“If you’d rather be demoted to deckhand, Crawford, I’m sure it can be arranged!” Nat shouted at the man. Crawford scowled, picked up his pace to a jogtrot. Jesamiah made a mental note to keep a weather eye on him. This was not the first time he had shown a lack of enthusiasm.
“I spent a week aboard a ship with Teach,” Jesamiah confessed to Rue. “I was a few months off eighteen, m’head filled with pride at being made foretopman aboard the Mermaid under Captain Malachias Taylor. He was a good man, good sailor; what he didn’t know about ships and the sea was not worth knowing. England was at war – another bickering waste of time squabble that fat Queen Anne had initiated with the damned Frenchies. I’ve no idea what it was about. We never asked the whys and wherefores of things in those days.”
“As we still do not, mon ami,” Rue chortled. “I ‘eard it that les anglais put the fracas down to a disagreement about the Spanish line of succession, non? Though the Colonies see it different and call it ‘Queen Anne’s War’. They say it was fought over who governed which territory and ‘eld which fort. I ‘eard les français fought admirably against you English for what they considered their land.”
Realising that he had been derogatory about the French, Jesamiah waved his hand dismissively. “Pah, you’re Breton, Rue. I don’t count you as a Frog.”
“I am pleased to ‘ear it.”
“Since when have you been keen to hoist your colours for the French anyway?”
Rue adjusted the helm slightly, shifted his weight more squarely onto his widespread feet. Grinned. “I ‘oist them for myself, mon ami. For myself and my comrades.”
With his keen sight, Jesamiah measured the closing distance between the Sea Witch and the two rapidly nearing pirate vessels. “Talking of colours; Sandy, hoist mine if you will.”
From the rail the African second mate, Isiah Roberts, rubbed at his nose. “You think that wise Captain? The Fortune will be mighty worried at seeing three of us in her wake.”
“It’s Teach I want to fool, Isiah. We need to get in close to show him the error of his ways. Have you any other suggestions for trying to convince him we are on his side?”
Isiah said nothing more, Sandy sent the black flag with the white leering skull and crossed bones to the top of the mizzenmast where it streamed, whipping and cracking, in arrogant menace.
“You were saying about Teach?”
“What? Oh aye.” Jesamiah had been watching the bend of the sails and the distance the Sea Witch had travelled these last ten minutes, had forgotten Rue’s question. “We teamed up with Benjamin Hornigold to prey on the French. Technically, we were all privateers then of course, all legal with Letters of Marque and the Queen’s praises for her loyal subjects ringing in our ears. Changed her mind about us once we were of no more use. Teach was Hornigold’s quartermaster. They’d lost several men in a skirmish so Malachias sent me over to help out. Said I’d learn a lot being under the command of a different captain and with a different crew. Teach was Navy once, did you know that? First Lieutenant.”
Rue snorted disdain. “So, what did you learn?”
Jesamiah answered softly, confirming Rue’s suspicion that his captain was also none too keen on what they were about to attempt. “For one thing, I learnt that Teach is insane.”
“Even then?”
“Even then.” Jesamiah took a deep breath, chased away the feeling of dread that was hanging like an undigested lump of stale bread in his belly. “To tell the truth I don’t recall him having that great bush of a beard then. The notion of twining burning fuses into it came about after he captured that French slaver and renamed her Queen Anne’s Revenge. He was a bloody fool to wreck her.”
Rue and Isiah laughed outright. “If I recall,” Rue said through the burbling chuckles reverberating round the quarterdeck, “that misfortune was directly down to you!”
Jesamiah fashioned a look of innocence. “Me?”
“Oui. Vous.”
Indignant, Jesamiah snorted and elbowed Rue away from the helm, taking the spokes himself in his strong hands. He could make Sea Witch sing like a siren and turn within her own length; could make her run faster than the wind, swoop like a bird of prey. Eager, like a lover willing to please she instantly obeyed his every whim.
“I didn’t force him to chase us across those sandbars. Weren’t my fault he didn’t know the depth of the Queen Anne’s keel were it?”
“You snatched an entire cargo of tobacco from under ‘is nose then caused ‘im to wreck ‘is ship. ‘E will never forgive you. You made a public fool of ‘im.”
The freshening wind caught the forecourse and sent Sea Witch momentarily skittering. Jesamiah’s hands gentled her back to compliance and he rubbed surreptitiously at his sore ribs. Of the truth of Rue’s statement he was only too aware. Gibbens and Red Rufus had very effectively jolted his memory.
He grinned. “So let’s get on with this and convince him we are about to make amends for our misdemeanour, shall we?”
The waiting was over.
“Clew up! Clew up to fighting sail if you please gentlemen! Clew up!”
Eleven
Blackbeard’s tactics would be to fire a couple of warning shots first, hoping the Chase would surrender without a fight. Usually they did. If not, he and his consort would disable the ship by firing chain shot, grape and langrage at the sails, masts and rigging, then, with the victim in disarray, swoop alongside and board. No anti-boarding nettings, half-hearted firing of pistols or muskets would keep out a shipload of pirates crazed with lust for the anticipation of specie, rum and women.
There would perhaps be a short, bloody, fight as Blackbeard’s barbarians went aboard, but the capture would be over quickly and the captain and officers would pay dearly for their resistance. Passengers would be beaten, the women repeatedly raped. And some of the men. The pirates would lay alongside for as long as it took to transfer the acquired plunder, then be gone. Sometimes that took several days. If the passengers and any living crew were lucky – or unlucky depending on the devastation caused – they would be able to limp to the nearest port. Usually, Edward Teach preferred to set a trail of gunpowder and destroy everything. But then, most of his victims had no desire to stay alive anyway, not after providing the sort of entertainment Blackbeard and his crew enjoyed.
Jesamiah brought Sea Witch onto a course that would run her up between the two sloops. A mile away, assuming there were now three sea wolves on her stern, the Fortune of Virginia was panicking, her crew clumsily hauling the sails and almost missing stays. She was losing way and the pirates, intending to come up on either side of her, were rapidly gaining. Enough for Teach, ahead of his consort companion, to fire two warning shots from his bow chasers. Skilfully, Jesamiah overhauled the smaller, less efficient sloop, taking all her wind as he surged past to leave her floundering with sails aback, draped and dangling like wet laundry. She was a waterlogged, worm-riddled old tub, not even fit for firewood.
Most of her men, Jesamiah accurately assessed, were drunk. It would take them a while to sort themselves out again.
Spinning the wheel and shouting orders, Jesamiah sent Sea Witch leaping after Teach’s Adventure. Several musket shots puffed from the Fortune. A foolish waste of powder and bullets, there could be no damage done at this distance. Why did they not defend themselves properly? Surely they had cannon? Surely?
~ Tiola? ~ Knowing it would be useless, Jesamiah tried calling her.
He had asked Isiah to take a good look with the telescope; no woman stood there. At least he had that to be thankful for. Like Alicia, Tiola should be safe in the hold.
Teach, hollering abuse, fired his larboard cannon at Sea Witch but he was too late and not accurate, for Jesamiah was cutting in across his bow, running in at a right angle. Sea Witch opened fire and raked a rolling broadside, hurling carnage straight along the Adventure’s deck from bow to stern as she swept past, leaving a wake of destruction to masts, sails and men.
The Adventure shuddered, almo
st paused, but bravely ran on, Teach swearing and cursing as his bowsprit barely missed Sea Witch’s stern. Only a few of his retaliatory shots slammed into her rails sending up shards of splinters, cleaving holes in the sails, causing rigging and shrouds to ping and snap. Most of the balls fell harmlessly into the sea.
Grinning wickedly, ignoring the noise and damage, Jesamiah removed his hat and gave an insolent salute. So close were the two vessels as Teach surged forward and past, Jesamiah could see the glare in the furious pirate’s bulging eyes. Imagined he felt the ensuing projected spittle on his cheek. Jesamiah wiped it away. Sea spray. Only natural spindrift.
He had no need to load again. His first broadside had been from the starboard battery. His larboard guns were primed and ready, and he had no intention of giving Teach time to do anything except die. Teach had the same idea, but with a semi-drunken crew he was slow to reload and had lost valuable seconds deciding whether to go on after his original Prize or alter course and rid himself of this irritating flea biting at him. He decided to abandon the Fortune of Virginia and swat at the flea. He tacked, raggedly, his bellows cursing his slovenly crew with every crudity imaginable.
“Get this ship moving!” he roared. “Get after that whoreson bastard!”
Sea Witch was already fifty yards away, every delay aboard the Adventure taking her a further distance.
Had Teach also not been on the wrong side of sober, perhaps he might have wondered why Acorne was not yelling for all sail to be set, why the lowest sails were still clewed up, not tumbling in a roar and crack of canvas from the yards. Why Sea Witch was not running for her life. But he was not sober, was not sane, and unlike Jesamiah, did not have a disciplined, efficient crew.
“Hands to braces! Stand by headsail sheets!” As Jesamiah shouted, calm, in control, he put the helm down – hard, and the ship’s bow fell away from the wind.
“I has ‘im!” Teach’s crow of victory sounded across the water as the Adventure’s yards eventually creaked around and she settled to run up on a parallel course. “Tha bugger’s done fer!”
Jesamiah grinned. Just as he had expected Teach to do. “Back the fores’ls. Heave to!”
The men were anticipating the orders, Jesamiah had personally ensured each one knew what was intended and what to do. Within moments Sea Witch had come to a halt. Teach had not been expecting it. Had not considered that an adversary would stop suddenly and sit there waiting for him. But it was too late to wonder at the tactics for the Adventure was running up alongside with not more than twenty yards between the two vessels.
And Jesamiah was waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Not yet, not quite yet…
Teach was raging at his crew to reload, the guns had been fired. The Sea Witch’s larboard battery was fresh, and ready.
Nearly…
“Nat!” Jesamiah shouted, “Get rid of his colours! Shoot his bloody ensign down!” He pointed at Blackbeard’s flag, the gruesome skeleton of a devil spearing a heart. “Make ready! On the up roll …Fire!”
Sea Witch’s gunports belched a single broadside, all guns firing together. The Adventure shook visibly as each shot found a mark: railings shattered into deadly lengths of splintered wood, some one or two feet in length. The skeleton ensign was torn and shredded. The mast hung a moment, suspended, clinging by the quivering tendons of its stays and shrouds, then with a creaking groan and rigging popping like musket shots, it toppled in slow motion to wedge at a distorted angle, the dirty grey of the canvas falling like covering blankets over the decks and into the sea. Acting as an anchor it dragged the ship askew. Smoke loitered in a heavy, stinking pall. Too busy cheering, not a single man aboard the Sea Witch noticed their choking throats, stinging eyes and ringing ears.
Crippled, Teach’s sloop slewed to a halt with not even a chance to fire another shot. Already the Sea Witch was under way again, manoeuvring, her captain intent on finishing off the second sloop.
The Fortune of Virginia, Jesamiah was glad to see, had taken full advantage of the distraction and was making her escape at a gallop. He well realised that unless he could think of a good excuse he would be a dead man if ever he and Teach were to come face to face. He ought to finish him off here and now, but not with that second sloop behind them. She would have to be dealt with first.
“Bring her round, Rue.”
“Allez!” Rue paused to allow the men to scrabble into position; “Man the braces! Tops’l sheets! Tops’l clew lines! Allez, allez; vite, vite! We are not on some damned pleasure sail! Let go and ‘aul – another man on the mainbrace there!”
As the shadows of the mighty sails passed across the deck and the bustle below, Jesamiah put the helm down. Protesting, the rigging and canvas clattered, screeched and mithered.
“Meet her! Steady…let her fall off a point. Oui! Secure!”
At the helm, Jesamiah exchanged a grin of pleasure with his quartermaster. By Tethys, could Sea Witch turn!
The men were a good, loyal crew. They were comrades, family; brothers. Jesamiah shifted position slightly, glanced at the compass in the binnacle to check their course; his right hand was on a lower spoke of the wheel, the left cradling an upper one. Beneath his caress, Sea Witch was alive, her minute jerks and vibrations directly communicating to him as clearly as if she were talking, and he talked back through his coaxing fingers and palms, feeling her respond to his touch.
Now all they had to do was chase after that second sloop and finish it off – for the cowards had realised the superiority of Jesamiah’s ship and ability and were scuttling away. For a moment, Jesamiah wondered whether to let her go, to stay here and see to Teach, but he had no doubt if he took his attention away the sloop would change her mind and come back. No, she had to be dealt with.
“Let go and haul!” Jesamiah called. “Set the lowers! We’ll finish her and come back for Teach. He ain’t goin’ nowhere for a while yet!” And the clewed up mizzen, main and fore course sails tumbled from their yards, no longer needed to be kept out of the way to give a clear view along the deck, or be safe from the threat of spreading fire. Required, now, to take full advantage of the following wind and give speed and agility.
As the canvas tumbled, cracking and thundering, billowing outward like live beasts, Sea Witch leapt forward as if she was a hound unleashed from the slip, eager to be on the scent and racing after her quarry.
Twelve
Half aware there had been cannons fired, Tiola stirred in her sleep. She had taken laudanum – a single drop, for too much was almost as a poison to her. She wished only to sleep, to quell the churning that flared in her belly, not sink into a senseless stupor.
Who had been firing at them? Who had caused the panic among the men of the Fortune of Virginia? For there had been panic, even through the disorientating, muddled haze of her semi-consciousness she had registered that the crew were frightened. Pirates? She wondered as she battled to open her blurred eyes and willed her heavy body to lift itself, at least as far as a sitting position.
Jesamiah? The thought crawled into her sluggish mind. Was he close? She reached out with her hand as if feeling for the near proximity of the Sea Witch, but the nausea rose into her throat and she groped for the bucket beside her bed.
She lay back, her eyes closed, her head reeling around and around like a rushing whirlpool. Why, in the name of all sanity, would Jesamiah be attacking the Fortune of Virginia? The thought was ridiculous.
Seasickness? Being seasick was just as ridiculous. She did not get seasick. She could not get seasick. So why was she feeling nauseous? Why this distinct lack of equilibrium?
Tiola lay on her bed attempting to relax, and then tried to centre herself, to focus on her sense of balance, not only within herself but as a part of the Universe, as an Immortal of Light. After a while she gave up. She just did not have the energy to bother. Could that be it – the tidal pull of the sea was opposing her energy of Craft; as the moon pulls on the tides, so her Balance was being shifted? She needed to be on land to rec
harge her inner energy. In which case there was nothing she could do about it at this precise moment.
She willed the comfort of sleep to shroud her. With deliberation, set aside the more absurd notions that she could not explain.
Only her sleep was not comforting. She dreamt of Jesamiah. Jesamiah sprawled on a deck, blood-soaked. Jesamiah, dead.
Thirteen
Jesamiah kept his attention sharp on the sails as he listened to Sea Witch singing, aware of the rush and quivering undulations of water rolling beneath her keel, and pressing against the rudder.
“Cowards, making a run for it,” Rue observed, tipping his chin in a pointing motion towards the sloop. “They are scum, fit only for the ‘angman.”
Even among pirates, there was no love for those who followed no code of honour. Who preferred to flee rather than fight.
“We’ll catch ‘em,” Jesamiah answered. “Can’t fail in our duty can we? I carry a Letter of Marque. It states I must clear the sea lanes of ne’er-do-wells, Frenchies and Spanish Dons.” Carefully watching the inconsistencies of a wilful wind, of the fluttering along the edge of the main course, he adjusted the helm, brought it up a couple of spokes; the fluttering eased, disappeared.
Blackbeard’s fleeing consort did not stand a chance against the Sea Witch, but the fools still led her a merry dance. She bowled along behind them for ten miles, Jesamiah deliberately holding back, herding them like a sheepdog drives the flock. Lulling them into hoping they could escape. Then suddenly he’d had enough of the game and swooping forward, overhauled them. They had to heave to and surrender. Sullen, awaiting their fate.
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