Blackbeard- The Birth of America

by Samuel Marquis

  He looked at his step-mother Lucretia and his younger sister Elizabeth, then at Lucretia’s three children: fifteen-year-old Cox, eleven-year-old Rachel, and his favorite, ten-year-old Thomas. Cox, Rachel, and Thomas were his step-siblings from his father’s marriage to Lucretia Poquet Maverly Axtell following his mother Elizabeth’s death in 1699 in Jamaica. Upon his father’s death seven years later, the then-nineteen-year-old Edward, Jr. had, as the eldest son, settled his father’s ailing affairs by deeding his inheritance, including his father’s Jamaican plantation and their slaves, to Lucretia and her family so they could survive. At the time, Thache had been serving aboard Admiral William Whetstone’s flagship, the HMS Windsor, stationed at Port Royal. He had joined the Royal Navy as an officer only a year earlier to fight in Queen Anne’s War, and the ship had returned from a two-month patrol in enemy French territory when his father died.

  “What are ye thinking about, Brother?” asked his sister Elizabeth, staring down at Port Royal and the more than fifty ships anchored in the harbor.

  “My mind was harkening back to the earth tremor of ninety-two. I was but a wee lad, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”

  “That’s funny, I don’t remember it at all,” said Elizabeth, two years his junior at the age of twenty-six.

  “You were too young to remember. You couldn’t have been more than three at the time.”

  “I remember it only too well,” said his step-mother Lucretia, as the servants set out a pair of blankets, picnic baskets, and bottles of ale on the ground on the hillside overlooking the bay. “It is a miracle that any of us survived. Of course, I had not met your father yet.”

  “Then we had the fire in 1703,” said Elizabeth. “Now that I remember.”

  “And father died three years later,” said Thache, picturing the old gentleman who had taught him how to sail at a young age and who had enjoyed being a mariner far more than a sugar plantation owner. He looked over at Cox, Rachel, and Thomas throwing pebbles down into the ocean, smiles on their luminous faces. His father Edward, Sr.—their grandfather—had died so young that they had barely known the man. Probably only Cox would remember him.

  “Your father would be proud of you, Edward,” said Lucretia. “Receiving a commission to hunt pirates from Governor Hamilton. Now that is truly something.”

  Thache smiled. “Aye, except for the fact that we haven’t been hunting pirates at all. We just marched right up to Admiral Salmon at the Spanish salvage camp on the beach and demanded he surrender his treasure. So much for an honest privateering commission. It was more like taking candy from a baby.”

  “Oh dear, I wasn’t aware of that,” sniffed his step-mother.

  “Nor was I,” said his sister, also with a note of disapproval.

  They fell into an uncomfortable silence as the servants began spreading out china plates, pewter mugs, silverware, and the picnic lunch on the blankets. The lunch would consist of ackee and saltfish, Johnny cakes, fish-and-meat pie, plantains, freshly baked sweet potato bread, and salt crackers.

  “Did you meet with the governor?” asked his sister Elizabeth after a quiet moment had passed.

  “Yesterday morning,” he replied. “Captains Jennings, myself, and the other ship captains brought in our claimed salvage in accordance with our commissions.”

  “Did you and your cohorts tell the governor that you seized the treasure from the salvage camp, as opposed to the offshore wrecks themselves?” asked Lucretia.

  His sister shot both them a worried look. “We should keep our voices down. We don’t want the children to overhear.”

  Thache looked over at them as the oldest Cox gave a rousing cheer. Thirty feet away, the children were ensconced in tossing pebbles over the edge and into the bay and didn’t appear to be listening to them.

  “They’re busy playing their game,” he said. “But to answer your question, no we did not tell Governor Hamilton. But it didn’t matter because he knew the truth. There were too many pieces of eight for us to have recovered it from the seafloor in so brief a time. In fact, I believe he had already received word about the raid on the salvage camp.”

  “And during the meeting, the governor didn’t even bother to ask?”

  “He just wants his share of the plunder and to even the score with the Spanish. Just like the rest of us.”

  “Can’t he still arrest you?”

  “I very much doubt it.”

  “But what you did…was it legal?”

  “For me and my men it was because we had a signed commission, but it might not be for Hamilton. I have been told that the Spanish have made a formal protest and that the governor’s enemies will likely pursue his removal.”

  “Oh my, this is turning into quite an incident.”

  “All I know is the King’s men have made no move to arrest us. We’re free to enjoy the pleasures of the island and our ill-gotten gains, if that’s what they in fact are. So are all the crews of the other privateers the governor commissioned. He gave out ten commissions in all, I am told.”

  At that moment, the children shrieked in delight, startling the two women. His step-mother’s hand flew to her chest.

  “Good heavens, they scared the wits out of me,” she said.

  “Me too,” agreed his sister. “But I think it is all this talk of piracy that has put the scare into us.”

  “Piracy? We’re not talking about piracy—we’re talking about a reprisal against the Spanish for their ill treatment of us all these years.”

  “Somehow, it doesn’t sound that simple, Brother.”

  “Well, maybe this will change your mind.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a leather coin-filled bag. “This is half of my share of the treasure and I’m giving it to you two. It will help ends meet for you as well as the children.”

  His sister frowned. “I don’t need money. My husband does quite well as a surgeon, thank you very much. And I know he will not accept money from questionable sources.”

  “Questionable sources? I have a legal commission from the governor, and what me and my men did was a service on behalf of the Crown. If the King’s men haven’t questioned what we did, why should ye?”

  “We just don’t want to get into trouble, or for you to tarnish your father’s good name,” said Lucretia. “God bless his Christian soul.”

  Thache felt the sting of their disapproval. “Come now, no one’s tarnishing the family name. The Spanish have been hard on us and taking from them is our God-given right. So please take the silver. I’ve already settled up with Axtell and own the Margaret free and clear now,” he added, referring to Daniel Axtell, the privateer ship owner and his fence in Port Royal with whom he had in the past sold cargoes as a merchant mariner and occasional privateer.

  His step-mother looked at her three children. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, taking the leather purse.

  “Yes, I’m sure. You need to take care of yourself and the children. There’s no war on now, but there could be soon enough. If that happens, times will be hard again. The Spanish might even invade and take back the island.”

  His sister took him by the hand. “This is very generous of you,” she said with emotion in her voice and sincerity in her eyes. “You gave up the estate when father died and now you’re doing this. You are a good man, Brother, of that there is no doubt. But you must be careful. The last thing either of us wants is to see a rope around your neck and your carcass rotting in a gibbet. We tell you this because we love you and don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  He took both women in his arms. “You don’t need to worry about me, my bonnies. I’m quite sure I can take care of myself. I’m not going to be here long anyway—I’m due to set sail the first of next week.”

  “Next Monday?” gasped his younger sister. “But you’ve only been here three days!”

  “I know, but I’m afraid those Spanish wrecks can’t wait.”

  His step-mother was stunned. “You’re going back to La Florida?”
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  “I have to,” he said laconically. “I’m afraid I’ve caught Spanish fever and plan on working those wrecks until they’re tapped out like a mine. As part of my extended family, you stand to profit greatly from the silver and gold they produce.”

  “Oh, Edward, I just hope it’s the right thing to do and ye won’t get into trouble,” said Elizabeth.

  “Don’t worry about me. I know how to stay one step ahead of the law. Now let’s eat this fine picnic lunch of yours—I’m starved.”

  CHAPTER 6

  OCULINA BANKS

  LA FLORIDA, SPANISH TERRITORY

  MARCH 12, 1716

  AT THE SIGHT OF THE SECOND TIGER SHARK, Caesar began to worry. He wasn’t afraid of the big hammerheads or the smaller reef sharks that were everywhere among the Spanish wrecks—it was the big, striped Tigers that put the fear of God into him and the other salvage divers. Feeling his heart rate click up a notch, he wanted desperately to climb out from beneath the diving bell suspended above the sea bottom and swim to the surface and safety of his boat, the Flying Horse. But he didn’t dare move out of the bell, not yet anyway.

  A twenty-one-year-old West African slave originally auctioned in Charles Town, Caesar had grown up in the South Carolina capital before moving at age ten with his owner, Colonel Robert Daniel, to Bath Town, North Carolina. Sold there, he was now the property of Tobias Knight of Bath, the North Carolina council secretary, collector of customs, and interim chief justice. As slave owners went, the government official and his wife could only be described as enlightened. They had never once whipped him, encouraged him to learn to read and write, and insisted on his being Christianized. Two months earlier, to bring much-needed capital into the poor proprietary colony of North Carolina, Knight had commissioned a dozen Bath County adventurers, most with seafaring experience, to fish the Spanish wrecks. Caesar was his hand-picked representative and labor investment in the enterprise.

  Knight had done so on behalf of Charles Eden, governor of North Carolina. Governors Hamilton and Spotswood weren’t the only colonial officials obsessed with outfitting expeditions to the Florida coast to salvage Spanish silver and gold. Royal and proprietary governors, legitimate merchants, and beady-eyed profiteers all up and down the Atlantic seaboard were outfitting ships to salvage as much as possible of the treasure gleaming from Florida’s shores—before the Spanish and competing wreckers retrieved it all.

  Caesar and his Bath County cohorts had been fishing the wrecks for three straight weeks now. They had signed on with the Flying Horse in Charles Town. The vessel was captained by a merchantman who had proved to be not only incompetent but a drunken lout and tyrant, and William Howard, John Martin, and the other Bath County men were close to mutiny. Caesar and several of the other black and native West Indian divers had already been whipped more than once for refusing to go back down to the bottom when they were exhausted or afraid due to the large sharks prowling the area; and two of the divers had already died, and another was badly disabled, from ruptured lungs under the martinet captain.

  The company only had one diving bell, so most of the divers were sent out over the wreck sites on simple rafts. The procedure involved taking a large rock and a deep breath before jumping overboard and sinking to the ocean floor ten to twenty feet down. There they scoured the sea floor for a minute or two, searching for treasure and scooping up coins and other small objects when they located them, marking the locations of chests, boxes, cannon, and other large valuable objects. On the surface they were searched and sent back to the bottom with ropes or chains to attach to the larger objects, so they could be raised with ship-mounted windlasses.

  In three weeks’ time, Caesar had established himself as the most productive diver and was, therefore, given priority using the company’s one and only diving bell. He much preferred using the bell. When he ran out of breath, he could stick his head beneath it and inhale a deep breath from the air pocket at the top. He had to be careful though. If he didn’t take care to exhale completely before heading to the surface, his lungs could rupture, resulting in the agonizing death that had claimed the lives of two divers thus far.

  The morale aboard the Flying Horse was low, not only from the deaths and ill health of the divers but from the overall lack of success. The diving work at Palmar de Ayz was taxing, dangerous, and competitive. During their time thus far on the wrecks, there were more than two dozen English vessels anchored at the sunken galleon they were currently working—the Santo Cristo de San Roman—and at four of the other scattered wrecks. These included the flagship, Nuestra Senora del Rosario, which had had her bottom torn off by a reef and sank in thirty feet of water, and the treasure galleon Urca de Lima. Having difficulty locating the main hull sections of the great ships, they had to settle for salvaging scattered cargo and coins. Since their arrival, they had managed to scrounge up only twelve hundred pieces of eight, ten feet of gold chain, a pair of cannons, fourteen pounds of broken silver plate, a dozen leather hides, and several chests of Chinese porcelain, indigo, and vanilla beans to share between more than fifty men—and only after the merchant captain and his backers had taken their designated two-thirds share. It was simply not enough, and they were already beginning to run low on food and water and didn’t want to have to give up what they had salvaged thus far to obtain both.

  He took a deep breath of air and stepped from beneath the bell. One of the Tiger sharks had swum off, but the other still remained, circling above. The wind was moderate and the visibility of the water more than a hundred feet. He studied the shark. It had to be at least thirteen feet long. He watched as the creature swam above him, its dorsal fin cutting the surface like a knife, gills flaring, and tiger-like stripes glinting in the sunlight refracting through the water. The free divers to the south of him were keeping a wary eye on the big shark too. It was terrifying, moving so swiftly yet effortlessly that it seemed like death itself.

  Something about this particular shark gave him the chills and he decided that it would be best to return to the surface. He had collected several pieces of eight and a gold medallion in his leather pouch and might as well hand the valuables over now and wait for the sharks to leave. Ducking beneath the diving bell to take another breath, he waited for it to swim further away from him so he could make a move for the boat. It took several minutes and repeated breaths beneath the bell before the shark swam off to the north.

  It was then he made his move.

  Expelling all of his air to evacuate his lungs, he undid his weight belt, quickly fastened it to the hook on the rope attached to the diving bell, and then swam for the surface. He was gripped with the urge to go fast—an overwhelming, primal urge to flat out fly up to the surface and swiftly climb the boat ladder—but he knew he needed to move slowly and methodically so as not to rupture his lungs and kill himself.

  Though his heart was racing wildly, he calmly kicked his way upward with his legs and breaststroked with his arms. He told himself not to be afraid, but after three kicks and strokes instinct told him he was being hunted.

  He began to swim faster.

  To his infinite horror, he heard a noise below him. The source was unmistakable: a squirt of bubbles from something slicing through the water.

  He looked down, but nothing was there.

  In panic, he looked to his left and right.

  Still nothing.

  Then he saw one of the other divers below a raft motioning at something behind him.

  He turned abruptly, but there was nothing. Continuing to search the water, he still saw no sign of the shark despite feeling a tickling sensation on the back of his neck, as if he was being stalked. He wanted desperately to swim to safety, but at the same time he wanted to know where the shark had gone. Or both for that matter. He could feel a vague presence nearby that was disconcerting—and yet he couldn’t see anything.

  And then he felt a powerful blow.

  It was one of the Tigers and it caught him in the stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of him
.

  He spun crazily and struggled to breathe, but still he swam on towards the boat. At least the shark had only rammed him and not sunk its dagger-like teeth into him.

  Then he was attacked again, this time from the other direction. He felt a sharp pain along his midriff and realized that he had been bit. For an instant, he was completely disoriented, unable to tell up from down. Blood leaked out from the wound in a thin spray that was diluted by the sea water. It was a nip, not a deep bite, but it still stung.

  But had he been attacked twice by one shark, or once by two different sharks? He realized it didn’t matter; he was in deep trouble.

  Feeling a wave of desperation, he broke for the surface and began to swim madly in the opposite direction from where he had been bitten, unaware that he was heading away from the Flying Horse.

  A Tiger came at him again.

  Seeing his life flash before his eyes, he punched the shark in the snout and swam on, churning through the water desperately. It was only then that he realized that he was swimming away from his own boat towards another, now-closer salvage vessel. He had to make a choice: turn back and try and swim to the Flying Horse, or haul ass to the nearer sloop with the British flag snapping in the wind.

  Suddenly, the seamen on the sloop made the decision for him. They began cheering him on from the deck and a pair of divers in a longboat tethered to the sloop, both white men, began paddling hard towards him.

  “Come on, mate! Come on!” they yelled encouragingly.