“Avast reading,” he interrupted. “I’d add to that that he was quite a large chap, and was better than anybody at invoking pure terror, as y’can see. If you met him, and he politely asked you if you’d make a gift to him of, say, your watch, you’d give it to him faster than pork fat through a goose.”
“Did he cut off anybody’s lips?”
He shook his head. “Nor any other little snippings. There’s no record he ever hurt any surrendered prisoner; the look of him was usually sufficient to get him whatever he wanted, and if any further persuasion was needed, he had a laugh that was Beelzebub’s envy. All jolly good theatre. Worked, too.” I asked what was meant by lighted matches. “Slow fuse, for touching off cannon. Chap smelled of singed hair and sulphurous, but it didn’t seem to put off the ladies. Bit of a womaniser, in point of fact. In any case, read his story from the beginning. And read it to yourself; I’ve heard it before. Tell me when you get to the battle at Ocracoke Inlet.”
So, silently, I read about the short—less than two-year—piratical career of Edward Teach, an educated man from Bristol who had found his way aboard privateers during Queen Anne’s War, until being put out of work by the peace, like so many of the brethren of the coast. Having dived for a while on the Spanish treasure wrecks of the 1715 fleet, he then sailed off on the account—which is to say he turned pirate—in company with his mentor, Captain Hornigold, both in sloops.
When they captured a heavily armed but undermanned French merchantman, Teach was able to change his flag onto a ship that he could reinforce to carry forty guns, renaming it Queen Anne’s Revenge. After various captures and adventures, and with a small squadron under his command, Teach sailed into the approaches to the port of Charles Town, South Carolina, and blockaded it. He took numbers of vessels there, keeping all their companies prisoner, and holding them hostage until the town gave him the ransom he demanded, which was a chest of specific medicines. Here, I could not help interrupting the captain’s work, asking him how such a blockade of a major port was possible.
“Charles Town could hardly defend itself at all, and it would be weeks before the Royal Navy could muster a force to have a go at the terrifying Teach, who so much liked to fight, he fought from exuberance; he once slugged it out with a Royal Navy ship, fought ’em to a standoff with no earthly hope of profit, except the battle itself. He backed up his image, y’see, and made his crew go along with it, because he was worth the lot of them. Used to challenge them to little contests from time to time, like going below decks with burning sulphur pots, then sealing the hatches to see who could stand being there the longest. Teach always won.”
“Why just a medicine chest?” It seemed to me he could have exacted a lot bigger tribute.
“He only needed medicines. And to win, of course. With him, everything was winning the game. So there wasn’t a scratch on any of his hostages when he sent them ashore, no more than any jewellery.” The captain chuckled. I went back to my reading.
From Charles Town, Teach cruised up the North Carolina coast, where he ran his flagship aground as though by navigational error and, while pretending to rescue it, also grounded his second-largest ship. He then sailed away in Adventure, the smallest of his sloops, taking all of the loot, plus the forty men he wanted to keep. The rest he left stranded, or destitute, or both, while Teach and his crew paid a visit to the governor of North Carolina, surrendered to the royal proclamation of amnesty for pirates, and got pardons.
After that, Teach was careful to give no offence to local shipping, sailing as far away as Bermuda for his further sport in the eight-gun sloop he had adopted as a kind of private yacht. Returning to the Carolina capes, he cruised, disposing of his loot, trading, socialising ashore with some of the local planters. It was an extended camping and yachting holiday, as far as I could tell, with Blackbeard getting to enjoy his considerable celebrity, and under royal immunity. It did not last. Before long, some of Teach’s friends showed up, such as Vane, Rackham, Deal, and Israel Hands, in their own sloops: a family reunion. Teach hosted them all at a camp he had established off Ocracoke Inlet, a pass through the barrier islands south of Cape Hatteras. Two king’s cruisers were sent at last to find him there, and there I left off reading, as instructed, with the question, what had become of his royal pardon?
“Governor of Virginia, chap named Spotswood, simply wouldn’t honour any Blackbeard pardon signed by his rival governor in Carolina. Politics. In the name of putting a stop to Ocracoke Inlet becoming a pirates’ nest, Spotswood could invade his neighbour’s state, which he wanted, and get not only Blackbeard and his crew, but their treasure, with no need to shift out of his chair. So, with a stroke of his pen, the Virginia militia marches south, and two sloops sail for Ocrakoke under king’s colours, commanded by Lieutenant Maynard of the Royal Navy. He’s got fifty-five well-armed men, but no carriage guns; for him, it has to be a boarding action. Teach has only twenty-five men, but eight deck guns.”
The captain put down his macramé in order to familiarise me with the tactical situation, as dictated by the surrounding shallows and currents. Teach’s close knowledge of these were his greatest advantage, along with his cannon, and he made best use of both. Maynard arrived at the pass late in the day, saw Teach’s mast behind the island, and anchored to await a dawn attack, with favourable currents. Teach’s preparation for the imminent battle was a late-night drinking party. In early light, with faint breeze, Maynard threaded the pass and steered to within earshot, where Teach hailed, promising no quarter—a fight to the death. A slow-motion, running battle ensued, with Teach working the channels, until his attackers both ran aground; he then turned his cannons on the sloops, giving each one a broadside of grapeshot, with devastating effect.
“Maynard loses twenty men, killed and wounded, and the smaller sloop, with fewer men, loses nine. Now, if you’re Lieutenant Maynard chap, what do you do when you get free? You’ve lost half your men.” I suggested a prudent retreat. “No, you keep attacking. Teach also goes aground; you steer for him, but you can’t stand any more losses, so you send your crews below decks to shelter from the rain of small arms fire coming at you. A valiant midshipman steers. When your shot-up little sloop finally touches Adventure, pirates throw grenades, then board, thinking they’ve killed you all. Then, on your signal, your men storm up through the hatches in a counterattack that catches the pirates by complete surprise, pistol, pike, and cutlass. They never have a chance to reorganise, and your second sloop arrives. Blackbeard himself wades into the thick of it, roaring, hewing, firing pistols. He takes a pistol ball, then a cutlass hack to the neck, then another stroke or two, but fights on with a devilish strength, until he takes a thrust that finishes him, and he drops dead. Without him, the pirates still standing jump overboard to make a swim for it, but you retrieve ’em, and that’s that.” He reached for his macramé.
“Wait a minute,” I cried, feeling yet again left out of the action. “You mean that’s the end of it?”
“More or less. Maynard cut off Teach’s head and hung it on his bowsprit. Adventure’s crew were tried and hanged, all but Israel Hands, who wasn’t even there. Governor Spotswood got the invasion of his rival colony, plus a pile of Blackbeard’s loot, and Ocracoke Inlet got the legend of Blackbeard’s ghost wandering around looking for his head. But I reckon he more likely came back later as Rasputin, Russian chap with whom he had much in common. Why? Have I left something out?”
“Me,” I said, “I thought you were going to put me into it. It’s our last chance for that.”
“Oh dear,” he sighed. “I’d advise against it, actually.” He gave me a look, and, in my disappointment, I gave him one back. Resigned, he rummaged in his pocket, and handed me another coin, a gold doubloon this time, with the marks of old Spain, and a 1715 date. “Teach got this out of one of the Spanish wrecks, and held it in his own hands, and now it’s in your hands. Just fancy.” It was a heavy thing, the heaviest so far, with the unmistakable magic that is peculiar to pure old gold.<
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“Now, go back to the point where Maynard commands his crew to go below, out of sight; off the deck that’s littered with your dead and dying shipmates, while you approach the pirates. Everybody’s crouched close, listening to the lead balls slamming into the hull, thinkin’ thoughts that make your brains perspire. It’s a warm morning, and looking like your last one. Just be there,” he ordered, and there I was, as in my recent dream, now living it in a way that was immediately alarming.
The thing was too vivid, starting with an ammonia smell to the sweating bodies around me. The closest thing in front of my face was the meaty arm and shoulder of the man in front of me, glazed with grime, and dotted with a rash. His pigtail was greased. From the man behind me, or thereabouts, came a low humming, the same fragment of tune repeated again and again, with interruptions for hard swallowing. His hand, clutched on a pike handle, rested heavily against my back. At about the time that the first grenade exploded overhead, I decided to withdraw to the real world. Holding that thought, I awaited my immediate return.
It was elusive. Before, I’d always been able to come back to the table by the fire, but I realised I’d better aim instead for Merry’s cockpit, so I tried for that, again without results. Another grenade went off.
“OK, I’m ready,” I spoke aloud, so the captain would hear me, wherever he was.
“Good on ye, lad, but quieten down,” said the man in front of me, shifting his arm to put it around my shoulders and give me a squeeze. Its new position opened his armpit to my face, closely revealing the hot centre of his pimply heat rash.
“Captain!” I called.
“Pipe down, and wait for the order!” came a harsh whisper from the rear of our pack. Three grenades exploded in fast succession. Then the hull ground against another one, as unfriendly voices came from above.
“They’re all knocked on the head, except three or four . . . let’s jump on board and cut them to pieces!” This was followed by a thumping of feet on deck.
“Captain!” I yelled.
“Right! Go!” came a voice, and every man around me sprang for the ladders, sweeping me with the rush, and I was in it, with everything happening in urgent impressions: churning smoke, pistol blasts, my feet slipping in blood and viscera, falling, dropping my pistol and cutlass, finding them, but who was the enemy? I wanted out of this.
“Captain!” I screamed, unheard by anybody. I was back on my feet, completely confused. I saw one figure that could be nobody but Blackbeard, hewing away. I pointed my pistol at him, pulled the trigger, and the weapon misfired. At the same moment a man with fierce, bright blue eyes appeared right in front of me, raising his cutlass to swing it; before he could strike, I brought my own cutlass forward in the quick lunge that I’d learned, catching him with force. I felt the blade penetrate as his eyes went gentle with surprise, and looked at me in a way that is etched in my memory. At the same time, a warm river of his blood coursed over my hand and ran down my arm. My thrust had found his heart.
When he fell, I could not pull the blade out of him because the grip was too slippery. Something made me look up just in time to see another man throwing a pistol at me; I started to duck, and that is the last I remember of it.
“What that lot wants is a sack of ice,” said the captain, referring to the egg-sized lump over my ear, “but, you’ll have to make do with a cold-water compress.” This was a bundled bloody rag soaked in seawater that he told me to hold against my head. “And here’s a couple of aspirins.” He handed them to me. According to him, I just passed out, falling forward and striking my head on the cockpit seat. He had cleaned up much blood.
“Too much sun, too little salt,” was his diagnosis. “Happens all the time. You’ll be right as rain for our homecoming. How did you like Blackbeard by the by?” He was looking at me in a bemused way. I was still stunned by whatever had just happened to me, and it took me a minute to catch my breath in the good old world again. I said that from what I had read, and heard, and seen, Blackbeard was like an animal.
“Mmmm. Well, Teach was no L’Ollonais, no brute, more what you might call a determined competitor. But as his prisoner, you were safe as a lamb in the arms of Saint Brendan at sheering time, and Teach could be quite courtly with the ladies. A bit mad, perhaps, but not without a sense of humour,” he smiled. “If you’d care to pick up the story where we left off . . . ?”
“No.” I was very grateful to be out of it. I had no idea what had just happened to me but I was quite sure that I didn’t want it to happen again. My arms were smeared with blood and I had a fierce headache.
“Perhaps he’d be more enjoyable when not in such a gruff mood. Possibly you’d prefer to chat with him as he’s writing in his journal?”
“No, thank you.”
“Did you know, of all that bloody lot, he was the only one to keep a journal? Nobody else did. I’ve got some bits of it, more than the one quoted here . . .” He picked up my copy of Johnson, and found a page. “Here’s an entry for one day in Teach’s career; two days, actually.
“Such a day, Rum all out: – Our Company somewhat sober: – A Damned Confusion amongst us! – Rogues a plotting; – great Talk of Separation. – So I looked sharp for a Prize; – such a Day, took one, with a great deal of Liquor on Board, so kept the Company hot, damned hot, then all Things went well again.”
He closed the book. “Now there’s a touch of raw poetry . . . but, I must say, you’re lookin’ a bit peaked again. You should freshen that compress and, when you’re feeling a bit recovered, and have a wash, we can discuss the menu for supper. I’m afraid it’ll be our last one of the voyage. We’re out of solomongundy, but we can peel open a can of herring. While you’re below, take a salt tablet. After supper you can clear your area and pack up your seabag. Let’s start getting Merry ready to come home, eh?”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
19
Return and Departure
Friday
THE BREEZE HELD overnight. I made my good-byes to Merry by starlight, explaining to her as best I could why I would be unable to attend her anymore. I was torn again, sad to be going back to my little life, as before the captain had sailed into it, and yet glad to be coming home, especially as the cavalry to the rescue. Mother’s worries would be instantly dissolved, I felt. During the morning, dolphins came and played around us, and the captain trimmed his beard, and I washed down the decks. Around midafternoon, the purplish profile of the Nova Scotia coast began to define itself into Grey Rocks Point, with its lighthouse, and, an hour later, the inn was in sight, aglow, etched in sunlight and shadow, as though lifted there from an old painting.
“We’ll go right in. Our engine’s down, and it’s important to get you home straightaway; there’s a foul wind for Baywater, so we’ll sod the port-of-entry thing, and let the authorities come to us.”
I told him I had no doubt as to his ability to get more use out of an always-defunct engine than it would be worth if it worked, which made his face crinkle into a smile.
“Nothin’ against engines, mind; useful in the Torres Strait, or off a lee shore with your rig blown away, or lots of other situations, but the bloody things do stink intolerably.” To get the parts he needed, he said he would have to visit the Ailsa Craig Company, which had moved to Sussex, or maybe Kent. “Mail never catches up with me, and I don’t send any, so I’ll have to show up on their doorstep.”
“But you’ll write to me?”
“I’ll write my letters to you on the wind, Jim, where you can read ’em cleaner than if they’re in an envelope with stamps and postmarks, eh?” Here was double disappointment. Not only was he going to be gone, but gone for good, and it felt like a death. My feelings showed. “Dear boy, I’ll come and visit you again.”
“When? Promise?”
“When I’m younger. My oath on it.” Meanwhile, he reminded me, he would still be around for a few days, tidying up his affairs in Grey Rocks, making his good-byes. “Before that, we’re about to have some hellos.”
And so we did, although not as I had expected. When Merry sailed past the breakwater, I gave three blasts from the foghorn, but they drew nobody, so that we had to handle our own lines, then snug down everything, wondering where everybody was. As we were finishing with Merry, here came Meg hurrying down the steps, a belated welcome at last.
“Yay, Meg!” I called, with a joy that started to dampen; she approached with a kind of quick march, and a face that was short on cheer.
“Dear girl, come aboard,” said the captain, offering her his hand for the step. For once, she took it, and the seat he offered, while I gushed about how we had done everything we set out to do, and had the money, and not to be concerned about my bandaged head.
“That’s good,” she nodded, adding that my being safe would take a weight of worry off Mother. As feared, there had been no message from Mathew, and Mother had finally alerted the Coast Guard. I started to explain about my attempts to telephone, but Meg stopped me.
“Your Aunt Karen’s dead,” she began her own report. It had happened late last Saturday, sometime while Merry was anchored off the Graves. With Mother and Robin at her bedside in the Halifax hospital, Aunt Karen had passed into the next world, making her good-byes to all, including the captain. “She said to tell you she only regrets that she wasn’t going to have the chance to ask you some more questions.”
The Brotherhood of Pirates Page 29
