Authors: Hank Manley
The village of Charles Town stood one mile to the west, at the tip of a peninsula, positioned strategically at the junction of the two rivers.
“Maintain a sharp lookout in the crow’s nest. I wish to know about every vessel entering and departing the port,” Blackbeard ordered.
“Aye, captain.”
Warren reclined on the main deck with Robert Gladstone as the shadows of the masts lengthened across the tranquil waters of the Charles Town harbor. Conchshell lay with her head on crossed front paws and watched pelicans dive from the sky on schools of bait fish.
“Damnation, laddie,” the able seaman said as he sipped on a flagon of the wine liberated from the French merchant ship. “Them Frenchies know their drink. This be as fine a vintage as I’ve ever tasted. And rest assured, I’ve tasted many a grape in me day.”
Warren looked around at the crew lounging in pairs and groups of four on the wooden deck. Without exception, the men were drinking. Card games were in progress, and the voices of the participants were increasing in volume with each round of libations.
“You mentioned the dangers of operating in these waters,” Warren said. “With the crew voting to sail here, I guess you’re committed to staying with Blackbeard.”
Gladstone inched closer to Warren and looked around for anyone close enough to hear their conversation. “Nay, laddie,” he said in a conspiratorial voice. “I not be committed to tossing in me lot with Blackbeard. I have too much to lose.”
The boy looked at the rough appearing sailor and wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Are you speaking about your life?”
The seaman took a deep draught on the wine and shook his head. Several red drops slipped over his lips and rolled into his beard, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
“Aye, laddie,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I place a high premium on keeping me neck from a rope. But I’ve built a nest egg of gold and jewels, and I want the pleasure of spending me bounty rather than watching some other scoundrel pick them from me pockets before I walk the plank.”
“What can you do?” Warren asked with genuine interest. “You can’t just swim ashore with pockets full of jewelry some night.”
“I vouch ye be right about that,” Gladstone said. “And I can’t just walk into Charles Town and announce me presence to the good town fathers. Men in me clothes and all scruffy looking draw suspicion and questions I not be sure I can answer.”
Warren pondered the pirate’s dilemma and couldn’t arrive at a successful solution. “So, how are you going to handle your situation?”
“I not be as dull as I appear, laddie,” Gladstone said. “When I see me opportunity staring me in the face, I’ll know it.”
“I need to get back to Nassau, too,” Warren said wistfully. “I can’t stay in this Charles Town chasing other ships and robbing them. My mother’s probably half crazy with worry about me and Conch.”
Gladstone raised his flagon in Warren’s direction in a mock toast and then drained the last of the wine. “We be in a similar fix, me boy. I can’t swim to Charles Town with me gold and jewels, and you can’t swim to Nassau with thy dog.”
* * *
“Ship ahoy, captain. There be a ship approaching from the town,” yelled the pirate stationed on the platform halfway up the rear main mast. “She appears to be a packet named
Crowley
.”
Captain Edward Teach emerged from his quarters beneath the rear upper deck. He was dressed in a coat with his customary sash around his waist. His long sword was tucked into the band. Three pistols hung from lanyards around his neck. The ubiquitous candles in his magnificent beard were lit, and wisps of smoke drifted around his large head.
Warren studied Blackbeard as he strolled toward the side of the ship where
Crowley
was positioned to pass. He smiled at the captain’s obvious bellicose demeanor meant to intimidate potential foes.
“Prepare a cannon to fire,” the pirate captain yelled. “And run up me flag.”
The gunner loaded a ball in the central cannon on the main deck and inserted a load of powder. A second pirate stood by with a smoking stick to ignite the charge.
The lookout in the mast scrambled to the top and launched Blackbeard’s personal pennant.
Crowley
sailed across the harbor on a predictable path toward the single channel leading to the ocean. When the vessel was two hundred yards from
Queen Anne’s Revenge
, Blackbeard shouted across the open water through a raised megaphone.
“Heave to,” he called. “Drop thy sails and make fast to the bottom. I be coming aboard thy vessel.”
Marty Read strolled across the main deck and joined Warren at the railing. The two friends watched with fascination as the helmsman aboard
Crowley
listened to Blackbeard’s words and absorbed the meaning of his demands.
“What do you think he’ll do?” Warren asked. “Will he try to run past us to the sea? We don’t have any sails up. He could go right by.”
Marty smiled and shook his head. “Me thinks not,” he said. “The captain will cast such a fright into that ship, I vouch he’ll heave to.”
Activity at
Crowley’s
helm station suddenly burst into a fever pitch. A second sailor dashed to the wheel and began to frantically tug on the spokes in an effort to turn the ship around. The original master fought the maneuver and pulled in the opposite direction.
“Fire the cannon,” Blackbeard shouted.
The pirate holding the burning stick touched the end to the wick. The charge exploded and the cannonball was propelled toward
Crowley
through a nearly perfect ring of smoke.
A loud crack sounded from the passenger ship as the flying cannonball smacked into the mast. Splinters sprayed into the air and the top of the tall mast drooped at an alarming angle. The billowing fabric of the sail crumpled as half the air escaped.
“Ahoy, the
Crowley
,” Blackbeard called when the chaos settled on the helm station. “Luff thy sails and come alongside. None aboard need die if ye act with thy brains and not thy hearts.”
When
Crowley
was secured to the port side of
Queen
Anne’s Revenge
, Captain Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet crossed to the captured ship’s deck and gathered the entire host of passengers and its crew.
Crowley’s
captain was a man named Oliver Marks. He stepped forward and introduced himself. “Damnation, sir,” he said to Blackbeard with annoyance. “What be ye vile pirates doing in these waters? We be a peaceful ship on passage to New York with prominent citizens of Charles Town. I thought the likes of ye villains confined thyselves to the Caribbean.”
“Per chance the pickings be sweeter in these waters,” Blackbeard said. “I seek medical supplies and drink for me crew and the gold jingling loose in thy pockets.”
A man stepped forward dressed in a silk shirt and a tailored suit. He wore a tall, round hat. A brightly colored ascot was fastened around his neck. A diamond pin was stuck in the silk accoutrement.
“My name, sir,” he said haughtily to Blackbeard, “is Mr. Samuel Wragg, president of the Council of the Province of Carolina. How dare ye interrupt our lawful voyage on the high seas? And from what benighted family doest thou hail?”
A strange smile inched across Blackbeard’s bewhiskered face. His expression personified evil. The curling tendrils of smoke surrounding his large head added a satanic aura.
“Ye failed to notice me banner?” he said with a wry grin. “Canst thou not see I’m the devil incarnate? Do ye wish to challenge me the right to lighten thy pockets of all thy pieces of eight?”
“I . . . I’m not a fighting man, sir,” Wragg stammered.
“Then I suggest ye step back and hear me demands,” Blackbeard growled. “All the passengers of
Crowley
are me captives. I’ll be sending thy Captain Marks back to Charles Town for the medicine and rum we require and certain quantities of gold. If he fails to return in two days, I’ll remove the head from every last one of ye and send them to the governor. Then I will burn every ship in the Charles Town harbor.”
Samuel Wragg’s face blanched when he heard Blackbeard’s terms. His throat constricted and he couldn’t swallow. “I’ll write a letter to the governor for Captain Marks to carry,” he said when he had gathered his voice. “But ye must agree to release us when the medicine and gold arrives.”
“Ye have me word, sir,” Blackbeard vowed.
“I’ll secure the prisoners below,” Stede Bonnet offered. “Perhaps ye should send a man or two ashore with Captain Marks. We wouldn’t want the governor to forget these fine gentlemen in our hold with their necks dangling under our knives.”
“Aye, Mr. Quartermaster,” Blackbeard said. “Me thinks that be an excellent idea. Captain Marks, prepare to sail thy ship back to Charles Town. I’ll have two men ready to accompany ye forthwith.”
Blackbeard jumped back aboard
Queen Anne’s Revenge
and addressed the curious crew huddled on the main deck. “I require two volunteers to accompany Captain Marks to Charles Town and see that the good man secures our medicines and rum and gold from the governor and returns to the ship.”
Warren immediately considered raising his hand and volunteering for the opportunity to go to Charles Town. Could he get to Florida from South Carolina? Could he eventually return to Serenity Cay and his poor mother? It must be possible, he thought. But how?
None of the pirates aboard
Queen Anne’s Revenge
had ever heard of Serenity Cay, and many of them had sailed around the Bahamas for years. Suppose nobody in Charles Town had ever heard of Serenity Cay. He’d be no better off than he was now and even farther from his mother.
If he were to flee Charles Town for Nassau or Florida, and not return to
Queen Anne’s Revenge
, would Blackbeard pursue him ashore? Would his flight from the town be considered a treasonous act akin to mutiny?
Blackbeard apparently planned to remain in the Charles Town area for the near future. There had been no discussion of returning to the Bahamas soon. Was Warren’s best chance to return to Serenity Cay through Charles Town?
The option of abandoning ship in Charles Town was fraught with uncertainty. How would he travel? Could he ride a horse all the way to Florida? Where would he find a horse for sale? How would he pay for the animal? Could he sneak aboard another boat heading for the Bahamas? The risk was too great. He might be stuck in Charles Town forever!
Warren decided his best chance to see his mother was to remain with Blackbeard. The pirate had to return to Nassau eventually, didn’t he? From there, Warren was confident he could get to
Serenity Cay
.
Able seaman Robert Gladstone raised his hand without hesitation. “I’ll take on the task, captain,” he said. “Ye can count on me.”
“I’ve never been ashore in the Americas,” Marty Read said. “Perhaps I’ll accompany Mr. Gladstone.”
“Aye lads. Gather what ye need for two nights ashore and get aboard
Crowley
,” Blackbeard concluded. “You’re to be back here in two days with our medicine and rum and 500 gold doubloons.”
Captain Marks stood at
Crowley’s
helm with a glum expression of defeat on his face. The two pirates from
Queen Anne’s
Revenge
lounged on the main deck, enjoying the short ride back to the unfamiliar port. Marty Read held a bandana on his lap with the four corners tied in a knot to form a pouch. Inside he carried a fresh shirt and several gold coins in case he found something he wished to purchase or treat himself to a fresh meal in a nice restaurant.
Robert Gladstone sat astride a large satchel that held all his worldly possessions. The damaged packet limped across the waters of the Ashley River toward the lights of Charles Town with her mast drooping and her single sail half filled with air.
“Damnation,” the captain grumbled in a low voice. “Me ship’s mast be splintered and me command be disgraced. What corner of Hades sent this pirate captain to our peaceful village?”
“Does thou truly know the governor?” Gladstone asked of Captain Marks. “Can ye arrange an audience with the man?”
“Yea, I be acquainted with the governor,” Captain Marks replied. “It be my intention to talk with him this very evening. I fear for the lives of the captives on the pirate ship. I be certain the governor will arrange for the bounty. I only hope thy captain be a man of his word.”
* * *
Captain Marks steered
Crowley
to the long wooden pier at the end of the peninsula. The sun was below the horizon, and gas lanterns burned brightly in the darkness from the front porches of the many stately homes lining the waterfront street.
Several citizens who had been strolling the promenade beside the dirt road approached
Crowley
as the small ship was secured to the pilings.
“Captain Marks,” one said in surprise. “What be ye doing back here? Did ye not just leave for New York?”
“I did,” Marks replied. “But a band of pirates attacked us just inside the sandbars. They hold Mr. Wraggs and the other passengers as hostage.”
“Hostage . . . Mr. Wraggs is a hostage?” a second person said in astonishment. “Who captured him?”
“The villain did not see fit to announce his name,” Marks said. “But he be the most fearsome man I’ve ever seen.”
“How did these pirates stop ye?” a third citizen asked. “Thy ship carries plenty of sail to escape, does it not?”
“Look up at me rigging, me good man,” Captain Marks said in exasperation. “A cannonball cracked me main mast and partially collapsed the sails.”
The first man shook his head in confusion. “How did ye escape?” he asked. “How did ye get away from these pirates?”
Marks looked chagrined. “I didn’t escape,” he confessed. “They sent me to get medicine and rum and gold. If I don’t return in two days, the passengers will be killed. The governor will receive their heads on a platter, and all the ships in the harbor will be burned.”
A collective gasp arose from the astonished citizens. Several more people were walking from neighboring homes as the volume of the voices rose along the wharf.