Fire on Dark Water

by Wendy Perriman

  Lucretia believed she’d a personal relationship with God. I wanted to have one too so I sat endless hours in the clammy hush but was never once moved to speak. I learned God is the spirit and Christ is that spirit made flesh, and that if I repented my abhorrent past I could turn to the Light and find hope. And I wanted so badly to be saved, I truly did. I knelt trembling before the word of God. But then when I learned that Christ will return to judge the resurrected—that some will go to Eternal Salvation and some to Eternal Damnation—that’s when I realized my fate. I’d never get to see the Lord Jesus Christ because I was already wedded to Satan.

  One day the town heard news fresh from the Indies. Captain Woodes Rogers had been appointed the governor of the Bahamas. He had decided to clean up Nassau and offered a full pardon to any buccaneer who surrendered before September. Now, many Colonial shopkeepers turned a blind eye to the piracy that stocked their cheap goods, preferring not to know from whence they were acquired. The Friends, however, could not condone theft or violence and wished that the law might rid the seas of these rogues. Everyone whispered how Governor Eden protected the profitable outlaws, and moaned that as long as Carolina provided safe haven, the Virginia coastline would always be vulnerable. Something needed to be done. So the folks complained to James Blair first—he was the Bishop of London’s man—but when their ships continued being ravaged the angry merchants turned to local justice and demanded immediate action. Blackbeard was denounced a public enemy and Governor Alexander Spotswood started collecting information to supply a warrant for arrest. Now, I ain’t sure if it was just wishful thinking—but I got it in my head that this was my chance at salvation—that the Light was bidding me seek out Spotswood and give him the ammunition he so desperately required.

  In the quiet of evening I explained to Lucretia how I’d started remembering my ordeal with the pirates and that I’d valuable information the governor needed to hear. At first she was rather skeptical, until I started to proffer specific information that no one could have gleaned from gossip. A flick of concern crossed her floury face but she nodded and said she’d see what could be arranged. So next evening at dusk I cleaned myself up and dressed neatly in the plain clothes donated, then we slipped to the harbor where one of the elders had arranged our passage up-river by barge. I’d spent every furtive moment that afternoon squeezing the coins from my tatty breeches and secreting them into the waistband of my dull brown skirt, before we set forth with a cold supper of ham, bread, and cheese to enjoy on our journey to Williamsburg.

  I couldn’t see much of the elder who acted as guide. He kept to the shadows, spoke very little, and seemed to communicate in whispers and grunts. Me and Lucretia ate propped up against some sacks of grain and then we huddled together beneath a grubby blanket wrapped round our woolen cloaks. By dawn we were on the grassy banks where our care was passed from one elder to another—a thin man who stood by a rickety trap and bid us move quickly in urgent hand gestures. We thanked the captain and our silent companion, then climbed aboard the smooth wooden seat of the cart.

  Williamsburg unfurled slowly from the mist in the first promising glints of morning. Herders were guiding sheep to richer pasture, a farmer was running three piglets to market, and horses were laden with baskets, sacks, cages, bales, and bundles. We trotted down Palace Street to the most impressive mansion I’d ever ever seen, passing through a big stone gateway guarded on one side by a snarling lion, and on the other by a flourishing unicorn. The Governor’s Palace rose three stories into the air and was flanked either edge with symmetrical buildings. The stately home glowed pink in the yawning sun and the panes of its gabled windows shimmered like rose-etched memory. The elder swept us up to the grand stone steps, helped us to clumsily dismount, doffed his hat in curt salutation, and left us at the base. Me and Lucretia gave each other a wary smile, then began climbing the teeth to the big black mouth. The door was wide open and bustling with people pressing in and out of the huge reception hall. I noticed the bayonet-tipped muskets decorating the walls and remembered someone mentioning Spotswood had been a colonel in Queen Anne’s Army. Then a housemaid grabbed Lucretia by the elbow and steered us in the direction of the butler.

  The governor’s man looked us up and down to see what we were selling. Then he raised a puzzled eyebrow and finally met Lucretia’s eye. “How may we assist you, ma’am?” he asked in a harassed tone.

  “By the grace of Our Lord, we come from Norfolk to see Governor Spotswood.”

  “May I inquire as to the nature of your business, Mrs. . . . ?”

  “Mrs. Jonah Fry . . .” she informed him. “And this is Mary Shane.” Our names didn’t ring any import so Lucretia continued, “This young woman has mercifully escaped the clutches of pirates and has important information which may be used in their apprehension.”

  The butler thought for an instant, then directed us up the staircase to the blue drawing room on the left. We were to be given an audience with the governor, when it pleased His Excellency to see us, so we sat through the long, dusty morning and into the afternoon. Folks came and went. Maids blustered in and out carrying jugs of refreshment for more honored guests, while white clerks and black servants furtively scurried off with papers and commands. Lucretia dozed for an hour or so, and then I took my own forty winks. Finally, when our stomachs were starting to grumble like thunder, a clerk appeared and told us to follow him into the chamber of power.

  The governor sat behind a vast gold-leaf desk, spreading his girth in a well-padded mahogany chair. He was a formidable sight in his fancy gray wig, and peered lazily from two decadent eyelids set in a very long face with shiny high brow. His belly paunch stuffed the velvet waistcoat and balanced itself on his dazzling bright breeches, which he artfully adjusted for comfort as we entered the room. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips, then lifted his head to converse with the clerk. The younger man stood behind his chair and formally announced us as, “Two ladies from Norfolk, Your Excellency.”

  Lucretia bobbed a curtsey and began, “Thank you for seeing us, sir.” His impatient hand signaled to get straight to business so she hurriedly explained, “The Good Lord has seen fit to save the life of this maiden that she may testify against the evil buccaneers who routed her ship and destroyed all other souls on board.” This wasn’t exactly what I’d told anyone—but in all fairness I hadn’t said anything different either.

  Spotswood beckoned me forward with his finger so I shuffled closer. “Sit down, child.” He pointed to a damask chair in front of the desk and I quickly did as bid.

  “Wait outside,” he commanded of Lucretia. She gave me a glance of concern but was briskly escorted from the room. The clerk returned and mutely resumed his post.

  “What is your name?” he inquired. I felt the seriousness of his stare but lied, “Mary Shane, sir.”

  “You are English . . . from London, if I am not mistaken?” I nodded

  “Romany?” I stared at the fidgety hands in my lap and nodded again.

  “I see,” he muttered to himself. His languid eye suddenly widened and bore right into me as he continued, “And you say that your ship was attacked by pirates?”

  I gnawed on my lower lip and murmured, “Aye, sir.”

  “Then explain to me what happened, if you please.”

  So off I went into my big, grand tale that began, “We had been at sea for ages. . . . I think we’d been blown off course because no one seemed to know where we were but we were supposed to be headed for Charles Towne. . . .”

  “What was the name of your ship?” he interjected.

  “Er . . .” I hesitated a tad too long before saying “The Argyll.” He wrote down something with a fancy-plumed quill and told me to continue. “Well, we were short on water so the captain (I don’t know his name) decided to make for land and someone said we could cut through the inlet ahead and take on fresh supplies. The master raised a signal flag and before long a sloop appeared that we thought was our pilot. But it turned out it was a p
irate ship. And someone cried out it was Blackbeard. Then next thing I knew there was cannon and blood and smoke and fighting and everything turned upside down. Someone pushed me overboard and then I was drowning and everything turned black. But the real pilot boat found me floating unconscious and managed to bring me back to life.” I was blushing, but hoped it would pass as relived excitement.

  After a very uncomfortable pause the governor asked, “What made the crew think it was Blackbeard’s ship?”

  “It looked like the Queen Anne’s Revenge, sir. It was flying his Jolly Roger.”

  The clever mouth smiled and said, “How do you know the name of Blackbeard’s new ship? It bears no plaque—” I opened my mouth but nothing came out so I looked in panic at the clerk stood behind him. Spotswood pinned me with his glare and said carefully, “Are you his gypsy apothecary?” Now I was really scared. He’d heard of me! That meant he’d captured one of the crew and someone had spilled his guts. But there was nothing to be done except confess—and hope I could give him enough to save my own neck. The look on my face must have provided sufficient answer because he turned to the clerk and told him to send Lucretia home. . . . I’d apparently be staying at His Majesty’s pleasure.

  I spent the next two nights in the public gaol until the governor found time to examine me further. One of the four cells was packed with runaway slaves, manacled and chained to the bare walls until their owners arrived to claim them. Two airier rooms housed the town debtors, and I was pushed into a fourth dungeon containing a mad woman who wouldn’t quit banging her head against the bricks. Soon as my eyes got accustomed to the murk I scanned each cell to see who’d given me away. No one I recognized. So when the keeper—John Redwood—brought my food I played the frightened maid and asked through chattering teeth whether there were any pirates here. Redwood informed me they’d recently caught two of Bonnet’s crew, who’d quickly turned king’s evidence, blaming Blackbeard for making them buccaneers when they’d formally been honest sailors.

  “What happened to them?” I asked innocently.

  “They were officially pardoned and sent on their way.”

  Ah! Now that he’d shown me my own escape-hole I smiled at the lonely jailer and cooed, “You’re ever so brave in dealing with such demons!” He beamed back in pleasure and gave me an extra dollop of mush.

  Next time I went before Governor Spotswood there were several other powdered gentlemen in attendance sat behind a long table. They placed me on an unpadded wooden chair and began by bluntly stating they’d no real interest in a foolish slip of a girl . . . it was Edward Teach they were after. So if I gave sufficient information to lead to his arrest—and if I agreed to appear as a witness for the prosecution—then I’d be pardoned and granted my freedom. They asked if I understood the terms of the agreement, I nodded, and the questioning began.

  “State your full name.”

  “Lolomura Blaise, sirs.”

  “From whence?”

  “London, sirs.”

  “Know you Captain Edward Teach who goes by the name of Blackbeard?”

  “Aye, sirs.”

  “How are you so acquainted?”

  I took a huge breath and whispered, “I’m his wife.” Shock registered on every chalky cheek and someone tried not to splutter. Governor Spotswood probed further clarification saying, “His wife?”

  “Aye, Your Excellency. His thirteenth, far as I know.” The room dissolved in outrage as the men began mumbling to each other. I caught snippets of Thirteen? and She’s barely more than a child! before the governor brought them all to order. After the room hushed he continued, “He forced himself upon you, I take it? Pressed you into a bigamous wedlock?”

  I nodded and looked shamefully down at the floor. Spotswood’s voice softened a notch and he suggested, “We would like you to tell us everything. In your own good time . . .”

  And so I span the grandest tale you’ve ever ever heard, liberally peppered with almost half-truths. I told them I’d been captured by an East End gang who forced me to steal, then got caught red-handed and transported for seven years’ labor. That I ended up nursing in Charles Towne but fled from William Cormac’s house when his daughter tried to kill me with a knife (I showed them the wiggly scar wound as proof). I stowed away to Nassau and worked for a dressmaker called Pierre, who one day told me to take a flag he’d made to the docks and there I met a terrifying pirate called Captain Teach. I didn’t know much about buccaneers so I failed to recognize the infamous Blackbeard. He was about to eat and told me to join him and I obediently sat down because he hadn’t paid me yet. The captain ordered me to drink a tankard of rumfustian, and not being used to hard liquor I quickly grew giddy and woozy. Next thing I knew we’d set to sea and I’d been kidnapped to become the next Mrs. Teach—I even thought we’d had a proper ceremony—but later discovered such marriages were illegal. When I found out that Blackbeard’s wives didn’t last very long I started doctoring to the crew members hurt in battle, intentionally making myself indispensable. But once Teach decided to make his base in Bath Towne I knew my usefulness was at an end and so I took the first chance to escape. I got far as I could up the barrier islands and in desperation jumped into the sea to try to swim the inlet, but I fainted during the crossing and was fished out by a pilot boat and taken to Norfolk to heal with the Quakers. But soon as I heard His Excellency was trying to capture those sea villains I begged to be brought here to tell where he’s hiding so the mangy dog might pay for his crimes.

  My monologue met with utter silence as the wigs absorbed my colorful plight. Then, as the sighs and exclamations faded, the governor began another series of questions that were carefully recorded by the clerk. “How long since you left Nassau?”

  “A good six months, sirs.”

  “Hmmm! And in all that time you saw no earlier opportunity to escape?”

  I raised panicked eyes to the table and blubbered, “We hid from a storm at an ordinary in Beaufort . . . but he’d already buried one of his wives there! And when we stopped in Jamaica it was at a pirate camp . . . so I wouldn’t have found any safety.” My eyes started drumming up tears that delivered the appropriate effect.

  Spotswood changed tack with the general consent of the room. He asked, “What can you tell us of Blackbeard’s navy?”

  “Well—up to Christmas he’d three ships and several hundred men but they disbanded when Governor Eden pardoned them. They’ll not sail again until Easter. . . .”

  “Where will they rally?”

  “Ocracoke. There’ll be a bonfire signal at midnight Good Friday.”

  Eager glances shot between the faces at the table before someone said, “It’s over eighty miles of island. We’d need a precise location. . . .”

  “Fetch me a chart and I’ll show you,” I promised, knowing exactly where the monster hid his lair.

  Then they asked me to name as many buccaneers as I could recall and their roles onboard ship. I was quizzed about weapons—especially the cannons—but I couldn’t tell much about poundage or shot. So I described the swords and pistols and axes and gave a rough estimation of how many. One of the men sought specifics about the layout of the Queen Anne’s Revenge and another wanted to know the daily routine, both on ship and on land. I was pumped about Bath Towne—where Teach might lodge and with whom he acquainted. Much time was spent discussing the captain’s relationship with Governor Eden, and the men were particularly pleased when I confirmed the smuggling tunnel that led to his cellars. I was grilled for hours and hours, given some water, and then questioned further. At the end of the morning I’d to confirm the information as mine and write my name at the bottom of a curly paper.

  Spotswood added in afterthought, “Did you ever sign the pirate’s articles?” I shook my head. There was, fortunately, no official record of my compliance. So he spoke quietly round the back of his hand with his companions and then announced, “I have commissioned your pardon and a letter ensuring safe passage out of the Colonies. . . . All past
crimes are hereby absolved.” I curtsied gratefully and moved forward to take the documents. But Spotswood raised a hand in the air that stayed me and added, “I shall sign both when Edward Teach is apprehended.” Oh no! “In the meantime, you will return to the public gaol and await our further instruction.” The clerk steered me from the room as sticky tears of frustration spilled from under my lashes.

  I resided in that stinking place for a good ten months, and if it hadn’t been for my special relationship with the keeper I’d have likely been deranged as that other poor soul incarcerated alongside. By day I sat in the filthy straw and listened to her mindless babble—she’d apparently refused to marry the old man her father selected and was therefore being punished for her disobedience—but at night I accompanied John Redwood, who liked to play chess and dominoes as much as to romp on his comfortable cot. He ensured I was able to wash and keep warm, that I ate proper food, and earned extra treats. Of course I could have bought a much better deal with my hidden gold but I realized if I wanted to escape with my loot it was vital to keep it a secret. So I relied on charitable women for castoffs and bread, and on the lusty desires of my keeper for everything else. And I actually grew to quite like the mournful John Redwood.

  Then one sweltering night in May we were awoken by urgent rapping at the gaol door. Redwood came back with a messenger from the governor bidding me ride to Palace immediately. Now, as it turned out, Blackbeard had done the unthinkable—he’d reformed his navy—blockaded the harbor at Charles Towne—and was holding the folks there to ransom. Spotswood wanted my input on how to stop him and urgently filled me in on recent events. He explained, “My spies watched the Ocracoke Inlet at Easter and your information was sound—there was a signal to rally there, answered by all the outlaws who had lewdly squandered their ill-gotten riches.” My expression must have questioned why they’d not been apprehended then and there because the governor quickly added, “We had no jurisdiction until they entered Virginian waters—unfortunately they sailed south toward Cuba.” And he didn’t need to add . . . there was no one who’d readily volunteered to take on the mighty Blackbeard.