Authors: Hank Manley
Mercifully, the wounded girl had slept for most of the voyage from the harbor mouth to the wharf and dozed uncomfortably during the cart ride through the bumpy streets of town to the tavern. Her slumber was aided by the copious amount of rum she had consumed while being stitched, and her weariness from the loss of blood.
The Charles Town militia who had participated in the deceitful affairs aboard
Fancy
had proudly displayed their trussed captive on the pier to a growing crowd of their fellow citizens. Rum was passed among the victors who celebrated Blackbeard’s capture as if they had defeated one of Caesar’s legions. No mention was made of the fortuitous involvement of the Labrador Conchshell.
Mary Read and Warren were largely ignored by the jubilant gathering as they departed the fishing boat and loaded into the passing vegetable cart.
* * *
Warren dabbed a damp cloth across Mary Read’s forehead and gently cleaned the dirt smudges from the beautiful girl’s cheeks. He reached for the cup of hot tea on the bedside table and held it to Mary’s lips.
“Drink this,” he said firmly. “You must keep up your strength so your wound will heal.”
Mary’s eyes fluttered open and she managed an inebriated grin. “Thee has saved me life,” she said as she stifled a hiccup. “I’ll not forget it.”
Warren blushed and handed the girl a slice of bread. “Eat this,” he urged. “It’s important to eat as well as rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“What happened to Captain Blackbeard?” Mary asked. “I last saw him fighting with several men. He stabbed one and shot another.”
“Blackbeard has been captured and brought to Charles Town,” Warren said with disgust. “The townspeople tied him up. It looked like they used two miles of rope. They acted like children at a party. They embarrassed themselves with their actions.”
Mary shook her head slowly and pursed her lips. “What will happen to us?” she mused. “We’re pirates, too. Will the townspeople hang us?”
“I think the townspeople have forgotten about us for the moment,” Warren said. “They’ll be patting themselves on the back for several more days with the capture of Blackbeard.”
Mary Read fell into a deep, pensive silence. Her eye lids flickered with fatigue and the residual effects of the rum. Finally, she rolled her head on the limp pillow and briefly glanced toward the grimy window. Her voice sounded as if it came from a long distance away.
“We should try to free Blackbeard,” she whispered. “He’s been a good captain to me.”
Warren nodded his agreement. “Yes. Captain Teach saved my life at the Wells. But more importantly, he is my only hope to return to Nassau. I must sail there to find Serenity Cay and my parents.”
* * *
Warren sat in a dark corner of the Boar’s Tooth Tavern at a rickety wooden table. A heaping portion of beef stew steamed on a plate in front of him. He plunged into the meal with relish, not realizing how hungry he was until the smell of the food reached his nostrils. He stabbed at a potato and devoured it in two bites.
Conch lay at the boy’s feet peacefully dozing after a filling meal of her own. The Labrador had been strangely reticent after the tumultuous events aboard the fishing boat. She was clearly uncomfortable in Charles Town, displaying her dissatisfaction with her uncommon taciturn behavior.
Mary Read was sleeping peacefully in the room above. Three days had passed since the traitorous events aboard
Fancy
, and the young girl seemed to be healing at a remarkable rate.
Warren kept her wound clean and freshly bandaged. He brought food to the room and helped her eat. Fortunately, the copious dousing of rum before the stitching began had killed any germs that might have been present on the filthy blade of the sword or the girl’s well-worn blouse. Infection did not threaten to be a problem.
Warren had explored the entirety of Charles Town on foot during the several periods when Mary was asleep. Conchshell had trailed along at his heels, sniffing and growling with annoyance at the strange smells and unfamiliar people.
The young man had discretely inquired of several citizens about land passage to Florida. He had been assured there was nothing in Florida except wild Indians and alligators, both more than willing to murder or eat any person venturing into their territory.
The name Serenity Cay meant nothing to anyone he encountered. His only hope of returning to his distraught mother and father was apparently through Blackbeard. But where was Blackbeard?
Warren turned to the disheveled old man sitting at a neighboring table. An inspiration struck. “Do you know where the townspeople are keeping Blackbeard?” he asked.
“So ye want to see the famous pirate, do ye boy?” the old man asked. “Why, Blackbeard be lodging in the gaol, of course.”
“The gaol?” Warren repeated to the ancient mendicant. “What’s a gaol?”
The decrepit beggar opened his mouth in a laugh, revealing blackened gums completely devoid of teeth. He smacked his lips together and reached for his mug of grog. He poured a generous portion down his throat and pointed his finger at Warren.
“Youngsters today be so ignorant,” he said with drops of liquid dribbling into his gray whiskers. “The gaol! That be where they keep villains and paupers and murderers!”
Warren nodded his understanding. “And where is the jail . . . the gaol . . . in Charles Town?”
“Not two blocks from this very establishment,” the vagabond said affirmatively. “The gaol be at the end of Tradd Street. Now, what do ye say to standing a man to another grog?”
“Just one more question,” Warren ventured. “I heard there were two other pirates captured with Blackbeard. What happened to them?”
“Aye, I heard the same. But they was just children,” the old man said. “One was hurt and the other was helping to put him back together. Besides, they didn’t harm any of the townspeople. Nobody wants to bother with them. How about that grog now, laddie?”
* * *
“Are you sure you feel up to talking?” Warren asked as he sat on the end of Mary’s bed and looked at her lovely face. He felt the usual increase in his heart rate that he experienced every time he was in proximity to the beautiful girl. The feeling was both exhilarating and confusing.
“I be feeling much better these days,” Mary said. “Me chest be a little stiff, but the pain is nearly gone.”
“Good,” Warren said. “I looked closely at your chest . . . I mean at your scar . . . last evening when I changed the dressing, and everything . . . your wound . . . it looks . . .”
The boy dissolved into an embarrassed silence.
Mary Read smiled and took Warren’s hand. She pulled him gently to her side and kissed his cheek. “Ye be a sweet young man,” she said seriously. “What do ye like to do when ye not be sailing the ocean and being a pirate?”
Warren thought for several moments. He looked at Conchshell lying with her head on her front paws and smiled. The image of his last fishing trip with the Labrador at his side flooded his mind.
“Conch and I love to go bonefishing,” he said. The boy’s enthusiasm caused the words to pour from his mouth.
“Shelly’s amazing! She spotted a huge, ten pound bonefish tailing on a flat on Serenity Cay. I made a long cast with my seven weight rod. I had a Gotcha #4 fly. The fly landed perfectly, and the fish saw it right after I twitched it once. Then I hooked the fish and it ran all over the flat. And I finally was able to reel the fish in after three long runs . . . or was it four long runs . . . oh, well . . . and then a big shark came after our fish . . . and . . .”
Conch had raised her head when Warren began his story. As he sped through the narrative, the Labrador purred and nodded with the words of her master. At the mention of the shark, Conch leapt to her feet and growled.
“Thy dog,” Mary said gleefully. “He knows what ye be saying.”
“Yes,” Warren confirmed. “Sometimes I think she really does understand my words.”
“Go on,” Mary urged, swept up with Warren’s enthusiastic recounting of his fishing adventure. “Then what happened?”
“I ran after the shark and chased it away,” Warren concluded. “I didn’t want the shark to eat my bonefish.”
Conchshell turned to look at Warren and released a quick growl of protest.
“I mean,” Warren amended quickly, “
we
chased the shark away. Conch and I ran after the shark before it could get our bonefish.”
“Will ye take me bonefishing one day?” Mary asked. The sincerity was evident in her voice. “It sounds like fun, and I’d like to learn how to do it.”
Warren looked at Conch. He waited several seconds before answering. Then he turned to face Mary Read directly. His eyes locked on her face. “Yes,” he said. “I promise we’ll go bonefishing one day.”
Mary Read took a long drink of water and set the glass on the tiny table. She was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed.
“How does it feel?” Warren asked. “Is there much pain?”
“Nay,” she replied. “I feel good enough to get out of bed and perhaps take a walk about town.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Warren cautioned. “Today I think you should remain in the room. But if you feel well enough, why don’t you tell me about . . . growing up.”
Mary Read broke into a broad smile. “Doest thou mean, tell thee about wearing the clothes of a man?”
“Oh, no,” Warren protested. “That’s none of my business. If you don’t want to . . .”
Mary laughed and slapped her thigh in hilarity. “Ye have seen me breasts as no other man ever has,” she said. “And now ye be too embarrassed to hear why I wear the clothes of a man?”
“I . . . well . . . yes,” Warren finally admitted. “Tell me all
about it
.”
Mary eased her legs on to the bed and rested her head against the wall. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling as if better to recall the details of her youth. She began her story in a dreamy, monotone voice that seemed to spring from her very soul rather than simply from her mouth.
“Me mother lived in Devon County, England, in a wee village called Plymouth. Soon after her husband left to sail the seas and never return, she gave birth to a sickly boy. The baby died before he reached a year of age, and I was born a few months later. I never knew me true father. Obviously he was not me mother’s husband who was long gone to sea. I was a bastard.
“Me mother was afraid to admit she had a birthed an illegitimate child; so she raised me as a boy, telling her own mother I was the original son of her husband. Me grandmother never learned of the deception, and she sent a crown a week to help us live until she died.”
Warren sat enraptured on the edge of the bed. His mouth hung open with wonder as the amazing facts of Mary’s youth were revealed.
“It be a difficult life for any girl in England,” Mary continued. “I became used to dressing as a man, and continued to do so after me mother died when I was thirteen years of age.”
“You were an orphan at thirteen?” Warren exclaimed. “What did you do?”
“I journeyed to London with me boy’s clothes and became a houseboy for a French woman. The city was cold and dirty. I had grown strong and wanted adventure. I left London after a year and enlisted in a regiment in Flanders. That’s where I learned to fight with a sword.”
Warren sat transfixed. “You were a soldier?” he gasped. “Did you fight?”
“Yea, I fought in several battles during the War of the Spanish Succession,” Mary admitted. “I found I was good at the fighting, but sadly for me the war ended, and I was forced to return to England. I found employment at a tavern, but the life was boring. I left almost two years ago on a Dutch merchant ship. Blackbeard commandeered the ship and I joined his crew. It’s been the life of a pirate for me ever since. I’ve not regretted the decision a single day of me life.”
“And how old are you now,” Warren asked shyly.
“I be seventeen,” Mary replied. “And how many years have thee?”
“Fifteen,” Warren said. “But I’m almost sixteen.”
“Thee handles thyself well for fifteen, I must admit,” Mary acknowledged aloud what she had recognized soon after first meeting the young man.
“And the wrapping around your . . . your . . . your chest?” Warren asked tentatively. “Why do you wrap yourself like that?”
Mary looked at Warren curiously in stunned disbelief. “Thee doesn’t know?” she laughed and then clutched at her wound. “Ouch! Laughing makes me wound hurt. Be ye serious?”
“Yes,” Warren said chagrined by Mary’s question. “I mean . . .”
“Look at me with thine eyes. Doest thou not see the problem?” Mary said as she thrust her chest forward. “How could I pose as a man with these beneath me shirt? I had to crush me breasts flat with the wrap to succeed with the deception.”
* * *
Warren and Mary stood on the promenade overlooking the Ashley River at the end of Meeting Street. South Battery Street swung around the peninsula to their left and North Battery Street curved to the right.
The murky waters of the river ebbed silently past the pier, drawn toward the ocean by the pull of the moon shining high in the dark sky. It was the first time Mary had ventured out of their tiny room at the Boar’s Tooth Inn, and she was giddy with exhilaration.
The stunning girl was dressed as a woman for the first time in her life. She wore a long skirt that she had found at a ladies haberdashery on Market Street. The stylish garment swirled around her slender ankles and accentuated her trim waist. A blouse discovered in a store owned by a French woman selling the latest Paris fashions angled from her shoulders, displaying the tops of her breasts.
Mary’s yellowish-brown hair had grown since departing the Wells, and no longer stood spiky on her head. Her blue eyes sparkled in the reflected light from the brilliant night sky.
Warren felt intoxicated with excitement. He was unable to keep from looking at Mary and marveling at her beauty. But serious issues remained to be resolved, and danger lurked along any of the several paths the two pirates might decide to follow.
“Were you able to hear the good citizens of the Charles Town militia when I asked for some of the medicine from the chest to bind your wounds?” Warren asked as he leaned on the railing and looked pensively across the harbor toward the sea.