Blackbeard- The Birth of America

by Samuel Marquis

  That he was a seaman had never been in doubt by anyone that had set eyes on him in the city, even the Quakers who had gazed upon his coal-tar face and barrel chest with the two brace of pistols strapped about him with animal fear in their eyes. He was a free man, a worldly sailor and gentleman of fortune who walked with his head held high and his pistols loaded, not a lowly servant to white masters. One day he would live as a seaman in a burgeoning city like this, and he would never allow himself to go back to being a slave—never. Thache had given him his chance at freedom and he would not return to his lowly chattel world of before.

  When they sailed past Marcus Hook seventeen miles downriver of the city, Caesar saw a slump in Thache’s shoulders and the pirate commander turned somberly silent on the quarterdeck. From William Howard and the other crew members, Caesar knew that Margaret lived in a sawn plank house off Discord Lane and that was where Thache spent most of his time with her when he was in port. With her full head of flowing blonde hair, hourglass figure, and unusually high cheekbones, she was an uncommonly beautiful woman. The men called her Blackbeard’s ‘mistress,’ but from their parting conversation tonight along the city’s wharves a stone’s throw from the Blue Anchor, Caesar knew that she meant a lot more to the captain than that. The two were planning to marry and settle down, and it was clear that they had talked about it on many occasions. Governor Keith’s arrest order appeared to have made a sudden mess of their plans and thrown them both into disarray. Caesar could tell the two were terribly in love, and he vowed that one day he would find a woman and love her as much as Thache loved his Margaret. He imagined Thache smoking his clay pipe beside a stone hearth, or laying with his love in her bed chamber. A love like theirs was a love worth having, and one day he would have a love like that, a love with joy and hurt, romance and sadness.

  They soon reached the busy port of New Castle, and then, a few miles south at the bend in the river the Adventure’s course altered to south by west. By the time they plied the waters north of the Bombay Hook, near the point where the Delaware River spills into the bay, Caesar could feel an air of tension and danger aboard the sloop as the men began to coalesce around the quarterdeck. Something was going on with the crew, and Caesar realized he hadn’t seen it coming. A moment later he found out what it was as Israel Hands called a council to discuss where they would go from here. But Caesar could tell from the sailing master’s body language that he was agitated about something and was going to challenge the captain’s authority. The two men hadn’t been seeing eye to eye of late, but clearly the relationship had deteriorated even more than Caesar had thought.

  “All right, speak your mind, Mr. Hands,” said Thache impatiently, who despite the fact that he appeared about to be challenged left no doubt as to who was in ultimately in command of the ship.

  “We’ve taken a vote among the men, Captain.”

  “A vote you say? Was it conducted amongst all the men?”

  Hands glanced at Caesar, Garret Gibbons, and Thomas Miller. “Not all the men, but most of them. The others can cast their votes once I’ve said what I have to say.”

  “Aye, then get on with it, man. What is it that you want to address?”

  “We’re not ready to strike south for St. Thomas.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye, and neither is the Adventure. She’s in no condition to make it to the West Indies. It has been several months since she has been careened and she needs a good scraping, re-planking, and re-caulking. Her rigging is worn and tired and her sails need to be patched or replaced.”

  “I agree, Mr. Hands, that extensive refitting is in order. So what do you propose?”

  “We need a new ship so that we can careen her. We had not planned on using our own money to maintain the Adventure and we need a new sloop to do the job properly. We also need new sailcloth, rigging, anchors, spare masts, and timber. Plus we’re low on oakum and tar.”

  “So just so I understand, are you saying that you are willing to violate the King’s most gracious pardon, signed and sealed by Governor Eden, the proprietary governor of North Carolina, to bring said vessel up to snuff? Is that what you’re saying, Mr. Hands?”

  Master gunner Philip Morton stepped forward. “We need supplies and we need to careen the Adventure. We can’t do them both without taking a prize or two. It just can’t be done, Captain.”

  “But we all took the oath. We agreed to give up the account and that our cruise to Philadelphia was not a pirating venture.”

  “Indeed it wasn’t,” pointed out Hands. “We haven’t taken a single prize since the day before Old Topsail Inlet where we double-crossed our mates.”

  Thache’s brown eyes flashed darkly. “We took a vote and all agreed to that plan of action, as regrettable as it may have been. This is not the time to second-guess yourself like a guilty schoolboy. What’s done is done and we are, all of us here, the wealthier for it and with the King’s pardon in hand. The company had gotten too damned big and unwieldly and there weren’t enough spoils for all of us. It wasn’t sustainable.”

  “No one disagrees with that, but we double-crossed some good men and left sixteen marooned on an island. Personally, I’ve come to regret what we did. There might have been another option open to us.”

  “I agree with Hr. Hands,” echoed Morton.

  “Me too, Captain,” said the ever-loyal Garret Gibbons. “What we did was wrong.”

  “No, what we did was necessary,” argued Thache, looking as though he would brook no opposition. But Hands and his supporters—at least a dozen men, Caesar estimated—appeared equally stubborn. In that moment, Caesar wished he had seen this coming. But obviously Hands had excluded him and a handful of others loyal to the captain from the first council meeting, most likely because Hands wanted to maintain the element of surprise and catch the unsuspecting captain and his loyalists off guard. In the case of a mutiny, it was best not to make your intentions known to too many people, and Caesar realized that Israel Hands had simply taken a page from Blackbeard’s own book.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Hands, his sunburnished face taut and thin lips pursed tightly together. “We have the votes in this matter, and shall now hold a majority-rule council vote in accordance with the articles. The only remaining question is who is going to captain this bloody ship?”

  He glared defiantly at Thache, as insolently as a cocksure game rooster. Caesar couldn’t help but gulp when he saw the captain’s eyes narrow beneath heated brow before him. He had never seen anyone openly challenge the notorious Blackbeard before in front of the whole crew, and he couldn’t believe that the pirate captain had fallen so far from grace that he was being contested by the likes of his chief navigator. Obviously, Hands was still bitter about having to run aground Herriot’s Adventure at Old Topsail Inlet and thereby losing his captaincy, and he was now jockeying to reclaim his lost position by ousting Thache. It was a huge gamble, but Caesar could tell it could go either way.

  Still glowering imperiously, Hands said, “All those in favor of my proposal to no longer cower like defeated puppies, to return to the open sea, and to actively take rich prizes of any nationality, raise your hands and signal assent with your voice. Quartermaster Miller here will make a proper accounting of the vote.”

  To Caesar’s surprise, fourteen of the twenty-one men aboard voted to return to the account. Clearly, Hands and his men were a force to be reckoned with and didn’t feel the least bit influenced by their captain. Caesar looked at Thache, whose mind he could see was racing. For the first time in Caesar’s two-year career together with the pirate captain, Thache’s vote was overruled. It was a hard defeat for a proud and heretofore unchallenged leader, and Caesar couldn’t help but feel the man seemed discombobulated.

  Lordy Lord, he thought, events are swirling out of control. First, he has to leave his woman behind, and now his crew is close to mutiny.

  In a gloating voice, Hands announced, “The vote is to return to our piratical ways. Now the question
is, who shall lead us as captain?”

  Quartermaster Thomas Miller stepped forward. “There ain’t no captain of this ship but Captain Thache,” he said, and the sentiment was quickly echoed by Caesar, master gunner Philip Morton, bosun Garret Gibbons, seamen Joseph Brooks and Joseph Curtice as well as the other five African crewman on board in addition to Caesar: his good friend Richard Greensail as well as Richard Stiles, James Blake, James White, and Thomas Gates.

  “We’re going to have to vote on it,” said Hands. “Now where do you stand men? Who do you want as your captain?”

  Caesar felt certain that the vote would turn out in favor of Hands and was surprised when the count was twenty-four for keeping Thache as captain and only three in favor of Hands, one of whom was Hands himself. Thache abstained from voting altogether.

  “It’s decided then,” said Miller. “The captain stays but we sail in pursuit of plunder.” He looked at Thache. “Where to, Captain?”

  Caesar watched as the great Blackbeard took a moment to gather himself and recover his lost pride. Again, he felt for the man, and he was glad that Hands had at least been dealt a harsh blow in the voting for captaincy. “Set a course east-by-southeast for the deep blue and Bermuda,” he said after a moment. “If I can’t talk common sense into you numbskulls, I can at least make sure that the next prize we take isn’t bloody British. I understand, gentlemen, that we need a prize and sacrificial ship. But we want to be careful about where we go a-hunting for it so we can avoid future entanglements with the government. A French vessel, or possibly two, will fit the bill nicely, I say.”

  Miller nodded. “So we set a course for Bermuda.”

  “Aye, the eastern side is where French ships are known to pass on their way home from their plantations on Martinique. With any luck, we will be able to take a prize or two and get ourselves a new tender and consort ship without attracting undue attention. But just so you know, in all likelihood we’ll probably get caught and our pardons will be worthless. You might want to keep that unfavorable prospect in mind, gentlemen.”

  “That’s a chance we’re going to have to take,” said Hands.

  “How long will it take us to get there?” Caesar asked the sailing master.

  “The run to Bermuda is more than a thousand miles. It will take a week with a favorable wind, longer if she be against us.”

  “Well then, crowd that canvas and make all sail, Mr. Hands!” said Thache loudly. “We’ve no time to lose!”

  “Aye, so be it! More sail, you scallywags! Lively ho now!” thundered Hands.

  With the debate settled, the crew jumped into the task of sailing the vessel with renewed vigor. Caesar felt as if a full mutiny had been narrowly averted, though the vote to keep Thache on as captain hadn’t even been close. All the same, he couldn’t deny a new feeling in the air, a feeling that they were no longer merely doing battle with the British Crown and its powerful navy, but were struggling to fight off a cancer from within. Since the deception at Old Topsail Inlet and subsequent obtainment of the King’s pardon, something had changed. But now the situation had gotten worse. They had been pirates again for a single day and already they were turning against one another. To Caesar, it did not bode well for the future of the already-reduced company.

  Not well at all.

  CHAPTER 49

  EAST OF BERMUDA

  AUGUST 23, 1718

  WHEN LOOKOUT RICHARD GREENSAIL spotted the pair of sails, Thache turned away from the speeding school of luminescent dorado he had been watching and pointed his spyglass eastward. After leaving the American mainland behind ten days earlier, they were now within a day’s sail of Bermuda, which he knew was the final waypoint for vessels of all nationalities before making landfall in Europe. The sun was sinking low in the sky, but the visibility was still at least a dozen miles. After locating the two new interlopers, Thache sent the eagle-eyed Caesar aloft with a telescope to ascertain their type and country of origin. The black pirate was able to quickly verify that, although they flew no nation’s colors, they appeared to be double-masted French merchantmen and the one to leeward was sailing light. Upon hearing the news, the crew gave a lusty cheer.

  Calling Caesar back down to the quarterdeck, Thache quickly computed an intercepting path and commanded Israel Hands to crowd on sail and give immediate chase. The Jamaican-rigged Adventure raced towards the two French vessels from the northwest on a perpendicular intersecting course, sending flying fish scattering before its bow. Having scoured the shipping lanes for the past three days along with his crew, Blackbeard was excited to finally have a crack at a pair of prizes. During his Royal Navy career, he had particularly enjoyed taking the vessels of Britain’s most important enemy after Spain, and he would be more than happy to plunder a pair of French Martiniquemen. There was just one problem: if he attacked, Governor Eden’s pardon might as well be ripped up, for it would no longer offer him or his crew any protection whatsoever.

  Just as the sky grew dark, the Adventure drew close enough that he was able to confirm that both vessels were indeed French. In fact, unbeknownst to the captain, the lead ship was a French merchant ship named Rose Emelye that had spent the spring following the winds and currents across the Atlantic from Nantes to tropical Martinique, and much of the summer unloading French cargo and taking on bags of cocoa and barrels of freshly refined sugar. Now the Rose was following the Gulf Stream home in the company of another French merchant ship, the La Toison d’Or, sailing just a stone’s throw to leeward. The ships appeared to be slowly working their way northward on a great circle course bound for home, sailing close to the outer fringes of the Sargasso Sea and as far as possible from the depredations of Caribbean freebooters.

  Like a stalking lion, the Adventure drew closer to the two French sloops. Studying them closely in the dying light, he wanted to be sure he could take them with his smaller-than-usual pirate sloop, armed with only eight cannons. The Frenchmen had not altered their course and had not shown their heels, so he suspected they weren’t quite sure what to make of him. But by now they must be curious what the small sloop on the horizon, with Spanish lines better suited to shuttling cargo between Caribbean islands than to crossing an ocean, was doing way out here. The current ocean passage was usually traveled only by European-bound vessels departing from the Windward Islands that had no reason to call upon American ports. The French captains had to be perplexed as to what the Adventure was doing out in the open ocean, and why was it on an intercept course with their much larger oceangoing merchant ships. Well soon, very soon, he thought, they would have their answer.

  But he had to be careful. The French vessels were larger and more heavily armed than the Adventure, and for a moment he was filled with doubt regarding his chances of success should they decide to put up a fight. Tonight’s attack, if carried out, would be his first attempt on a prize since he had shed the greater part of his company at Old Topsail Inlet, and his first engagement as captain of the Adventure. Together, the two ships were out of his class. But he had the advantage of speed and maneuverability, and his crew were seasoned pirates instead of underpaid merchant seamen with little motivation to fight for their oppressive masters.

  Soon Thache overtook the vessels and pulled alongside within cannon range. It was then he made his decision.

  “Prepare your guns to fire, Mr. Morton!”

  “Aye, Captain! Roll out the guns!”

  “Mr. Miller, you may prepare your boarding party!”

  Three cannon muzzles rolled out of gun ports on the sloop’s sides and two dozen armed men crowded the decks, brandishing their weapons and yelling to intimidate the enemy as the Death’s Head was thrown up the rigging.

  But to Thache’s surprise, the French didn’t stand down. They just kept sailing to the northeast on their designated course as if nothing was happening.

  Them Frogs be proud bastards, he thought. What is their game? Do they really think they can resist and eventually overpower me?

  Now he heard shoutin
g coming from the Rose Emelye. The captain was ordering his crew to prepare for action and instructing his master gunner to make the vessel’s four cannons ready. He then reached for his speaking trumpet.

  “Ahoy there!” he cried out to the Adventure in execrable English. “Whoever you are, you must remove yourselves, or we will fire!”

  Thache looked around for his own trumpet, but couldn’t locate it. But Caesar quickly found it and handed it to him. He spoke into it.

  “You and your consort, strike your colors and lower your topsails so that we may prepare to board!”

  “We will do nothing of the kind, mon Capitaine! I warn you again to stand down or we will open fire.”

  “No, you are not in control, my French friend! Surrender yourselves now and no harm will come to ye! But if you resist at all, you shall receive no quarter from me or my men! It is your choice and I would remind you to choose wisely!”

  “Non monsieur, you must remove yourselves at once—or we will open fire!”

  Thache just shook his head. “Curse and damn the scupperlout, we’ll trounce the devilment out of him,” he grumbled, and then he turned towards his helmsman. “Mr. Gibbons, hard-a-lee, if you would please. We’re going to this take this stubborn Frenchman by surprise and seize his consort.”

  “Captain?”

  “You heard me, Mr. Gibbons! Hard-a-lee!”

  “Aye, Captain! Hard-a-lee, hard-a-lee!”

  As Gibbons pushed the tiller hard to the lee side to turn the Adventure into the wind, the crewmen released ropes and the sails briefly flapped. And then, like a well-trained horse turning on a penny, the sloop suddenly swung hard about and shot by the French ship in the opposite direction, sweeping in on the unarmed Toison d’Or.

  Suddenly, Thache heard a whistling sound and, a moment later, an explosion ripped through the Adventure. He couldn’t believe his eyes: the French captain had opened up with a broadside and the impact rocked every timber of the sloop. He saw Joseph Brooks and two other men slumped across the deck, lying battered and bloodied at one of the blown-apart gun stations. They weren’t dead, but were definitely wounded as the smell of gunpowder filled the air and splinters of wood littered the deck.