Bostock’s eyes narrowed. “Like you, I have my detractors.”
“But that’s just it, I don’t have any detractors. So I would actually have to say that we don’t have that in common. But I suppose that could change. Crews are sometimes so fickle.”
“No doubt lowly pirate crews like yours are just so.”
“Oh, now I see. You think that because you’re a merchantman that you’re better than us, is that it? You truly believe that you make an honest living and are a good man and that we are but roguish thieves?”
“You said it, I didn’t, Mr. Blackbeard the pirate.”
“You’re but a pawn of King George and the bloated carcasses that promote his empire and steal from the common man whose labors have built up his colonies. I’m talking about hardworking men like your underpaid sailors. My crew and I are going to enjoy talking to them and hearing what they have to say about your treatment of them. You do treat them right, don’t you Captain?”
Now Bostock looked worried. “I’ll not sit here and argue with ye. If you’re going to plunder me ship, you best get on with it and let me be on my way.”
“We’re already up to our gunwales in provisions. My quartermaster will probably only relieve you of your wine and spirits, live cattle, hogs, cutlasses, and firearms. But I’ll be wanting your navigational instruments. You know how it is—one can never get enough.”
Bostock nodded around the cabin. “I can see you have taken a goodly amount of silver plate in recent days, including that fine cup there.”
“Courtesy of Captain Taylor, commander of the Great Allen. He had the misfortune of sailing a merchantman from Boston. Burned her to the waterline.”
“You truly are a scoundrel. Why did you have to do that?”
“And you’ve the tongue of some fouled scupper rather than a gentleman, but I shall answer your question. We burn all ships from Boston. We don’t appreciate the way New Englanders treat our sea roving friends.”
“You’re talking about Bellamy’s crew. Last I heard they were very near to being hanged.”
He jolted upright in his captain’s chair. “But they haven’t been hung yet? Is that what you’re saying?”
“They hadn’t swung when I left port. That’s all I know.”
“If they do swing, there’s going to be hell to pay for Boston merchantmen. Now that I promise you.”
“Aye, and you have the means to do it. When did you acquire this guineaman and her thirty-six guns?”
“A fortnight ago. She’s quite a beauty, eh?”
“A beast from hell and fast to boot. Now I have a question for you. Are you a real gentleman, or do you intend to abuse me and my crew?”
“I don’t abuse captains or their crews. It’s not my way. And as I said before, we are so rich in plunder we may very well burst amidships, so I would wager that my quartermaster will be rather selective in the matter of plunder.”
There was a knock on the door. William Howard entered with a man Thache didn’t recognize but Bostock did. He nearly jumped up from his seat.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Biddy?” he demanded to the man, who, unbeknownst to Thache, was an ordinary seaman and a Liverpudlian.
“Why I’m joining Captain Blackbeard’s crew here and leaving ye behind, you lump of deviltry!”
Bostock’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll swing from the gallows by Christmas. That be what you want, Robert?”
“A man’s got to make a living. You certainly don’t pay enough, you greedy bastard. You get a hundred times the share I get and I’m done with ye. I’m signing these men’s articles. At least they be fair and honest.”
“Dying ain’t much of a way to make a living, Robert. Signing these pirates’ articles is nothing but a ticket to your own funeral. Remember, son, me and every officer in this room be a witness.”
Thache smiled. “Maybe, but at least he’ll die rich and merry among men who treat him as equals.” He held out a big bony hand. “So it is to be a short life but a merry one for you, is it, Mr. Biddy? Welcome aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Your niggardly captain here has told us precious little information about the merchant vessels sailing in these waters. To draw your equal share of the prize of the Margaret, would you care to enlighten us?”
“Aye, what do you want to know, sir?”
“No need to be calling me sir now. Just tell me, if you would please, who might be trading currently along the Puerto Rico coast?”
“Don’t tell him, Robert. There’s no reason to make it easy for him to steal from hard working men like yourself.”
Seaman Biddy stepped forward and punched his former captain hard in the chest with his first, eliciting a howl of pain. “No, there’s every reason to do it, you pug-faced squab! You and merchant captains like you are nothing but thieves! The lowliest pirate scraping by robbing turtle fishermen has got ten times the honor of devils like you!”
He delivered a fierce scowl and then proceeded to rattle off a half-dozen French and Danish sloops that the Margaret had passed en route from St. Christopher. As Thache quietly listened, he decided that he would send Bonnet ahead in the Revenge to chase them down, while he would have Howard and his boarding detail continue transferring squealing hogs and unhappy cattle onto the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Then the three-vessel pirate fleet would make sail for Samana Bay, Hispaniola, where they would careen and lie in wait for the Spanish Armada they expected would sail from Havana with money to pay the garrisons on Puerto Rico. The Spanish would think he and his men had vanished, but he would soon be at their backs unawares. With his new flotilla, he would strike the fear of God into the Spanishers.
He looked at Bostock; he had heard enough from the insolent merchant captain, even though he had managed to extract virtually no useful information from him and certainly nothing to compare to what Biddy had told him. “Is there any information you would like to tell me, Captain, before I turn you over to my officers for general questioning. They always like to have a go as well, you know, and to give you fair warning they are seldom as cordial as me.”
Bostock gulped at the mild threat, but then quickly recovered. “As a matter of fact there is one thing.”
“And what would that be?”
“It appears that King George has offered you and your Queen Anne’s Revenge cohorts and all the other pirates of the Atlantic a most gracious pardon.”
“A pardon?”
“An Act of Grace pardoning all pirates for their crimes, provided they surrender to the proper authorities.”
Thache looked at his quartermaster and then at his new pirate volunteer. “Is he telling the truth, Mr. Biddy?”
“Aye, I heard it meself. The proclamation has not reached the authorities in the Leeward Islands, but we’ve spoken with seamen who have seen the decree back in England. It be published in the London Gazette three months ago.”
“A copy of the decree will arrive to these waters any day,” declared Bostock. “King George issued the royal proclamation on September 5 decreeing that any pirate that surrenders to a British governor within one year would be pardoned for all piracies committed before January 5 of next year. They are calling it a Proclamation for Suppressing of Pirates and it should be arriving any day now on merchant ships bound for Boston, Charles Town, and Barbados. When the ships reach their destinations, even currently jailed pirates will be set free. The pardons were conceived of and promoted by Woodes Rogers, a former privateer—”
“Woodes Rogers, the author of A Cruising Voyage Round the World?”
“Aye, one and the same. The word is that he will be taking over as governor of the Bahamas and will reestablish control of the proprietary colony. Looks like you and your ilk will have to find a new safe haven to skulk away to.”
“Watch your mouth, or we may have to set you adrift in your own longboat and make pirates out of all of your crew members, not just Mr. Biddy here. Once they get used to the comforts of the Queen Anne’s Revenge and realize that they can obtain a lifeti
me’s worth of wages in six months’ time, I would wager they won’t be too eager to go back to the greedy likes of you and your ilk.”
For once, that seemed to shut him up and the cabin went silent.
Howard said, “Maybe that German pig who calls himself king isn’t as dumb as we thought. He’s trying to reduce the number of pirates prior to sending over Woodes Rogers. And then, once Rogers takes over as governor, he will attempt to sweep the colonies clean of piracy by taking away our one and only refuge.”
Bostock nodded. ’Tis hoped those pirates who take advantage of the Act of Grace will return to being law-abiding subjects. Personally, I think that unlikely.”
“We don’t need to hear your opinions, Captain,” Thache scolded him, “just whatever news you have to deliver. Now tell us more about this pardon.”
“Holdouts are to be hunted down without mercy. King George has ordered the Admiralty to seize such dead-enders, providing a reward of one hundred pounds for every pirate captain captured, fifty pounds for senior pirate officers, and twenty to thirty pounds for other crew members. The Crown is wagering that, between captures and pardons, you and your fellow sea rovers will be too weak to resist Rogers when he arrives to reestablish control of the Bahamas.”
Blackbeard felt a fluttery feeling in his stomach. “When is he due to arrive in New Providence?”
“Some time next summer.”
“Who knows, maybe it’s all a bluff,” said Howard.”
He shook his head. “No, the offer is real. They did it in Kidd’s time too. It’s the classic carrot and stick approach—and it usually works.”
“It still be a pirate’s life for me,” said Biddy. “The prospect of Davy Jones’ Locker or a Kidd-like dance of death is better than what I got now.”
“Bad decision, Robert,” warned Bostock. “Bad decision indeed.”
“Avast with your threats on the lad, or I’ll string you up from my mainyard,” snarled Thache, and he pondered the situation for a moment. The King’s most gracious pardon was going to have a huge impact on him and his crew. Once they had plundered Bostock’s vessel, he would have to hold a council and discuss the shocking development with the entire fleet. More than one meeting would have to be held, votes would have to be taken and retaken, and arguments would surely ensue. He and every single one of the nearly four hundred men in his growing flotilla believed they had taken an irrevocable step into criminality and rebellion, but now it seemed they had a second chance. How many times had he thought about quitting piracy and retiring with his ill-gotten gains to a simple life with his beloved Margaret? Now, if he played his cards right, he had his opportunity.
But now that he was in command of nearly four hundred men, it was not so easy a choice. What the devil am I going to do? he wondered. What the devil am I going to do?
CHAPTER 31
ROATÁN, BAY OF HONDURAS
MARCH 28, 1718
AS STEDE BONNET STUDIED the four-hundred-ton British merchantman with twenty-six cannon protruding from her gunports, his mind flashed back to last year’s ill-advised attack on the Spanish man-of-war that had very nearly ended his piratical career. That disaster had cost him his command of the Revenge, and he certainly didn’t want a repeat performance. At the same time, he couldn’t just sail away and avoid a fight, not when his company was desperate for a prize. It had been more than a week since he and his crew had seized a vessel and they were in dire need of a victory to boost morale. Somehow, he would have to use stealth and cunning and shift the odds in his favor.
For much of the winter, Blackbeard’s flotilla had lurked west of the Campeche Bank, prowling the waters in the hopes of intercepting one of the silver-laden galleons departing from New Spain. The Spanish referred to the Queen Anne’s Revenge—which was now armed with thirty-eight cannons including swivel guns—as “the Great Devil” and kept a watchful eye out for her and her two consorts. But instead of Spanish treasure, the fleet had to content itself with taking mostly modest prizes. By late winter, the three vessels had split up and were hunting on their own on the other side of the Yucatan Peninsula, heading south for the busy shipping lanes of the Gulf of Honduras.
With mixed results, Bonnet had continued to fight off bouts of depression. Despite the many prizes he and his crew had taken since his reinstatement as captain, his personality weaknesses and poor seamanship continued to lead to a state of turmoil aboard the Revenge. Even the handful of crew members that he got along with were growing tired of his melancholy states and overwhelming feelings of shame at leaving his wife and family behind. And despite the fact that he was once again commander of his own ship, he still felt like a prisoner and was dominated by the charismatic Blackbeard in all maritime matters. To the pirate commodore, he had admitted that he was ready to forsake his criminal life if he could find exile in Spain or Portugal and never see another Englishman who might recognize him by sight.
Through his spyglass, he watched as the armed merchantman turned a point to larboard. Despite the odds and a sick feeling of déjà vu, he and the majority of the crew were anxious to prove their mettle and had already decided to launch an assault despite the objections of his quartermaster Ishmael Hanks, bosun Ignatius Pell, and a dozen crewmen, thus risking a reenactment of the disastrous engagement with the Spanish warship from the September before. They had caught up to the vessel—the Protestant Caesar of Boston captained by William Wyer, they would soon learn—just a few minutes earlier at nine o’clock, cleverly maneuvering the Revenge onto the massive ship’s vulnerable stern.
Who knows, thought Bonnet, maybe my luck has changed?
He gave the signal to his master gunner to open fire with the starboard-side guns. The Revenge let loose with five cannon and a stiff volley of musket shot. To Bonnet’s surprise, the merchant vessel returned fire from a pair of stern chasers and also answered with a hailstorm of bullets.
“Damn them!” snapped Bonnet. “I’m only going to give them one chance to surrender!”
“I don’t think the captain gives a damn!” fired back Ignatius Pell. “With nearly thirty guns to our ten, he be not afraid of us!”
As the smoke cleared, Bonnet grabbed his speaking trumpet. “If you fire another gun, we shall give no quarter! This is your only chance to stand down! It’s your choice: stand down or everyone on board dies!”
A long pause followed. Bonnet knew his bluff was a weak one, but it was all he had, and in the oceanic darkness his adversary didn’t know how strong or weak he truly was. Could he be lucky this time and someone actually back down from him, like they always seemed to do for the great Blackbeard? He began feeling a note of optimism.
And then the Protestant Caesar’s veteran captain let him know precisely what he thought of his bluff and opened fire with another salvo from his booming cannons.
“Fire! Fire!” cried Bonnet, gripped with outrage and anger.
A staccato of cannon and small arms’ explosions rocked the Revenge and hot white streaks filled the night sky. Regarding his adversary as nothing more than a pesky insect, Wyer continued to return a brisk fire at the smaller vessel. The running battle continued for three full hours, cannons flashing in the night, until Bonnet finally gave up and skulked away into the darkness, like a dog with its tail between his legs.
“Damn your impudence man!” snarled Ishmael Hanks. He crowded in aggressively with Pell and the vocal minority of other crew members who had objected to the ill-conceived attack. “You have committed the same stupidity as before believing you would come out with a different result! Have you learned nothing after your year-long apprenticeship under Blackbeard?”
Now the seamen who had opposed the assault quickly chimed in as well.
“Aye, you’re finished, Bonnet!”
“What the hell are we doing following you when we should be in Turneffe with Commodore Thache! He knows what to do!”
“You bastard! We’ve just lost a dozen good men and fine sail and rigging to boot!”
“Why w
e ought to throw you overboard to the sharks! That’s what you deserve, you squab!”
With slumped shoulders, Stede Bonnet returned in silence to his great cabin. There he picked up his battered but precious books from the floor one by one and dusted them off, wanting nothing else in the world except to die like his poor son Allamby.
CHAPTER 32
TURNEFFE LAGOON, HONDURAS
APRIL 2, 1718
BLACKBEARD STARED OUT at the Turneffe Atoll’s endless coral fringing reef, then at the expansive backreef flats, large lagoon, seagrass beds, and mangrove forests behind it—taking it all in as if he was a boy again out sailing with his father at Port Royal. He liked this little hideout in the Spanish Main; it was his special place. To his right, he saw a school of permit fish, their thin dorsal fins slicing like scythes through the lapping blue-green Caribbean waters. Their broad bodies, large round eyes, and blunt faces were unmistakable and they were tasty eating indeed. The pirate company had cooked up a dozen twenty pounders yesterday obtained from local fishermen, holding a feast on the beach over mesquite coals. To his left, a pair of bonefish navigated through the clear waters above a cluster of starfish, and on the little sand bar in front of him scurried a small army of Turneffe and Rag Head crabs—the crustaceans the permit fish fed upon. He inhaled the pleasant sea breeze and closed his eyes.
Blackbeard enjoyed his days of leisure off the beaten path; they offered him a chance to take a deep breath and regroup. This was one of those times. In the past few weeks, the enormous burden of managing and feeding the combined pirate flotilla—the ranks of which had recently swelled to over six hundred souls aboard four vessels—and supplying the vast quantity of food and spirits consumed by the men on a daily basis was becoming an oppressive burden. The four vessels had split up and fanned-out in the Gulf of Honduras to cast a wide net for prizes. But they were still sailing in consort and sharing their plunder. Every single healthy, sick, or wounded seamen drew at least one full share—except the forced skilled men who refused to sign the articles and the sixty African slaves from La Concorde kept unshackled in the hold of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, whom the crew had decided would be sold for profit when a favorable opportunity presented itself. But it was the crushing weight of having to oversee and control so many wild, disorderly, and inherently rebellious men that was taking a toll on the captain, and his quartermaster William Howard as well.
Blackbeard- The Birth of America Page 24