“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Jesamiah stood and with a placating smile removed the weapon from Rackham’s hand before he shot himself, or someone else, in the foot. “We are here to discuss business, not kill each other.” He was also concerned that Stede Bonnet had not arrived, but was glad of it. Another vicious brute he would rather not renew acquaintance with. “We all know Bonnet is not especially good at navigation. I expect he’s got lost further down the coast.” Jesamiah did not add that for the same reason he was surprised Vane had got here. But then, Vane relied on Jack Rackham to navigate.
“We as don’t need Bonnet,” Blackbeard announced, “Us’n can doos what I have in min’ without him.”
Rackham sat down again, Jesamiah also. This was it then, the Grand Plan. The reason they were all gathered here.
“I have a plan,” Vane announced, cutting in. “We need to unite, work in consort.”
Teach growled, did not look too pleased at being verbally pushed aside, but like it or not, Vane was the most prominent pirate in the Spanish Main. He had a good ship, an adequate crew. Teach’s glory had peaked at his successful siege of Charleston back in the spring. And then he had lost his ship. The Queen Anne’s Revenge had been his great pride, he had done very little of note since losing her. What could he do with a sloop that was falling to bits?
Vane announced his proposal. “I intend to reinstate Nassau as a place fit for pirates. Show this Governor Rogers he’s bitten off more’n he can chew.”
Jesamiah roared with laughter. Perhaps not the best reaction; Vane was not amused.
“You think I am jesting, Acorne? You see something funny?”
Sobering, Jesamiah attempted to collect himself. He had been alarmed when first learning of a meeting of pirates here on the Ocracoke – Teach had obviously had this planned for some while, and it was exactly the sort of thing Spotswood needed to know about. It occurred to him, sitting here trying not to laugh any louder than he already was, that perhaps Virginia’s Governor had already got wind of this grand parley? If he had, that would explain his anxiety and the need to employ a reliable spy. Were these men sitting here not such greed-bound, drunken fools, both Spotswood and Rogers would have had justifiable cause for concern.
He said, quelling his merriment, “It would have been a good plan, Vane, if you had not flapped your tongue.”
“Don’t know what you are talking about,” Vane countered.
“Don’t you? You mean you have completely forgotten that you personally sent a message to Rogers telling him of your intention? That you and Teach here and one other pirate – I assume you meant Bonnet – were going to kick his arse? Told him to prepare for war?”
Silence.
“Well?” Teach asked, glowering at Vane. “Did thee blab?”
Vane got to his feet, started waving his arms about. “I might have done. I might have let a few things slip. What of it? I have got Rogers worried. He is no match for us. We sail in there, claim Nassau harbour as ours.”
Jesamiah crowed again. “Oh aye, you got him worried! So worried he sent for Navy reinforcements and has ensured every cannon on the fortress walls is in prime working order. You expect to attack an armed fortress with one brigantine and a leaking sloop? Rogers has Nassau battened down as if there’s a hurricane coming!”
“Aside,” Blackbeard interrupted, “I bain’t interested in Nassau. I hunts these waters. I has deals made, and tha whole o’ tha Ocracoke and Pamlico Sound here as mine. No skulking Navy frigate be goin’ t’get me here.”
Jesamiah chewed his lip. He was right there. If Spotswood wanted to attack Teach he would have to be drawn out from these shallows into open water.
“I propose,” Blackbeard spoke deliberately slowly, his cold gaze going from one man to the next. “I propose we blockade Hampton Roads. Get Spotswood t’capitulate t’us. We cut off his shipping supply – his precious town’ll be dead within tha month.”
Yet again Jesamiah guffawed with laughter. “You are both barking mad! Your sloop will probably disintegrate in the next gale to hit her, and the Chesapeake is not exactly Charleston Harbour, is it? You did a good job there with a blockade, I’ll grant you – but Spotswood is no blustering housemartin. And he happens to have two well-armed fully crewed Navy frigates at his disposal. How are you going to fight them with your handful of men?”
“I have seventy in my crew when they are all mustered!” Blackbeard roared back. “Good men.”
“Rubbish. You are left with twenty-bloody-six and six cannon. Against frigates? Against an army commander who distinguished himself at Marlborough?”
“The rest o’me men are at Bath Town. They’ll join us when I sends fer ‘em. We canst do it, Acorne. Despite your scorn, Adventure be a fast lit’le whore. Vane has tha most vicious crew on all tha seas, and Bonnet has brawn if no much brain. We wait, we pick off them frigates one at a time then sweep in. It’ll work, I’m tellin’ thee. It will work.”
“But Bonnet is not here is he? And we’ll need quality vessels for what you have in mind.”
“Then quality sloops we will has.” Teach nodded once, curt, and poked a finger in the air towards Jesamiah. “Thee will get ‘em fer us.”
“And just how am I going to do that?”
Teach leered, his version of an amused grin. “If thee be wantin’ to stay alive, Acorne, thee’ll think o’summat. All I want is’n excuse t’kill thee, an’ I be right eager fer thee t’oblige me.”
Jesamiah made a pretence at scowling and huffed, puffed and tutted for the next half hour. Inside he was chuckling with delight. Teach had no intention of attempting to do away with him while there was a possibility of getting his hands on Sea Witch. And going off to fetch two seaworthy sloops was just the excuse he needed to be gone from here without rousing suspicion. It could not have worked out better if he had planned it himself!
Twenty Three
Saturday 9th November
For Perdita Galland, the atmosphere at Archbell Point was desolate. The sun shone but its brightness was an intrusion. Sunshine was for happy days, not for the ending of a young girl’s world.
Fishermen had found a body floating in the Pamlico River. A male with hands severed at the wrists. He had been identified as Jonathan Gabriel, although the corpse was bloated and fish had eaten at his face.
On that same day Governor Eden had discovered Perdita’s affection for the boy and had beaten the truth out of her. Abruptly, his repugnance at the boy’s murder had altered to outrage at his stepdaughter’s disgrace. Locked in her room, the punishment of confinement had not bothered her. She welcomed solitude where she could sob in abject misery and her heart could break in desolate privacy.
Elizabeth-Anne had been weeping for almost the entire week, her woe increasing when she became certain that the distress would harm her baby. Tiola had reassured her the child remained healthy, and there was no sign of imminent labour. The reassurance did not stop the tears.
The shouting had been renewed this morning. Governor Eden had sent for his stepdaughter and given her a sharp interview. Her marriage to Knight was to take place within the week. On her knees, Perdita had begged and pleaded, but his mind was set and the dowry was agreed. She would be wed before any possible sign of a child should show. Knight would know nothing of her whoring. Nothing at all. She would forget Jonathan Gabriel, never think of him again.
Tiola was at a loss for what to do. She so wanted Jesamiah to come and take her away from here – so wanted this child to be born so that she could leave. But the babe had not dropped; it would probably be at least another week yet. No one was in any doubt that Jonathan’s death had been at the hands of Blackbeard. There was no certainty for the reason, but it was assumed the boy had known something of Mary Ormond’s drowning. The speculation was that he had gone to confront Teach. None but the Eden household knew the full truth.
Sitting on the porch, idly rocking in a chair, Tiola was deep in thought. Should she interfere and take Perdita’s pain away? She co
uld do so but all the girl had left were her memories, what right had Tiola to remove them, no matter how deep the present pain? She looked up as a shadow fell across her: Perdita, pale, thin, haggard and so, so sad.
“You should have let me kill him when I had the chance,” she said, her voice so low it was difficult to hear.
Tiola rose, went to take her friend’s hands but Perdita stepped aside. “I wish to walk by the river. Forgive me, Tiola, but I want to be on my own.”
“Of course, but Perdita, I am so sorry. I cannot say how sorry I am.”
“Then say nothing. Sorry is such a short word and its necessity will soon no longer be needed.” Holding the wooden banister rail Perdita went down the three steps and on to the lawn. She smiled briefly up at Tiola. “It was not your fault. The blame is with Teach. I hope someday someone puts a bullet through his black heart.” She scuffed a tear aside. “I want to be beside the river, where I shared happiness and love with Jonathan. It is the one place where I can always be with him, and no one can take him from me.”
Tiola watched her go, the girl’s head bowed, the sun lighting her hair, dancing a shadow at her feet.
What good have I done here? Tiola thought. Evil broods in this place and it will not be cleansed until Teach is dead.
Twenty Four
“Ahoy! Ahoy there Adventure!”
Jesamiah peered groggily over the rail into the brightness of the midday sun. A brig was hove too, carrying a decent amount of cargo by the look of her.
He had opted to sleep aboard the sloop for there were fewer flies and it was far away from Vane. He did not trust that man any more than he trusted Teach. Either one of them could have slid a knife between his ribs while he slept. For all that he liked Jack Rackham, Jesamiah did not trust him either. He was prone to getting wild ideas that he never thought through until the consequences were too late to do aught about.
He yawned, scratched at his backside, peered again over the side as the shout came again.
“Adventure! Ahoy!”
“What do you want?” he called grumpily. No one ashore appeared to be awake, even though the sun was at its zenith. Huh, hardly surprising, the drinking and carousing had gone on until almost dawn. He doubted any one of them would regain their senses for several days yet. “What is it?” he repeated. “If you want Teach he’s over there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m the only one aboard.”
“Well I ain’t coming no closer – it’s a deep enough channel here, I ain’t risking running aground.”
Jesamiah raised his hand, a partial wave, partial salute. “Fine. Do what you want, mate.”
“I have news.”
Rubbing his forehead – he had a pounding headache, he had, after all, partaken of his own share of the rum – Jesamiah hauled himself to his feet and propping his arms on the rail, made a flimsy attempt at appearing interested in the occupants of the brig bobbing on the tide thirty yards away.
“I’m Sam Odell, Teach knows me. Just come up from Charleston.”
“Oh aye?”
“Four armed sloops under the command of Charleston’s Governor Johnson attacked Worley, killed him and twenty-five of his crew.”
“Worley? He was new to piracy, weren’t he? Prowled the Florida coast?”
“Aye. Johnson tried and hanged ‘em all there and then on the spot.”
Jesamiah shrugged. He did not know Worley and it was the risk they all took when they signed to go on the account.
“There’s more,” Odell called across the sparkling blue of the flooding tide between them. “Stede Bonnet has also been caught.”
That got Jesamiah’s attention. “You’re jesting!”
“As sure as I’m standing here it is the truth. Four days ago. He put up a pretty pleading – said his men were responsible for any attacks, not him. He’s a cowardly scammer-bag that one.” Odell spat over the side. “Good riddance to him I say. He claims he always shut himself in his cabin and would have nothing to do with no acts of piracy! Not a soul believed a word of it. He is to hang. God rot him I say. Tell Teach. Once Bonnet’s despatched I reckon they’ll be after him as well.”
Jesamiah watched Odell’s handful of crew competently negotiate the brig towards the Pamlico River, going to Bath Town, probably. Where Tiola was. God, but this was ridiculous, he had to do something to stop all this nonsense. Give Spotswood what he wanted – the opportunity to finish Blackbeard off. This idiotic plan to blockade Hampton Roads was ideal. If Teach even attempted to enter the Chesapeake those Navy frigates would have him – perhaps it was best to encourage the proposal, and make out that he was going to fetch those sloops?
Stede Bonnet captured and to hang? Well, well. Serve the bugger right. Jesamiah had never liked him.
Twenty Five
Tiola waited on the porch for most of the afternoon, only going indoors to attend Elizabeth-Anne, see she was comfortable and offer her a herbal tea to help her rest. As the sun began to set, the concern that had been gnawing at her increased. Finally, the unease growing to fever pitch, she fetched her cloak and followed the route Perdita had taken across the lawns and along the foot-worn path that threaded through the bushes and shrubs.
At the river Tiola paused. Did she have any right to intrude? The girl was entitled to her grief, but she was also entitled to the comfort of a friend. Setting off up the path, Tiola guessed Perdita would have gone to that tumbledown shack in the clearing. The poor girl had probably sat there in the sun and cried herself to sleep, not noticed the fading day. Probably did not care.
The woods were quiet. There was no wind. No leaf rustled, no bird sang or called. Utter silence, as if Nature were holding her breath.
She found the glade, found Perdita’s cloak on the grass at its edge, crumpled as if she had lain there a while. The door to the little hut was closed. Deep evening shadows were already darkening the trees; half the glade was almost invisible now the sun had gone. But Tiola could see. In even the blackest night her Craft gave her vision that was as clear as day. She stood there, clutching Perdita’s cloak to her breast, the tears of despair trickling down her face. She should have realised what the broken-hearted girl had meant when she had said she was going to be with Jonathan.
With love, compassion and the sadness of bereft regret, Tiola climbed the lower part of the tree as Perdita had done, reached out and cut the rope that made the noose around her neck.
It was no good trying to revive her. Perdita had hanged herself hours ago.
Twenty Six
Sunday 10th November
Hell, Teach maintained, was nothing to fear. It was Heaven, he claimed, that scared the shite out of him. All that praying and confessing. All those do-gooders and holy singing angels.
“Give me tha Devil,” he roared as he stood on the beach on Sunday morning, “give me tha lust and tha greed o’ tha Devil!”
Vane had started the tirade. News of Stede Bonnet had unsettled them all, several of the men wanted to take a vote to leave, to sail across to Africa, lie low for a while.
“None of us fancy going to Hell, Teach!” Vane had cried. “Not even you, were you to admit the truth.”
“I bain’t afeared of nothin’. ‘Specially not Hell. It be a fine place for men who call themselves men.” That said, Teach had promptly set about proving it.
Common practice to clean a ship’s hold of rats and fleas by lighting pots of tar and brimstone and leaving the noxious sulphurous vapour to fumigate the closed space. Not common practice for men to sit there amidst the suffocating stink and smoke, but that was what Teach insisted on. To show them what Hell was like and that he, Edward Teach, Blackbeard, the Devil’s own, could tolerate the foul conditions better than they could. And when Teach got an idea into his head, no matter how ludicrous, his men did as he bade them. Or died.
Blackbeard sat there on a barrel at the head of the circle, like a king on his throne, his pistol – primed and cocked – was set across his lap, his threat taken seriously that th
e first one to run would be shot. One by one the pots were lit, began to burn giving off a red smoke.
Jesamiah frowned. Sulphur did not usually burn that colour, Teach must have added something else to the pots.
It was not too bad for those first few minutes; the smell was most unpleasant, but used to the acridness of gunpowder, to which sulphur was added, it was bearable. There was one lantern set on a keg in the centre of the circle, its flame a patch of yellow, but all else in the darkened hold was obscured as the red smoke began to turn into a heavy, noxious fug, burning like all the fires of hell. Jesamiah grimaced as the smell became gut-wrenchingly putrid. It was like having a length of burning match stuffed up his nose.
Seated a little to Blackbeard’s left he could hear rats squeaking and scratching, desperate to get out. They would not have much luck. There were no holes in the hull and the scuttle hatch was shut tight. They were all to suffocate down here, rats and men. Loosening his shirt, Jesamiah pulled the collar up across his mouth and nose, held it there with his hand. It helped his breathing a little but did nothing to stem the watering of his eyes. Several of the men had taken the faded bandannas from their heads and had tied them across their faces. Teach was just sitting there, arms folded. Was he human? Surely he could not be?
Shutting his streaming, stinging eyes Jesamiah tried to concentrate on something else, something pleasant. Tiola. He was beginning to think he was never going to see her again. And he had not even enjoyed his marital rights! What was she doing now? Was there any sign of this wretched babe emerging into the world?
They had managed a few shared words over the last days. Sad, grief-stricken words mostly. Poor Mary, Jonathan, Perdita. It was all tears and death and dying. Curse Edward bloody Teach! Jesamiah wanted to be with his wife, to make love to her; did not want this constant killing.
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