Several of the men were coughing. Jack Rackham was muttering a prayer and whimpering. He was a good sailor and a fancy dresser, with his love of finery and the calico cloth, but he was not the bravest of men. Vane was swearing under his breath between gasped splutters.
Gibbens started up to his feet, but the click of Teach’s pistol made him sit again, his body bending over in great coughs.
“This is ridiculous, Teach! You’ll damn kill us all quicker than any bloody Navy battle! You enjoy your creation of hell if you wish. I have had enough of it.”
Israel Hands. He had been with Teach from the first. From the days several years back when they had jumped ship from the Navy and started a more profitable life of piracy under the command of Benjamin Hornigold. Hornigold had taken amnesty, was one of Governor Roger’s advisers along with Henry Jennings now. Perhaps they had been right to see sense? Israel Hands had been the only one to remain as Teach’s true friend, no matter what he did. But this was going too far. They were all going to die down here in this dreadful stink of brimstone. Someone had to make a break for it and Teach would shoot any one of his crew without a second thought. But Hands? Would he shoot his friend?
“Thee leave here, Israel, an’ I mean my word. I’ll shoot thee.”
His eyes running with tears, breath choking in his suffocating lungs, Israel shook his head, “Then shoot me Teach. I don’t particularly care anymore.” He went up the ladder and began pushing the hatch cover aside.
With utter calmness, with no apparent reaction to the stench or smoke, with no qualm of conscience or remorse for the ending of a friendship, Teach levelled his weapon and fired. The bullet slammed into Isiah’s knee, shattering the kneecap. He shrieked – and every man leapt to his feet and bolted for the hatch, the first ones there scooping Hands up and carrying him out to the fresh, clean air. Jesamiah and Charles Vane among them.
“The man’s insane!” Vane spluttered through gasps for breath, his mouth opening and closing as if he were a fish. “Utterly stark, staring mad! If he thinks I am going to sail with him he has another think coming! Bugger knows what he will dream up next!”
He never even looked at Israel Hands who lay groaning on the deck losing blood and consciousness. Instead, Vane was gesturing wildly for his men to start climbing down into the longboat. “Are you coming, Rackham? I am leaving. Teach can keep his hell to himself.”
Jack Rackham, Calico Jack, hesitated.
“You are welcome to stay with me,” Jesamiah said as he used his knife to rip a Spanish flag into strips to bind around Isiah’s shattered knee. “I’ll be leaving here soon too. Come with me?” Rackham was a little naïve, perhaps, a little too much in love with the simple life, but a good fellow. Fun.
Vane was in the boat, ready to give order to push off. The tide was on the flood; if they hurried they could set sail and negotiate the shifting channels and hidden sandbars without too much fuss. “You coming, Rackham?”
Apologetically, and with a grin that made him look more like a naughty boy than a fearsome pirate, Rackham spread one hand. “I’ll not get my own ship with you, Jes. I’m sorry. And anyway, you have your wife. You’ll not be wanting a whoremonger like me around her, will you?”
That was true. Jack Rackham could coax a woman into his bed faster than an anchor dropped. “You take care then, Calico Jack.” Jesamiah shook hands with his friend then turned his attention to saving Israel Hands’ leg. He doubted he would be successful.
Except for the rats Edward Teach sat alone in the hold. The air had started to clear once the hatch had been opened, but there was still enough smoke and foulness to create the hellish fire and brimstone illusion he had intended.
“Thee bist all cowards!” he bellowed. “Lily-livered dregs! Not one o’ thee be fit t’sail with me! I be Blackbeard tha Devil’s own! Tha most notorious pirate on tha Spanish Main!”
“Except you are not, are you, Edward? Vane is more notorious than you. Few of your men are prepared to stay loyal, and your ship is a leaking hulk. You are finished, Edward. Finished.”
There was another in the hold. A figure sitting where Acorne had sat. Their appearance was alike, same facial expression; same build. For a moment Teach thought it was Acorne, damn him. He should have shot him long before now, but then, he did dearly want the Sea Witch for his own, and as much as it galled him to admit it, he was not going to get her without Acorne’s initial aid.
The man sitting there was not Acorne. It was his father. Charles St Croix Mereno.
Blackbeard chortled. “So, this be where thee ended up? In tha pits of Hell!”
“No Edward, I am not yet there. You are invited there ahead of me. The arrangements are made.”
“I ‘ave a pact with tha Devil. I bain’t goin’ t’ die.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Edward. You have been misinformed.”
Teach swore, slapped his thighs, started coughing, his face turning puce as he struggled for breath. He was choking but he made himself turn his back on the phantom, walk triumphant, with dignity, up the ladder. Only in the privacy of his great cabin did he throw open the stern window and take in great gulps of air. He refused to notice that his hands were shaking.
Twenty Seven
Monday 11th November
“I take it this daft idea to attack Nassau has been abandoned?” Jesamiah asked as he ate breakfast. Technically it was luncheon as it was well past noon, but no one had been awake before midday to cook or eat. Except for Jesamiah himself. He had been up and about since before dawn.
Teach only grunted an answer as he chewed, not about to admit that his lungs felt as if they had been set on fire.
“And Hampton Roads? Are we still to blockade there?”
Again a grunt. When he did finally speak, Teach’s voice sounded as though it had been rubbed with gravel. “What have thee done with Hands? Buried him?”
Jesamiah finished his coffee, wiped crabmeat from his moustache. He was becoming a little bored with crab, fish, and pelican. A fine piece of beefsteak would go down well. Or roasted lamb with potatoes. Or pork with crisp crackling. Finch was a curmudgeonly old basket, but he could cook, and Jesamiah was missing his steward. And his crew. And his ship. And his wife.
He nodded towards a stand of trees. “Yesterday evening I ordered Gibbens and Caesar to hold him down while I sawed his leg off. It was not a job I enjoyed, especially as your surgical equipment is blunt and rusty. I stayed with him all night. By some miracle he is still alive. I suggest you send him to Bath Town. He can receive proper medical attention there. Or a decent Christian burial.”
Another non-committal grunt.
“If he survives, Hands will turn evidence against you, you know that, don’t you, Teach?”
Blackbeard sniffed, tossed his picked-clean meat bones to the fire. He would have to send the men to look for more wood soon. “Nay, ‘e won’t. Even if ’n he do, they as ‘ave t’catch me first.”
Leaning forward, Jesamiah rested his elbows on his knees and linked his fingers, rubbed his thumb over where the T of Tiola’s name was starting to show through the tar – how he missed her. Had enough of being without her. “So what are we going to do? Sit here and wait for our beards to turn grey?” When he received no response, continued; “The Adventure is past her prime. What if I could get us two decent sloops? We could cruise across to the African coast. Commandeer a new flagship for you. Something even better than your Queen Anne’s Revenge? There’s plenty of slavers just right for the picking over there.”
Teach croaked contempt. “As I recall, thee were none too ‘appy when I suggested getting us as such afore.”
Jesamiah scratched at his beard growth. “Well, I’ve been thinking on it since then. As it happens I know where a sloop is moored. Rightfully, she’s mine. All I have to do, in theory, is walk in and claim her. Complete with crew. For the second, well, I think I can find something suitable at Hampton Roads.”
Teach snorted through his nose, not wanting to admi
t that Jesamiah had the upper hand. He was annoyed with Vane; the unreliable sot had let him down. Together they would have been invincible. He had no intention of forming a lasting partnership with Acorne, he was too squeamish and anyway, Teach did not like him. Not that he liked Vane, but at least Vane did not pull disapproving faces when someone got shot. Nor did he trust Acorne. Not an inch.
Jesamiah linked his hands behind his head, stretched, feeling the pleasure of easing stiff muscles. His shoulder barely hurt now. He certainly seemed to heal fast these days – did Tiola have something to do with it? Probably. He was tired, it had been a long night nursing Hands. He doubted the man would be alive by the time a pilot took him up to Bath Town. He hated amputating limbs. One of the worst tasks a captain had to do if there was no surgeon aboard. There again, maybe Hands had no wish to live, with only one leg what was there for him? Another reason why Jesamiah had not slept, he had spent a good part of the night wondering what he would do if he lost a limb. Maudlin thoughts that befitted this bleak place that was the Ocracoke. He had to get away from here! “I had a vague idea about retrieving my sloop when I discovered Sea Witch had gone. I intend to go after her, and I have a suspicion they may’ve taken her across to Africa. No one steals my ship and gets away with it. But I can’t get her back on me own, savvy?”
Teach rubbed at his chin, thoughtfully.
“I intend t’shoot thee when I be ready to, Acorne.”
Leaning back on one elbow, Jesamiah stretched his legs out on the warm sand, batted a fly away from his eyes. He tipped his hat over his face, lay down, his hands clasped over his chest. He needed to sleep. “Not if I shoot you first, but I’ll not be doing that ‘til you’ve helped me get my ship back.”
“If I send thee off t’get these sloops, how canst I trust thee t’come back?”
From beneath his hat, Jesamiah said, “Oh I will be back. Cross m’heart an’ spit in yer eye, I promise you, I will be back.” He sounded convincing, but then, Jesamiah’s easy-come lies always did.
Twenty Eight
From the seclusion of the trees Charles watched Jesamiah climb into the gig, the men of Blackbeard’s crew chosen to take him and the unconscious Israel Hands to shore near Pilot Point were sullen and resentful. Their mood would change if Jesamiah treated them to a drink in the tavern there. Whether they would return to Teach was another matter.
Charles was pleased Jesamiah had gone, for this was the place where land became sea and sea became land. The Ocracoke. It was here that he should have found the peace he craved by fulfilling his appointed duty.
Twice he had drawn his pistol, had aimed. Twice he had not found the courage and had uncocked the hammer. Yet again he had failed.
Is this my hell? he wondered. Forever condemned to fail in my duty? To not have the guts to pull a trigger?
Twenty Nine
Wednesday 13th November – Virginia
“No. I am sorry, Alicia. The last tobacco crop was not sold, consequently there is not much money, and no one will take that tobacco as barter. It is not acceptable quality. I do not even know if I will be able to purchase what we need for next year’s crop.” Samuel Trent appeared stressed and harassed. He had known la Sorenta was in a run-down state, but had not realised until he had studied the ledger books quite how bad it was. Phillipe Mereno had barely done a thing since old Halyard Calpin had died. The manager he had put in Calpin’s place had been next to useless. It was not surprising all the money had gone; Mereno had been living on the accrued capital from the sale of his wife’s Bahamas sugar plantation and had set nothing aside for the running of his own. La Sorenta was close to bankruptcy and here was Alicia demanding three hundred pounds to spend on a new wardrobe for the approaching Christmas season of balls and celebrations!
“No,” he repeated, “I cannot give you what is not there to give.” Alicia stood inside the office utterly stunned. It had been Charles Mereno’s office, then Phillipe’s, although he had rarely used it; and now Trent had marched in as bold as you please to claim it. For a full two minutes she said not a word, and then erupted into a demon fury. She swept the ledger books from the shelf above the desk, tipped papers to the floor and stamped on them. Was about to tear a chart from the wall when Samuel launched to his feet and stopped her. It had taken him three days to fashion that estate plan, he was not about to see it ripped up.
His action infuriated Alicia even more. “Let go of me! How dare you? You have no right to be here, no right to tell me what I can or cannot do. You have no right to anything. No right!”
He released her arms, stepped away. “I have every right, Mrs Mereno. Jesamiah…”
She stamped her foot and screamed. “Jesamiah? Jesamiah! I hate Jesamiah, I loathe him! This is all his fault. Everything is his fault.”
Samuel Trent was a placid young man who had no experience of women. Rather than keeping quiet and letting her rant, he attempted to point out the truth, that it was her husband who had been at fault. He was assaulted by another ear-piercing scream.
“If you do not like the way I am trying to save this plantation from ruin, lady,” he finally yelled back, “I am not forcing you to stay. No one, least of all myself, would wish to keep you here against your will. Take your personal possessions and go.” He surprised himself at his forthrightness, was almost on the verge of apologising when Alicia cut in.
“Very well. I have no intention of remaining where I am not welcome. I will leave in the morning.” With a swirl of petticoats she left the room. Samuel sighed, started picking up one or two papers, dropped them again and conscientiously went after her.
“Mrs Mereno, Alicia, I can probably give you enough tobacco worth about fifty pounds sterling.” To him it seemed a lot of money: a naval sea captain’s annual pay.
She swung around and threw the first thing to hand at him. A flower vase. He ducked and it smashed against the wall behind him.
“I could not even buy an undergarment for fifty pounds!” She exaggerated of course, but in a temper she was not prepared to be reasonable. She stalked away, leaving Samuel bewildered. He did not understand women at all.
She spent the evening fitting as many clothes as she could into trunks, securing her jewellery into a casket and ensuring the entire seventy-two piece silver dinner service was packed carefully into layers of straw in wooden crates. There was nothing Samuel could do to dissuade her. Nor could he, the next morning, do much to stop her loading her baggage on to the estate’s sloop, the Jane, especially when she stated she was only borrowing it.
“But where will you go? Alicia please; be reasonable. What will I tell Jesamiah when he returns?”
Her answer shocked Samuel, but made the crew of the Sea Witch, most of them lounging beside the river fishing, a few aboard completing the routine daily tasks, laugh out loud. Samuel had heard Jesamiah use the word, a particularly descriptive blasphemy, but had been totally unaware that a woman would know it, let alone utter it. Nor did he believe Rue when told it was Alicia who had taught it to Jesamiah in the first place.
Standing on the jetty, Samuel watched the current of the Rappahannock take the Jane and Alicia away. He felt a sense of failure; perhaps he was not as good at running an estate as he had thought? He had certainly handled that contretemps badly.
“I am going to Williamsburg,” Alicia had announced yesterday, “to open a brothel.”
Yesterday, Samuel had not believed her. Today, watching her sail away, he was not so sure. “I did not do very well there, did I, Rue?” he confessed. “But there appears to be no money to spend on non-essential things like dresses, ribbons, lace and finery.”
Rue chortled and slapped Samuel’s shoulder. “One thing you must learn about women, mon ami, there must always be money to spend on the essentials such as dresses, ribbons, lace and finery! To keep a woman ‘appy it is the luxuries of life you cut down on – le petit things, like food and bills!”
Mr Janson eventually came up with a logical suggestion.
“Why
not see that lawyer fellow in Williamsburg? Mebbe he knows where there’s some more money? Someone’s ‘as t’see ‘im at some time anyways t’sort out the legal muddle ‘bout this place, don’t they? No reason why you can’t be makin’ a start, is there?”
It was a good suggestion, but Alicia had taken the estate’s only sloop and Samuel had not the gall to beg a passage aboard any Urbanna ship. The whole town would be wanting to know why, and he was not prepared to admit failure in public – not yet.
Rue let him stew on the problem for half the day, then relented. The crew was getting bored sitting around. A short voyage down to Hampton Roads would be something to pass the time. Providing they temporarily changed Sea Witch’s name and again issued her with suitable papers, registering her as the official property of la Sorenta. No one was particularly keen on being mistakenly arrested for piracy.
Thirty
Saturday 16th November
Rumour had already reached Williamsburg and the ears of Governor Spotswood that Blackbeard was anchored in the Ocracoke inlet. Less than a day’s sail away. Too near for comfort, and too near to be tolerated.
Of Acorne there had been no word – nor had there been any message from him. General opinion among the Governor’s entrusted ‘pirate committee’ was that he had returned to piracy and would be seen no more. Spotswood and Lieutenant Maynard were visibly disappointed. Their judgement had plainly been well out of kilter.
Their meeting on the afternoon of the fourteenth day of November was held in secret – ostensibly, the four men had met to play cards: Captain Ellis Brand of the Lyme, Captain George Gordon, Maynard and Spotswood. Anyone peeping through the window of the Governor’s private parlour on the first floor would have wondered why there were no cards on the table, only a chart of the North Carolina coast spread across the flat surface.
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