Authors: Hank Manley
“What be the matter, boy?” the ferocious man said with a slight snicker in his voice. “Has the sight of me face caused thy tongue to abandon thy mouth?”
Warren willed his voice to respond in spite of the paralyzing panic he felt in the presence of the terrifying man. “I was blown here in my dory by the hurricane last night,” he managed in a cracking tone. “We washed up on the far shore this morning.”
The fierce man’s two shaggy black eyebrows jumped in surprise. “By the gods above,” he laughed. “I’ve found me a seafaring lad spared by the mighty Neptune. Aye, we felt the fringes of the tempest last night ourselves. But I vouch we didn’t see more than fifty knots of wind.”
Warren lifted his chin and engaged the captain’s eyes. “There’s no need to tie me up,” he said defiantly. “Your men seem to think I’m a spy for some governor. They want to hang me. I don’t know any governor. I don’t even know where I am. I just want to return home to my mother.”
The bearded man looked at Warren with narrowed eyes. “Ye do seem a mite young for the spy trade,” he said in a kindly voice. “Perhaps ye be off one of them English ships of the line? Maybe ye be sent to swim ashore and report back to one of the navy officers.”
“No, sir,” Warren said with certainty. “We’re not off an English ship. I told you. The hurricane pulled us off the beach in front of our cottage on Serenity Cay and left us on your shore this morning.”
“Serenity Cay, ye say? I know these islands like the back of me hand. I vouch say there’s no island by that name in these waters.”
Warren drew a breath and wrinkled his forehead in thought. The hulking captain certainly looked dangerous. His array of armaments was impressive. His crew behaved deferentially in his presence which indicated they respected him if not outright feared him. But he didn’t appear to pose an immediate threat.
“Serenity Cay is not too far from Nassau,” Warren said at last. “If I knew where I was now, perhaps I could figure out which direction to sail in order to return home.”
“Ye be at me secret camp. We call it the Wells for the fresh water hole ye see over there,” the bearded man said.
Warren wondered why he had never heard of an island called the Wells. He had studied his father’s detailed chart book of the Bahamas and thought he knew the names of all the important cays. He was particularly curious why the black-haired man didn’t know about Serenity Cay.
“My name is Warren Early,” he said suddenly. In spite of his obvious predicament, Warren’s parental training surfaced. Without thinking of the possible negative implications of his familiarity, Warren continued. “What’s yours?”
The captain was nonplussed by the polite, mannered introduction. Never in his career as a pirate had a person displayed the gumption to ask his name. Most sailors and inhabitants of the Bahamas knew him by sight or at least by reputation. Prudent strangers generally sought to avoid contact.
“Me name is Teach. Edward Teach. But some of the boys call me Blackbeard.”
“Blackbeard?” Warren repeated. His forehead furled in confusion. “Are you really called Blackbeard like the pirate I’ve read about in my book?”
Captain Teach placed his hands on his hips and lifted his chin to the sky. Laughter roared from his lips. “I knew some people had heard of me notoriety,” he said through his hilarity. “But I didn’t know they had written books about me exploits.”
Warren stared at the towering man with the strange clothes, fearsome countenance and bizarre smoldering beard. He turned to his dog and shrugged in disbelief. Conchshell issued a tiny squeak from the base of her throat, indicating her own bewilderment.
“You’re famous,” Warren said as he returned his gaze to the living representation of the faint sketch he had studied in his book. “Everybody knows the name Blackbeard.”
“Aye, the better for me,” Captain Teach said with a nod of satisfaction. “Perhaps the next ship I sail against will just throw their gold at me feet rather than require that I slash their throats first in a fight.”
The lump on Warren’s forehead began to throb again with pain. His stomach growled harder than ever with hunger, and his mouth felt as dry as old ashes. A wave of sadness, tinged with a heavy dose of fear, washed over his troubled mind. Where was he? How had he arrived on this unknown island? Would he ever see his mother and father again? How could he get home?
Warren’s questions, and his mounting concerns about his parents, pushed aside his bewilderment about the man called Blackbeard. He dismissed his curiosity about the strange assembly of men lying about the campfire. I must get home, he vowed. I can’t let my mother worry. That’s my first task.
“Captain Blackbeard,” Warren said at last. “Untie me. I need something to eat and drink. Then I want to start for home as soon as possible.”
“Ye seem like a good lad to me,” Captain Teach said with understanding. “I like that ye know about me. Perhaps that’s a good omen. I believe in things like that.”
Blackbeard ripped his sword from the sash around his waist and swung the blade viciously at the sisal rope lashing Warren to the palm tree. With a single swipe he severed the restraints and the boy was free.
The captain pointed to the young, smooth-cheeked pirate Warren had noticed earlier. “Ye there, Mr. Read. Get the lad some food and grog,” he commanded. “I like the boy and his cur. Perhaps he can be persuaded to join our crew. He definitely possesses more refinement than most of ye scurvy scallywags.”
Warren looked at the fierce Captain Edward Teach and saw not the notorious pirate Blackbeard, but a cultured man capable of compassion and benevolence. “Thank you,” he said. “I hope I have the chance to repay your kindness one day.”
The young pirate designated by Blackbeard to feed Warren and Conch led the newest arrivals at the Wells toward a low fire burning inside a ring of coral rocks. Four vertical “Y” shaped branches suspended horizontal sticks skewered with charred meat.
“What’s your name?” Warren said as he rubbed feeling back into his arms after their restraint against the palm tree. “I’m Warren and my dog is Conchshell, but I call her Conch or just Shelly.”
“Me name be Marty Read,” the pirate said. The young man’s voice was surprisingly high pitched.
Warren extended his hand to shake.
Marty looked at Warren’s hand and hesitated. He hadn’t shaken hands in greeting with a single person in his life. Cautiously, he reached out and slipped his fingers limply into Warren’s firm grasp. “Ahoy,” he said tentatively.
“Ahoy, then,” Warren said with a smile. “What’s for lunch?”
“That’s goat on the spit,” Marty said. “It’s good. Do ye want some?”
Conchshell barked her desire to eat.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had goat,” Warren admitted. “Is it good?”
“I guess that depends on how hungry ye be,” Marty answered. “It sounds like thy dog might not be so picky about his vittles.”
“Then it’s goat for two,” Warren said. He reached toward the fire and withdrew two sticks. “Are you hungry, Shelly?” he asked the dog. “Let me check if it’s too hot.”
The boy touched the meat with his fingers and pronounced the meal ready for consumption. He peeled a large chunk of goat from the stick and handed it to the Labrador. The food disappeared in two gulps.
“I guess thy dog likes nanny,” Marty said.
Warren peeled a chunk of meat from the skewer and nibbled. “It’s not bad,” he said cautiously. “Maybe not filet mignon, but not bad. I guess I’m hungry.”
“What’s fill-ey mig . . . mig something?” Marty said. “I’ve not heard of that meat.”
“It’s . . . it’s just another cut of meat,” Warren said gently. “It’s nothing to get excited about. What’s in the jugs? I’m thirsty.”
“Grog,” Marty said. “Haven’t ye ever heard of grog?”
Warren shook his head. “Truthfully, I can’t say that I have. I guess both of us could learn something from the other.”
“Drink water,” Marty said. “If I drink that grog it gives me a headache, especially in the day.”
Warren looked at Marty Read. The young man’s face needed a good scrubbing. Dirt smudges appeared on his smooth cheeks, but he was strikingly handsome. Warren thought the word beautiful would apply if he were a young woman. His tawny hair, cut shorter than the other pirates, stood spiky on his head. His eyes were robin’s egg blue and sparkled with a zestful innocence that Warren found appealing.
“I already have a headache,” Warren said. “I smashed my head in the dory during the storm and lost consciousness. Then I must have smacked it again when I tripped over the coral running up the slope.”
Warren bit off another hunk of goat and walked to the water hole. He dropped to his knees, bent from the waist, and slurped sweet water until his belly ached.
“Can I give thy dog another piece of goat meat?” Marty asked as Warren wiped drops of water from his mouth. “She’s a beautiful animal. It be the first of her kind I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks,” Warren said. “That would be nice of you. Conch is a blonde Labrador Retriever. They’re very popular.”
Marty Read sat in the sand and circled his knees with his arms. “Are ye really from this Serenity Cay? It be strange that Blackbeard never heard of it. He knows everything about the Bahamas.”
Warren walked back to the fire and fed Conchshell another piece of meat. “There are a lot of strange things going on,” he said. “But all I can think of is my poor mother worrying herself sick about my disappearance. I’ve got to get home as soon as I can.”
“I heard ye tell Blackbeard that ye was blown ashore in a dory,” Marty said. “Why don’t ye just get in the boat and sail back to thy Serenity Cay?”
The boy shrugged. “It sounds simple,” he admitted. “But the problem is I don’t know where I am now. I don’t know what direction to sail. I can’t just get in the boat and leave. What direction would I go? I could head all wrong and never get home.”
“Ye be at the Wells,” Marty said. “It be one of many places in a long group of islands. I’ve watched as we’ve sailed into the little harbor. The islands be deserted, but that’s what Blackbeard calls it, the Wells. He says it’s his lair.”
Warren opened his hands and lifted his shoulders. “That’s the dilemma. I don’t know where this lair, the Wells, is located,” he said with the frustration creeping into his voice. “I’ve never seen a place called the Wells on a chart. If I don’t know my starting point, I can’t go anywhere with certainty.”
Marty Read rubbed his beardless chin for a moment. “Why be ye in such a rush to go home,” he said. “Why not spend a while with Blackbeard and his crew? Me, I’ve been a pirate for almost two years, and it be the most excitement I’ve ever experienced in me life. I be almost rich with me share of the bounty we’ve collected.”
Warren stared speechless at the youthful buccaneer. Finally he was able to frame words. “Being a pirate is exciting?” he repeated. “You’re rich?”
The young man swung his arm around, indicating the group of men reclining near the water hole. “What think thee brings all these men here?” he asked. “Do ye suppose they be captives of Blackbeard? No. It be the life they choose. They enjoy the freedom. They seek the danger. They love the bounty.”
Warren looked around at the scruffy crew in repose circling the water hole. None looked sad. All appeared content with their lot in life. Many wore expensive jewelry that appeared beyond their means to purchase. Necklaces predominated. Earrings hung from many a masculine lobe.
Maybe . . . he thought. But then he banished the crazy idea from his head. He had to return to his mother. It would be completely unfair to subject her to sorrow and grief while he cavorted around the Bahamas with a gang of pirates.
“To the boat! To the boat!” A frantic voice rang out from high above the palm trees. “A ship is coming! It be a merchant ship!”
Marty Read jumped to his feet. “Come on,” he said to Warren. “The lookout has spotted a ship. We’ve got to get aboard.”
Warren waved his hands in front of his face. “Not me,” he said. “I’ve got to get home to my mother.”
Marty grabbed Warren’s arm and pulled him upright. “Look around ye,” he said, the urgency rising in his voice. “We all be getting aboard the ship. There not be a single person left on this island in ten minutes. Ye will have all the water ye want, but there won’t be a scrap of food. And ye still don’t know the way home. Ye be better to come with me. It be the only smart thing to do. Perhaps we’ll sail to Nassau after we take the merchant ship. Ye can sail home from there. Surely somebody ashore will know how ye can get to thy mysterious Serenity Cay.”
Conchshell understood her master was facing a dilemma. The dog wanted to return home, but she had had enough of dory rides for awhile. The company of the men meant food and security. The potentially perilous journey back to Serenity Cay could be postponed.
The Labrador barked as she danced about in concert with the pirates hustling to gather their belongings. The dog turned toward the anchorage and trotted several steps in the direction the men were running. She stopped and waited for Warren, anxious to board the ship.
Warren raced along in Marty Read’s footsteps, past the water hole, through the narrow strip of jungle to the east, and across the pink colored sand beach. He skidded to a stop when he saw the ship resting in the anchorage. It was the most unusual and exciting vessel he had ever seen.
Queen Anne’s Revenge
was 80 feet long. Three towering masts reached high into the deep blue sky. Men were scrambling up rope ladders and unfurling gigantic black sails from wooden arms that stretched more than the width of the ship.
A long wooden sprit stretched nearly forty feet ahead of the bow. Ropes ran in every direction around the masts, forming a maze that confounded Warren’s untrained eye.
A small mezzanine rose from the main deck forward. The aft third of the ship soared four stories in the air. Ladders offered access to the upper platforms. Balconies hung from the sides of the raised aft section, allowing breeze and access to the water for the occupants of the interior areas.
The sides of the vessel were painted a menacing black. A red accent stripe ran the length of the ship high above the waterline. Eight windows stood sentinel along the bright vermillion portion of the ship. Barrels of huge cannons poked from each of the openings. Another six cannons were visible jutting through slots in the deck above.