Authors: Hank Manley
“Nay,” Mary replied as she joined Warren at the fencing. “I was too busy bleeding. What did they say?”
“There was no medicine,” Warren said. “The governor deceived Blackbeard and did not keep his end of the bargain that was struck with Captain Teach.”
“I vouch there was no gold or rum, either,” Mary interjected.
“No, there was no gold and no rum,” Warren confirmed. “Blackbeard kept his promise not to harm the men of the
Crowley
, and now he rots in jail . . . in the gaol . . . because of the treachery of the citizens of Charles Town.”
“We must free Blackbeard,” Mary said affirmatively. “He took me aboard his ship when he could have left me adrift in the ocean or killed me. He saved ye from the murderous intentions of the bloodthirsty pirates at the Wells who thought ye were a spy for Governor Woodes Rogers. We both owe our lives to Captain Teach.”
Warren nodded silently and then spoke in a low voice. “I don’t like the way the men of Charles Town deceived us. I hate the way the men rejoiced when they captured Blackbeard. They were only successful because the captain tripped over Conchshell.”
Conch yipped once at the mention of her name. She had remained quiescent as Mary and Warren talked, her proud blonde head pointed into the breeze and her tongue lolling happily between her front teeth.
“We have no way to return to Nassau without Blackbeard,” Mary concluded. “We could wait here for a year before we find another ship sailing to the Bahamas. I only have a handful of coins left. What could we do to earn a living? It seems everyone in Charles Town is planting tobacco. What do we know of the trade? Besides, nobody would hire a woman to work in the fields, and I will not return to the clothes of a man.”
Warren rubbed his chin in contemplation. Vague memories of stories regaled by his mother and father to friends drifted through his head. He had overheard the tales from his bedroom late at night when he was supposed to be sleeping. What were the details?
Aunt Daisy Bain was involved, he was certain of that. His parents had traveled somewhere aboard their boat
Escapade
, somewhere to Mexico. It was not the first time they had left him in a camp or with friends Chris and Jody Crawford when they had mysteriously disappeared.
At one point during the Mexico adventure, Warren recalled, his father had been put in jail. Aunt Daisy and his mother had pulled the bars from a window to affect his father’s escape. The two women had thought of the idea when his mother remembered hearing her mother-in-law, Warren’s grandmother, tell a similar tale about Warren’s grandfather escaping from the cell of the Mexican bandit Pancho Villa almost one hundred years ago.
The story had been recounted often, always late at night, with great hilarity and the drinking of many bottles of beer. Warren had paid only mild attention at the time. He was supposed to be asleep, and the typical adult conversation held little interest for the boy. But in this case there might be a lesson to be learned. Could he and Mary free Blackbeard from jail and escape from Charles Town to the pirate headquarters in the Bahamas?
If Warren ever was to return to Serenity Cay and his loving parents, he knew the journey would require a voyage to Nassau.
“I think I know a way to help Blackbeard,” Warren said with a confident nod of his head. “Let’s walk past the jail. We need to look things over and make a plan.”
Mary and Warren walked down Tradd Street until they arrived at a one story, wooden building sadly in need of a fresh coat of paint. The flat roof sagged in the middle and one of the shutters on a front window hung at an angle from a single hinge. A lone gas lantern flickered beside the solitary door.
“It not be much of a gaol,” Mary observed. “Me thinks we could push it over with our hands.”
Warren smiled and scratched the back of Conch’s head. “What do you think, Shelly girl?” he asked with a chuckle. “Do you think we could knock the jail over and let Blackbeard walk out?”
The Labrador pawed at the dirt road as if testing the difficulty of tunneling into the building. Suddenly she dashed down the street and disappeared around the corner of the building into an alley. Within a few seconds the dog reappeared and paused at the entrance to the alleyway. She barked twice.
“Shelly has something to show us,” Mary said. “It be quite a dog ye have there.”
Tradd Street was deserted. The sparse collection of buildings on either side of the road was mostly dark in comparison to the brightly lit mansions on Meeting and Broad Streets. Warren looked both ways and then motioned to Mary. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s see what the back of the jail looks like.”
The complete absence of light in the alley was disconcerting. Instinctively, Warren and Mary moved closer together until their shoulders touched. The young man reached out and took her hand. “Let me lead,” he said. “Be careful where you step. I don’t want you to fall.”
Mary opened her mouth to protest the overly protective gesture. She had fought in land battles in Flanders. She had dueled sailors aboard ships. She had traveled thousands of miles on her own, with no help and no sympathy from anyone. Now . . . well, Warren’s protective gesture suddenly felt strangely welcome. She liked his concern. She appreciated his fortitude. “Okay, Warren,” she whispered. “You lead.”
At the end of the alleyway a trampled field opened behind the row of buildings. The two young pirates turned to their left and walked until they stood directly behind the ramshackle jail. Three openings appeared dimly in the moonlight high on the wall. There was no reflection from glass. A single stout tree sprouted close to the far corner of the building.
“Wait here,” Warren said. “I’m going to see if I can look in the windows. I think I see bars in the openings.”
“Nay,” Mary said. “It is I should look.”
Warren shrugged. “Okay. We’ll go together. I’ll boost you up. I don’t think either of us is tall enough to look inside.”
“Perhaps ye be right.”
Warren approached the first window and knitted his fingers together with his palms up. “Step here,” he said quietly. “See if anybody’s inside.”
Mary placed her foot in Warren’s grasp and stepped to her full height. Her eyes just reached the bottom of the opening. She placed her fingers on the window sill and rose to her toes. “Blackbeard?” she whispered. “Tis ye inside this cell?”
Silence greeted Mary’s query.
“I’m going to lower you down,” Warren hissed. “Be careful. You’re not fully healed.”
“Me wound is healed,” Mary protested. “I can jump.” The girl hopped out of Warren’s hands and landed nimbly on the ground.
“Are you okay?” Warren asked.
Before Mary could answer, a thunderous voice sounded from the alleyway. “Arrr! Who be sneaking around me gaol? Do I have thieves or murderers in me midst?”
“Run!” Warren shouted. “Run!”
He seized Mary’s hand and began to sprint down the backs of the buildings fronting Tradd Street. Conchshell bolted from her sitting position at the base of the wall and instantly passed the fleeing pirates.
Mary’s skirt whispered in the evening air as her legs pumped inside the flowing garment. Her powerful stride kept pace with Warren, and the two racing fugitives appeared to put a little distance between themselves and their pursuer. Conchshell was forced to slow her gait to stay even with her master.
Suddenly a pistol shot rang in the heavy night air. A lead ball ricocheted off the corner of the stone building immediately to Warren’s left. Pieces of shattered rock showered over the two pirates.
“That was close,” Warren said. “I hope he doesn’t have another loaded pistol.”
“Blackbeard always carries at least two pistols when he goes into battle,” Mary reminded Warren. “Many times he had three around his neck.”
The explosion of a second shot pierced the night. The projectile careened off the block lintel of a doorway inches above Warren’s head. Stone powder sprayed into his hair.
“He’s getting better,” Warren said. “We’ve got to think of something.”
Conchshell extended her front paws, braked around the corner of a building, and dashed into another alley. Warren and Mary followed five steps behind.
“Me trusts thy dog knows what he’s about,” Mary said.
The two scurrying pirates pumped their arms to regain speed after slowing for the turn. They looked ahead in the darkness of the alleyway expecting to catch a dim glimpse of the fleeing Labrador. Conchshell was nowhere to be seen.
A muffled bark sounded near the ground halfway down the murky passage.
Warren heard the Labrador’s summon. Without hesitation, he turned and grabbed Mary’s arm, spinning her around, halting her forward progress. He pushed the girl to the ground and shoved her into the small breach in the stone wall. The instant the girl disappeared into the declivity, Warren dropped to his stomach and followed her through the opening.
Conchshell, Mary and Warren lay in a black depression in the earth, inside a void in a crumbled stone wall, wedged under the floorboards of an abandoned house. They fought to control their rapid breathing which threatened to reveal their precarious location.
Heavy footsteps sounded at the corner of the house. Slow, plodding boots tromped down the alley. Deep breaths sucked in and blew out of a barrel chest.
“Arrrr, me little thieves. Now I have thee. I’ve not seen thy fleeing bodies emerge from the end of the alleyway. Ye must be close by.”
Mary held her hand over her nose and mouth and begged for the strength to hold her breath so her panting would not give them away. Warren scrunched his mouth together and tightened his fists, fighting the urge to exhale and gulp another lungful of air. Conchshell buried her snout under her paws.
“Come out, scallywags. Me jail be nice and warm. Thee can eat two times a day. Perhaps it be more than ye dine now. Don’t make me hunt thee. I want to get back to me flagon of grog.”
Warren wiggled backward, pressing his body against Mary, sliding her deeper into the darkness of the crawlspace. Conchshell mimicked her master’s movement, seeking safety in the depths of the hiding place.
“I vouch ye young beggars think ye have found a good place to hide from old Mikey O’Reilly.”
Beads of perspiration formed along Mary’s upper lip. The cruel slash high across her stomach burned, and she wondered if any of Warren’s carefully administered stitches had pulled open. Her eyes watered from specks of dirt that had passed her lids as she slithered beneath the stone wall. Her heart pounded so loudly she was afraid the jail keeper would hear every beat.
Warren fought to adjust his eyes to the impenetrable darkness. His mind whirled with possibilities. What if the jailer were to discover their hiding place and crawl through the opening? Would the large man fit? Could he grab the man’s outstretched arm and subdue him? The possibility didn’t seem likely.
Conchshell twisted once in her hiding place. Warren felt the Labrador move and then . . . the dog was gone. Where had Shelly disappeared to? Had she found an opening in the floor above and slipped through it? Warren rolled his head carefully and tried to detect a path of escape. Nothing was apparent in the inky blackness.
“What have we here, lads?” Mikey O’Reilly roared with glee. His voice was loud and ebullient. The man was standing directly in front of the low, jagged hole in the rock foundation that had allowed Conchshell, Mary and Warren to temporarily disappear. “I vouch I’ve found the hiding place of ye thieves. It be too small for me well-fed body, but I wonder if a shot into the opening won’t dislodge ye wretched scamps.”
Staring at the hole in the wall, Warren spread his shoulders to offer maximum protection to Mary lying behind him. He dug in his toes and elbows and pushed back, creating as much distance from the opening as he could without crushing Mary.
Warren was able to decipher a hand holding a Blunderbuss pistol as it reached into the void, backlit against the faint moonlight outside. The ignition of the powder in the pan flared in the darkness. The sound of the shot in the confined space crashed against the young man’s ears. His head rang with the percussion and he was temporarily blinded by the explosion. A huge clump of dirt flew into his face.
The temptation to scream in fright was overwhelming, but Warren fought his emotions and remained silent.
Mary compressed her body behind Warren and buried her face in his comforting, broad back. She too held her screech of horror.
Barking sounded from the far end of the alley where it exited on Tradd Street. A deep growl followed, and Conchshell bounded back and forth across the open passage, deliberately showing herself to the jailer.
“Arrrr,” Mikey O’Reilly bellowed. “Thee must have slipped past me. I guess ye aren’t hiding in that tiny hole under the house
after all
.”
Heavy footfalls sounded outside the sanctuary as the jail keeper pounded toward the barking Labrador.
“Quick, Mary,” Warren said. “Let’s get out of here while Shelly keeps the jailer busy.”
The two young pirates crawled out of the opening and retraced their footsteps toward the meadow abutting the rear of the buildings. At the corner, Warren turned to his right and raced back toward the jail house. Mary kept pace in spite of the difficulty running with a long skirt.
At the rear of the jail Warren paused briefly below the closest window. “Blackbeard?” he called. “Are you there?”
“Aye, lad, I’m here,” Captain Teach answered. “Who be thee, and what accounts for all the shooting?”
“It’s Warren and Mary . . . ah, Marty Read. We don’t have time to explain now,” Warren said. “Be ready tomorrow night. We’re going to break you out of the jail.”
“None too soon,” Blackbeard said. “They plan to stretch me neck day after tomorrow.”
Holding hands and ecstatic with the surges of adrenaline coursing through their bodies, Mary and Warren sped into the night and vanished in the darkness.
Conchshell met them as they turned on Meeting Street. Together the three jail break plotters wandered back to the Boar’s Tooth Inn and collapsed in their room. It was almost an hour before their hearts slowed sufficiently to allow sleep.