hair seemed to surround his face, and more plaits stuck out on either side of his cheeks. The ends of these rat-tailed black plaits were tied with twists of ribbon, which made his appearance all the more unique yet disconcerting. For attire, he wore his trademark long sea captain’s coat, crossed by two belts—a sword belt and a bandolier—while three brace of pistols hung from improvised holsters over his chest, making him look like a walking armory. Despite the winter sun of the Caribbean, he wore a small brown bear-fur cap, of the kind commonly worn by seamen in cold weather. The fur cap gave him an aura of animal-like power, like an Indian warrior.
Once the captured captain and his officers climbed on board, though, he dispensed with the stage theater and was the very picture of civility. This, too, tended to throw his prisoners off-balance and add to their disorientation, thereby increasing his chances of seizing every bit of their valuable plunder. He politely introduced himself and shook the hand of the captain, who reluctantly gave his name as Harry Bostock, and then Caesar led the group into the great cabin so they could talk. While Bostock’s officers seemed nervous and frightened, the righteous Bostock appeared morally outraged that anyone had the gall to violate him. Once they settled into the cabin, Caesar opened a bottle of Madeira wine, poured glasses for each man present, and took his leave. As he stepped from the cabin, Thache thanked him kindly for his services then turned back to face Bostock.
Grateful that the man had shown the good sense to surrender his vessel after only a single shot fired across his bow, he began the conference by thanking his prisoner for not trying to play the hero and jeopardizing the fate of his men. But Bostock just grunted, refusing to even acknowledge the compliment, and looked at him disdainfully. Thache could see he was a prideful man, loathe to admit that his ship was abo
ut to be plundered by sea bandits who would most likely leave him with almost nothing.
“I like the name of your sloop,” said Thache ingratiatingly to try to break his stubborn prisoner’s icy demeanor. “My true love’s name is Margaret. Lord knows I should be snuggling up with her next to a warm winter hearth in Philadelphia rather than sitting here in the Leeward Islands talking to you.”
“Why bother talking? You’re just going to take whatever you fancy anyway,” Bostock blurted rudely, not even bothering to disguise his displeasure as most of Thache’s victims tended to do to ensure their safety and that of their crew.
He smiled graciously, ignoring the affront. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you, Captain Bostock.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Ones like this: What other merchantmen are trading off the Puerto Rican coast?”
Bostock looked at him defiantly. “I’ll be damned if I tell you that, you rascal. You’ll have to find that out on your own.”
“I admire your resolve, but it is to no avail. For no doubt members of your crew will be more forthcoming than their beloved captain. You do treat your men right and are beloved by your men, aren’t you Captain? They do enjoy sailing under you, correct?”
Blackbeard- The Birth of America Page 23
