But the sailors back on ship refused to abandon their mate and they urged the captain to try another tack. So a plot was hatched to pretend to sail away, when they really dropped anchor farther along out of sight. The crew found a good spot to invade, moved quickly to catch a suitable tide, and after giving the natives enough time to numb their senses with rum, nineteen armed men crept along the shoreline a few leagues downwind. Slouchy drifted in and out of sensibility until the chief had him cut down from the stake and dragged into the shade to prolong his nightmare. But just as twilight turned the sky to purple the sailors launched their attack. It was as swift as any military operation on board ship and before the tribe knew what was happening, two men had Slouchy slung between them while their comrades provided distraction and cover. A volley of muskets rang out, and the men later boasted several mangled bodies were left as recompense. The tars let the current sweep them back to safety and as soon as the boats were stowed, their ship hauled anchor and sailed away. Slouchy was weak from loss of blood, his limbs were numb, and his fingers shattered, and it took several weeks to restore him to some semblance of health. His hair had turned prematurely white and his skin grew back patchy as a mottled quilt. He wouldn’t never be the same man again of course—but what shocked me most was when he told me he was not yet thirty years old!
When both our sloops were declared ready we broke camp and turned the bowsprits toward Jamaica. Now, we must have been but a half day at sea when the cry of “Sail ahoy! Starboard bow—three points north!” fired every marauder into action. We’d spotted a likely prize.
Blackbeard studied the quarry, then lowered his spy-glass to petition his crew. “Ha! What say you, gentlemen? Fair game, I’d be thinking. . . .” The scoundrels shouted agreement so their captain commanded, “Give chase, Mr. Hands!” And a string of orders flew round the deck. We trimmed our sails and steered close to the wind as able, intent on approaching from the rear. The battle of seamanship was in play. Our prey was a buxom, heavily laden sloop and, at first sight of trouble, it broke out as much canvas as possible, hoping to outrun our smaller vessels but, unfortunately for them, the air was small and thin and we were able to level with their port. The Adventure positioned itself for a broadside attack, unfurled its new Jolly Roger, and fired a warning shot across the bow, while the Revenge stayed aft out of range. Seeing they were heavily outnumbered, the crew lowered their own flag in surrender and put their officers into a longboat on first command. The captives rowed over to Blackbeard’s deck and were greeted with, “Good day to you, gentlemen. Welcome aboard!” Their captain was first to be brusquely dragged up the ladder. I squatted on the steps of the roundhouse, poking my head out to watch the drama.
Teach held a cutlass to the victim’s throat and manhandled him by the scruff of his jacket as he began the inquisition. “ ’ Twere wise of you to have no truck with Satan, you chickenhearted dog!” he roared. I watched in fascination as Blackbeard hoisted the quivering man off his feet and peered grimly into the terrified face. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Richards had grappled the bulwarks of the prize from the starboard side and was encouraging his men to bring her close enough to board. As soon as she was tied alongside, a ferocious yell burst forth as the pirates scurried over to plunder her belly. The sloop was a merchant vessel from Charles Towne carrying flour, beans, and rice to the Virgin Islands, alongside bolts of cloth, a ton of tar, and some miscellaneous cordage and ironware. She’d been chartered by a consortium of plantation owners wanting to trade their sugar cane, and was named the Mary Jane. I realized—with growing concern—this was no enemy craft. She was British. The imprisoned captain had now been joined by his three officers, who all ceremoniously gave up their swords, and as soon as their longboat was raised up they were hauled out onto the deck. Teach’s men crowded in and beat the captives to their knees with the blunt sides of their weapons. Then they circled like feisty sharks savoring the stench of fear.
Blackbeard flipped the tip of his cutlass and sliced a slither of flesh from the captain’s ear, drawing enough blood to warrant his full attention. “Who be you?” he demanded. “Who and what?”
The petrified man tried to swallow his horror and replied, “Captain Elridge of the Mary Jane . . .” And perhaps hoping for clemency he added, “Out of London via Charles Towne.”
“Where headed?” Garrat Gibbens demanded to know. He kneed one of the other officers hard in the jaw splitting his lower lip like an overripe pepper for emphasis.
The beaten face looked tentatively toward his attacker as the captain added, “Tortola . . . the plantations.”
“What goods aboard?” the one-eyed rogue yelled into his damaged ear.
“Er . . . general provisions,” he said. A dagger at the back of his neck caused him to further elucidate so he mumbled, “Flour . . . rice . . . scullery items . . . some tar and cordage . . . a few bales of cloth . . . a little whiskey.”
“Any women?” Bob Dilly asked hopefully.
The prisoner shook his head vigorously before proclaiming, “We ain’t no Guineaman.” Dilly spat a tarry gob onto the top of his hair in disgust.
“How many hands?” Teach quizzed.
“A dozen,” came the instant response. “Benson’s my second. . . .” and he indicated to the victim left of his back, “And Smith here’s my sailing master.” Smith was the man about to vomit at his rear. The remaining crew member turned out to be the boatswain—a mangy character with half his face sewn up—who went by the name of Kelly.
“All secure, Cap’n!” Howard cried from below mast of the prize, and when I peered over the side I could see the remaining members of the Mary Jane sprawled facedown on the planks. I was surprised how the vessel had been captured with so little resistance, but that was before I’d been briefed by my wry and cunning husband.
Of course, if you ain’t never sailed with freebooters I’ll wager you don’t understand their natures any better than I did back then. You likely think pirates savor the brimstone and gunpowder—the guts and smoke—the power of wretched, wrenched screams? But what they really want is a quick surrender that don’t destroy any booty before they can loot it. And a peaceful fight where none of their own gets hurt. Clever men like Teach understood how the greater concern you instilled in your prey the easier it is to take them down. So he noted the ways his victims responded and learned to manipulate their most harrowing dread. Some folks still consider Blackbeard the most formidable sea villain ever—and as I’ve thought long and deep on this subject I can finally give you my insight.
A captain must be courageous and brave—unafraid of personal injury or death—and this came easy to Teach, who thrived on the aching excitement of testing his brawn to the limit. The commander must be a skilled tactician who instinctively knew how those on the prize would react to a given situation—and my husband could read in advance any seaman who ever set sail on these dark waters. Blackbeard was, without doubt, an excellent navigator who could maneuver his vessel exactly where it needed to be, always one league ahead with the trick and surprise. And he understood better than most the intoxication of fear—that if you sap the spirit of your opponents you also crush their defiance. My husband was master of intimidation, heavily armed as he roared into battle, a demon in flight to behold. Indeed, Blackbeard wanted folks to believe he was the devil incarnate. But most cleverly of all he let most of his victims live to tell their mortifying stories, thereby promoting his carefully constructed mythology. Dead men tell no tales—but Teach wanted tongues to brag of his deeds and spread afar the terror, so instead of butchering his victims he’d set them loose on some desolate spot where eventually someone would find them.
Once the crew of the Mary Jane was secured Blackbeard stood guard while his men pillaged, ransacked, and formed a human chain to move the food stock across to Slouchy’s storeroom, and any other valuables to the quartermaster’s hold for safekeeping. The prisoners on both decks were stripped to their breeches, then bound hand and foot in awkward sitting positions. T
hey watched in dismay as their clothes were thrown in a heap to be auctioned at the mast to the highest bidder. Someone found the whiskey, and bottle after bottle was passed liberally between the outlaws. Blackbeard encouraged the liquor to take effect before boarding the captured sloop and performing a dramatic speech to his quaking audience.
“I’m the one folks call Blackbeard,” he began, “cap’n of the Adventure and the Revenge.” He paused for his name to sink into their panic-pickled brains. “I’m sorry you won’t be having your vessel back—for I scorn to do anyone such a mischief—but as it be to our advantage we’ll be taking her with us.” He shouted to his sailing master, “Mr. Hands! Have you a mind to captain this craft?”
The surprised sailor beamed back, “Aye, Cap’n Teach. I’ve taken a fancy to her sure enough.”
“Does any man raise objection?” Teach asked. No one spoke out against the appointment so he grandly announced, “Let that be her new name then, Cap’n Hands. Hereafter—we’ll call her Fancy.”
Blackbeard’s dark eyes then turned on the shrinking victims scattered around his feet as he continued, “Though you’re a bunch of sneaking puppies who haven’t the courage otherwise to defend yourselves—as are all who submit to be governed by the laws which rich men have made for their own comfort and security—methinks you merely a misguided pack of cowardly whelps acting on the nod of a parcel of hen-hearted numbskulls. They vilify us, the scoundrels do, when there is only this difference—they rob the poor under cover of law, forsooth, and we plunder the rich under the protection of our own courage. Had you not better become one of us than to sneak after these villains for employment?” He paused to focus specifically on each individual victim. “What say you men?” And he hauled them to their feet one by one to answer his personal invitation to join their ranks.
The first sailor grabbed blubbered loudly, “Aye, Cap’n. I’ll go on the account with you. . . .” He was then passed back to Israel Hands, who sliced through his hemp bonds, slapped him on the back in welcome, allowed him to collect his old clothing, and ushered him onto the Adventure.
The next three sailors also vowed to take the articles, but the fifth man answered a defiant, “Nay. Not I.”
“And what, pray, prevents you from following the wise course of your mates?” Blackbeard demanded to know.
“My conscience will not permit me to break the laws of God and man!” he shouted. “And neither should any of yours. . . .” he called to the other tars. Murmuring broke out among the huddled ranks, and two others rejected the path of piracy when it came to be their turn. The rebels now cowered separately from those who’d capitulated but at the end of the round there were only three brave dissenters clinging fiercely to their old faith.
Blackbeard stomped round and round these stubborn tars as he continued with his lecture. “You have devilish scruples and no doubt.” He raised himself to his impressive full length and cried, “But I’m a free prince, and I have as much authority to make war on the whole world as he who has a hundred sail of ships at sea and an army of a hundred-thousand men in the field. And this . . . my conscience tells me.” The men stared back with stoic faces, and realizing they wouldn’t be budged, Teach concluded, “Yet I see there is no arguing with suckling kittens who allow superiors to kick them about the place at their leisure.” The captain belched raucously and yelled, “Warm ’em up a bit, gentlemen! And we’ll see who still refuses to join after they’ve done a few laps round the deck.”
And so the games began. The three naked men were made to run a gauntlet of striking weapons, round and round the edge of the deck, while the pitiless pirates whipped and lashed at their backs. The more exhausted they became, the slower their evasion, and one by one they crumpled into a battered, snuffling heap. I shot down to the cabin and reappeared with my nursing equipment but before I could cross to the other sloop Blackbeard caught my eye and motioned for me to stay put. Apparently the victims were to be shown no mercy. They were doused with buckets of dirty water, tied up to various cleats, and left to crust in their own secretions. Then one of the tars suggested that, as Blackbeard was now in command of a small navy, he should be promoted to commodore (to avoid confusion with Captains Bonnet, Richards, and Hands). The motion was carried—and Edward Teach smugly accepted the title with enough passing modesty to be almost convincing.
The officers on our sloop had watched the drama across deck with growing trepidation so each face visibly blanched as Blackbeard turned back to deal with them. I ain’t kidding when I tell you how scared they appeared. You could see their pupils visibly explode, misting their stares in petrifaction. Master Smith had edged away from his vomit and now was shaking so much his teeth could barely form the words of prayer. He huddled beneath his knotted brow, hoping against hope he would not be the first selected. Teach looked down at the mess splattered across the man’s lap and said, “Reckon you’ll be needing a clean, laddy.” He signaled to Gibbens, who unbuttoned his codpiece and began urinating all over the cowering form. “Aye, that’s the job, by cock!” The other pirates jeered as they followed suit dousing the spluttering officers in a blast of acrid pee. Then Blackbeard lifted Captain Elridge’s dripping chin with the tip of his boot, forcing him to make eye contact. When Teach ascertained he was ripe enough he bent to his ear and hissed, “Now, Cap’n. What remains?” Elridge offered up a blank visage.
“Where’s the booty hid?” Gibbens demanded to know.
“I . . . we . . . there’s no . . . nothing more . . .” Elridge gasped. “You have all.”
Blackbeard grabbed a hank of hair and ripped back his head, staring wildly into the horrified man’s void. “No gold?” The head bobbed, suspended on the twirling strand. “Silver?” Another negative shake. “Damn you to hell!” he cried, and released the locks with such force that the officer sprawled backward and hit his ear on the planking. Blackbeard pounded his cutlass into the deck and savored the vibrating handle as it twanged aloud his frustration. “Apothecary!” he cried. I suddenly realized that meant me and hurried to his side. Amazement dawned on the officers’ faces as they caught sight of whom they’d assumed to be merely a pretty cabin boy. “Go search yonder vessel.” I was thrilled to be dispatched on such an important mission, thinking it a sign that he trusted me most (although I later realized that as a former thief I’d know the best places to look). I was helped across the sides by an eager forest of hands and diligently began a methodical hunt of Elridge’s cabin. Nothing. It took me ages to figure out where they’d store any valuables, and it was only when I spotted something rare on the fore I became suspicious enough to investigate further. See, most sloops use mess-tubs and don’t have a head—but the Fancy boasted a lead-lined tunnel with an unusual seat of easement. And, sure enough, when I pinched my nose and stuck my hand in the entrance there was the ring to a secret compartment containing a metal box wrapped in a heavily tarred skin.
I took out the box, shook off the muck from my wrists, and triumphantly carried the find back to my husband. Blackbeard was highly amused when he’d heard where the booty was resting. He pried open the lid, pierced the contents on the end of a dagger, and pulled it out into open view. “What ho?” he cried. All eyes were riveted on the stuffed leather pouch he was wafting in the air. He grabbed the purse with his other hand and quickly opened the tie. It contained hundreds of pounds in coin. A satisfied roar rang out from the buccaneers. Blackbeard squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “Well done.” Then he pointed the knife at the deflated captain and ordered, “Tie him to the mast, by God. I’ve a mind to tear off his lying lips and make the bastard eat ’em!” And, good as his word, Teach watched as one of the tars sliced the captive’s unwise mouth into two smeary gashes and grinned when Slouchy took the lips to be boiled. The cook returned a short while later with the rubbery flesh diced into bite-sized pieces, but turned greenly away as Gibbens forced the bits into Elridge’s mangled mouth and made him swallow. I was torn between weird fascination and abject fear, wondering how much blam
e was mine for this poor man’s fate? But the rest of the crew rode the crests of delight intoxicated as much by the gory victory as by the emptying whiskey. Blackbeard’s eyes glowed with manic passion . . . and I got the first chilled inkling of what might happen if I ever dared to cross him.
Will Howard spoke on behalf of the gathering. “How shall we deal with the rest of them, Com’dore?”
“Shark bait!” hooted Gibbens.
“Maroon ’em!” someone else suggested.
“That was my first thought too, gentlemen,” Blackbeard announced. He called back across to the Fancy, “How far off land, Cap’n Hands?”
The master surveyed the waters and gave his best guess as, “A ways, Cap’n. We’d have to divert some I reckon.”
Lieutenant Richards thought for a moment, then shouted, “The Adventure’s got a leaky boat. I say cut ’em loose—let ’em take their chances!” This idea met with general approval and when a vote was cast the ayes won out. So the three remaining officers were bundled across to the far sloop as the rest of the pirates ambled to their allocated crafts. The old longboat was set to sea with a jug of fresh water and some useless pieces of sailcloth—and Blackbeard made sure they were still close enough to witness the splash when Captain Elridge was violently flung to the fish.
Fire on Dark Water Page 20
