by Hank Manley
* * *
Queen Anne’s Revenge relentlessly closed the distance with the heavily laden merchant ship. Her full complement of sails and skillful handling by her crew pressed the pirate ship through the water a full two knots faster than the pursued vessel could travel.
“Can ye make out the name yet?” Blackbeard asked Master Oakes who was adjusting the focus of the long brass telescope.
“Aye, captain,” Master Oakes replied. “She be a French merchant vessel named Marseilles.”
“Raise the pennant, Mr. Bostock,” Blackbeard commanded. “Let these Frenchies know who be breathing hard on their transom.”
Bostock drew a quick puff on his pipe and removed the stem from his teeth. Pointing it aloft, he called down to the main deck. “Up the mast, one of ye lads,” he shouted. “Fly the captain’s flag. Display for these Frenchies their worst nightmare.”
A nimble sailor scrambled up the rope ladder with Blackbeard’s personal burgee. Within seconds the pirate was standing on the uppermost platform, attaching a large rectangular pennant to the flag staff.
The wind immediately caught the black canvas and snapped it straight. The white image of a skeleton appeared. The figure hoisted a drink in his right hand, toasting the devil, while jabbing an arrow at a bright red heart with his left. Drops of blood fell from the piercing to the corner of the canvas.
Blackbeard looked up the mast and smiled at the flag snapping in the wind. In his entire career, first as a privateer for his native Britain during the War of Spanish Succession, when he legally attacked French and Spanish ships under the auspices of the Crown, and later as a pirate, Edward Teach had never harmed a single person who was not threatening his life.
Intimidation was Blackbeard’s first weapon of choice.
“Bring her alongside Marseilles, Mr. Oakes,” the captain ordered. “Prepare to fire two salvos at the bow. We’ll see how much fight these Frenchies have in their souls.”
Warren watched the crews of the two forward cannons on the port side load heavy cast iron balls into the weapon and stuff explosive charges into the breach. One pirate stood in readiness behind each cannon with a lighted stick ready to ignite the gunpowder.
The two ships drew closer as Queen Anne’s Revenge angled toward the fleeing Marseilles. The azure Bahamian waters parted at the bows of the two boats and dashed alongside the wooden hulls in pure, white swaths of foam.
“Luff the jibs, Mr. Oakes,” Blackbeard instructed. “Slow us to Marseilles’s speed.”
Warren looked with fascination as sailors adjusted the two triangular forward sails and caused them to flap ineffectually in the wind, reducing the speed of Queen Anne’s Revenge.
The two ships gently porpoised through mild swells, holding ultimately intersecting courses, twin travelers on the sea with distinctly disparate purposes.
A man appeared on the after deck of the French merchant ship. He was dressed in a deep blue frock coat with red piping and gold epaulets on the shoulders. He lifted a conical bullhorn and shouted against the rapidly shrinking distance between the two ships.
“Damnation on thy villainous souls,” he shouted through the speaking device. “From whence doth thy come?”
Blackbeard approached the railing on the port side of his ship and raised a similar hailing instrument. “We be from the depths of Hades,” he shouted across the frothing water trapped between the two hulls. “Ye can see by our colors it’s pirates we be, and we mean to have thy cargo and thy life if ye choose to resist.”
“I’ll not strike me colors for the likes of a band of scurvy pirates,” the French captain replied. “Be gone with ye back to thy fiery home with the devil.”
Warren looked at Marty Read with wide eyes. He had heard the bellicose exchange between the two captains of the ships. “I guess that means we’re in for a fight,” he said.
“Aye, friend,” Marty nodded. “Prepare thyself to hold thine ears.”
“Fire number one and two, Mr. Oakes,” Blackbeard said calmly. “Just sufficient to show these Frenchies the devil is in league with Blackbeard. I don’t want that ship on the bottom of the ocean.”
Nearly simultaneous blasts sounded from the forward part of the main deck of Queen Anne’s Revenge. Conchshell was completely surprised by the two explosions. She yipped from the pain to her ears and the unexpected shock of the detonations.
Twin clouds of white smoke billowed from the barrels of the cannons and tumbled toward the French merchant ship. A pair of twelve pound cannonballs hurled across the serene space between the two ships, both headed menacingly for Marseilles’s bow.
The wooden planking on the forward section of the French merchant ship shattered with the powerful impact of the first cannonball. A split second later the second ball arrived and crushed the exposed framing of the hull. A giant sphere of splinters scattered into the air, accompanied by a mist of dust and paint chips.
Cries of pain volleyed back from the French ship. Shouts of frenzied exhilaration answered from the lungs of the pirates aboard Queen Anne’s Revenge.
Warren whooped with amazement at the sudden destruction reigned upon Marseilles by the discharge of only two cannons.
“Prepare to board,” bellowed from the determined lips of Mr. Bostock. “Toss the grapples, lads, and haul us close. It be time to claim our prize.”
~13~
Five stout lines with four-pronged grappling hooks attached were swirled overhead and launched across the rapidly diminishing space between the two ships. The sharp tines of the first steel hook flew over the side of the merchant ship and dug deeply into the base of Marseilles’s mast when the pirates pulled the line tight. The other grapples sailed to the deck of the beleaguered French vessel. Four pirates hauled quickly on each of the attached ropes and yanked the hooks back until they dug into the railing.
“Heave, lads,” Mr. Bostock yelled from the raised aft deck. “Bring her alongside.”
The frenzied pirates, energized by the cannon blasts, excited by the prospect of battle, and delighted by the opportunity to seize booty and riches, tugged enthusiastically on the five ropes until the Marseilles was lashed alongside Queen Anne’s Revenge. The French merchant ship was a helpless captive of the famed pirate Blackbeard as the two vessels continued to sail across the ocean in tandem.
Blackbeard dashed down from the raised rear deck. Smoke circled around his large head from the wicks of the tiny candles woven in his coal-black beard. He held an enormous sword in his right hand. The wide steel blade glinted in the harsh Bahamian sunlight as he brandished it menacingly in the air.
Blackbeard waved a pistol in his left hand. His black coat was open at the waist revealing two other pistols dangling from lanyards around his neck.
Warren looked with amazement and awe at the frightening figure. Who would be so foolish as to challenge the man?
The captain pointed to Warren and winked. “So it be the life of a buccaneer ye fancy? Well, laddie, come with me. I’ll show ye more fun today than ye can find in a month ashore.”
Conchshell backed away from Blackbeard with a whimper. Her shoulders dropped to the deck, and she placed her head between her outstretched paws. He rear legs remained upright and held her rump aloft. It appeared as if the Labrador was bowing in reverence.
Marty Read locked a hand on Warren’s elbow. “Come,” he yelled over the pandemonium swirling on the deck of Queen Anne’s Revenge. “The French ship is close. Let’s jump aboard with the captain. We don’t want to miss the excitement.”
Warren swallowed once and noticed his mouth was dry. He glanced at Marseilles, now lashed to the pirate ship, and realized that with the curvature of the hulls, there was still substantial space between the two railings.
His legs felt shaky, and he wondered briefly if he was too weak to make the jump to the merchant ship. If he failed to span the gap, he would
certainly fall between the two partially touching hulls and be crushed to death.
Blackbeard tucked his pistol in his waist sash and stepped toward Conchshell. He reached out with his free hand and scooped the Labrador from the deck. “By the gods above, I believe ye be a lucky cur,” he hollered. “Come, dog. Earn thy keep aboard me ship.”
The captain vaulted to the raised side of Queen Anne’s Revenge and turned to the pirates poised on the deck. “Who amongst ye wishes fame and fortune?”
In a single bound Blackbeard hurtled across the open space between the two ships, the wooden sides rubbing and scrapping above the roiling water below.
“Let’s go, Marty,” Warren said. “I’ll never live with myself if I stay aboard, especially with Shelly making the jump ahead of me.”
“Aye, me friend,” Marty laughed. “Some pirate ye be if thy dog arrives first and outfights ye.”
* * *
Warren landed on the pitching deck with both feet. His momentum carried him forward, and he rolled on his right shoulder before scrambling to stand upright. Marty Read followed moments later and stood with his back to his new friend. He held his sword defensively in front of his body.
“Turn thy self around,” Marty said. “It be the best way to watch each other’s backs.”
A French sailor scurried across the deck with a sword at the ready position. “Damn pirates ye be,” he spat in heavily accented English. “I’ll dash thy heathen souls back to the devil’s realm from whence ye came.”
Marty Read stepped around Warren and faced the French sailor directly. He raised his weapon in front of his right shoulder and quickly lowered it to point at his opponent’s chest. “Drop thy sword and live,” he said. “I’ve no desire to draw thy blood, though if needed, I’ll oblige.”
The Frenchman hesitated for a moment as if contemplating Marty’s offer to surrender. He looked briefly around Marseilles’s deck and saw that more than twenty pirates had jumped from Queen Anne’s Revenge and now swarmed over the French merchant vessel’s deck.
Two pistol shots had sounded immediately after Blackbeard’s invasion of the French ship. Individual sword battles raged in several areas of the merchant vessel. The sharp clanking of steel against steel reverberated over the tumultuous scene.
Marty Read slashed once at the Frenchman’s motionless sword. The violent blow shook the weapon in the man’s hand. A second, rapidly delivered, backhand swing extracted the sword from the Frenchman’s hand. The blade flew in the salty air, tumbled once, and came to rest tip first in the wooded deck.
Warren stepped forward, grabbed the swaying sword, and yanked it from the planking. An instant later Marty Read jabbed the point of his weapon against the French sailor’s throat. A thin line of blood appeared and began to trickle down the vanquished man’s bare chest.
“Cease thy fight,” Marty said. “Can ye not see we outnumber thee and can easily outfight thee?”
“Aye,” the Frenchman said with resignation. “It be only me duty that I do. But I vouch it does not include suicide.”
Conchshell skidded to a halt at Warren’s feet. The Labrador looked at her master and barked approval of the bright sword he was now brandishing. The dog had landed on Marseilles’s deck under Blackbeard’s powerful arm. The captain had released his grip and dropped her to the deck in front of a band of armed French sailors. She had barked fiercely at the men.
Blackbeard had rolled back his head and roared with delight at the prospect of facing his enemy. His beard swayed from side to side as he scanned the several men before him as if deciding which to vanquish first. Swirls of smoke wreathed his scowling countenance and disconcertingly merry eyes.
The captain yanked the pistol from his sash and aimed at the head of one of the Frenchmen. He pulled the trigger and laughed as the man cringed while the lead ball whistled past his ear. He exchanged the discharged pistol for a second, loaded weapon, and fired again. The deliberate miss caused the merchantmen to retreat into a corner of the fighting deck.
“Lay down thy swords, me lads,” Blackbeard warned. “Lest I cut thy throats and allow me feisty cur to feast on thy gizzards.”
“Is nothing sacred to thee heathens?” one of the Frenchmen said. “We mean ye no harm.”
Blackbeard laughed. “Aye. It’s me wallet that be sacred to me. If thy life be sacred to thee, lay down thy arms and soon you’ll be under way again.”
One of the merchantmen tightened the grip on his sword and held it in front of his chest. “You’ll let us go free?” he asked incredulously.
“Aye,” Blackbeard nodded with dancing eyes. “I’ll let thee free, less thy cargo, of course. But at least thy necks will not be stretched nor thy throats severed.”
The Marseilles’s captain stepped forward from the group of sailors. “Me name be Pierre Michaud,” he said. He raised his sword and dexterously flipped it in the air, catching the handle in his fist with his thumb up before the tip hit the deck. He reached toward Blackbeard and offered the weapon.
“Nay, pirate, it be thy neck, not mine, that’s destined to be stretched,” Captain Michaud said calmly. “Or perhaps it be thy head chopped loose at the neck from thy body. But for today, the cargo of the Marseilles is yours to do with as ye wishes. We offer no more resistance.”
~14~
Warren and Conchshell sat on the hatch in the center of Queen Anne’s Revenge’s main deck. They rested in the shade of the ship’s launch which was securely strapped to the large wooden, ventilated cover that spread over the opening to the deck below.
The boy’s pulse was slowly returning to its normal rate after the excitement of the brief battle with the French merchant ship and the vigorous labor to transfer the two dozen barrels of red wine and the many bales of silk to the storage hold of the pirate ship. Marseilles had been set free after all items of value had been confiscated.
Warren held his open palm atop the handle of his captured sword and spun the blade with a flick of his free fingers. The honed blade twirled in the sunlight. The bright steel caught the rays of the Bahamian sun streaming over the young man’s shoulder. It flashed rhythmically as the tip of the heavy weapon carved a tiny hole in the wooden deck.
The Labrador stared intently at the sword as the light reflected back with each turn of the blade. A satisfied low growl sounded in her throat.
Marty Read walked across the deck and threw a red shirt, knee length pants and a pair of leather boots at Warren’s feet. “I found ye some proper garments on the merchant ship,” he said. “Them pantaloons and blouse ye be wearing when ye blew up on the shores of our hideout be not too practical for the work of a pirate. Even more important, they lack much in the way of fashion. Ye need some color in thy clothing.”
Warren picked up the boots and immediately pulled them on his feet. He had been barefoot the entire day, and felt lucky he hadn’t done serious damage running around the island and jumping from ship to ship.
“They fit,” he said. “Thanks. But why do you say I need color in my clothing? I’ve noticed most of the crew favor bright, colorful shirts and pants. Is there a reason?”
“Don’t ye know, me friend?” Marty said with a laugh. “Perhaps it not be the case on thy Serenity Cay, but back home in England it be against the law for a common man to wear color in his garments. It be the way of the royalty to keep the peasants in their place. So now that we be free men, able to do as we please, we choose to adorn themselves with colorful clothing. It be our way to give a thumb of the nose to the gentry back home.”
Warren sat stunned when he heard the absurd reasoning why the pirates dressed in colorful clothing. What kind of crazy society would pass a law that dictated what color clothes people could wear? Marty Read must be inventing such a story to tease him!
Before the boy could question his friend further, Blackbeard walked over and ruffled the hair on W
arren’s head with a huge hand. “Ye be a good lad,” he said. “I’m of a mind to put thee in for an ordinary seaman’s full share of the bounty. What think thee?”
Warren jumped to his feet. “I . . . I think that would be wonderful,” he replied, fighting to disguise his utter ignorance of the captain’s words.
“The quartermaster needs to approve,” Blackbeard said. “But he witnessed thy jump across to the Marseilles, and he saw thee ready to fight. I believe he will be in agreement.”
Warren glanced at Marty and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. The young man merely nodded and smiled.
“Thank you, Captain Teach,” Warren said. “That’s very generous of you.”
* * *
“What was the captain talking about?” Warren asked when Blackbeard disappeared through the door in the bulkhead to his quarters aft.
“Ye be a full-fledged pirate now,” Marty Read said with a wide grin on his face. “Ye be an ordinary seaman.”
“What’s an ordinary seaman?” Warren asked.
Marty Read motioned for Warren to sit beside him. “It be a rank,” he said. “It be the lowest rank, but a rank nonetheless. It be the rank of a pirate with little experience.”
“Okay,” Warren rejoined with a chuckle. “What’s your rank? Do I outrank you yet? Do you have to salute me?”
“Nay, me friend. I be an able seaman,” Marty Read laughed and congratulated himself with a gentle pat on the chest. “I have nearly two years experience. But both of us receive the same one share of the bounty.”
“What are the other ranks?” Warren asked. “I guess captain is the highest.”
“Aye, captain be the highest,” Marty Read replied with a nod. “The captain receives two shares of the bounty. Next is the master, which be Mr. Oakes. He gets one and a half shares. Then comes the boatswain, Mr. Bostock. He likewise receives a share and a half, as does the gunner.”
“And everyone else gets just one share?”
Marty Read shook his head. “No,” he said. “There be the quartermaster. He gets two shares like the captain.”