by Jon Scieszka
The only problem was, standing there in front of the door, coat, hair, and beard flying, firing pistols with both hands, and cursing his head off, stood the captain himself—Blackbeard.
We tried to hide. But then, as if he felt our eyes watching him, he turned and saw us. He gave us his scary, crazy grin and started making his way toward us through flying bullets, can nonballs, smoke, and men. We were trapped like rats.
And that’s when it happened.
The pirate at the cannon closest to us stood up and lit the cannon fuse. A bullet hit him and knocked him back. He fell on the guy holding the cannon rope, and they both went down.
The loose cannon rolled back, spun around, and came to a stop pointing directly at the powder magazine.
The fuse burned lower.
Blackbeard shouted, “No!”
The four pirates at the next cannon dove overboard.
Fred jumped down to the cannon. “Come on, guys! We’ve got to turn it!”
Sam and I ran over and pulled the cannon rope. Fred pushed. And with one heave, we twisted the cannon just as it fired.
The blast knocked us off our feet and sent the cannon crashing backward. We watched the cannonball fly up and then fall gently down. We heard a crash, wood splintering, and then saw the mainmast of the British warship slowly lean and fall like some giant white-leafed tree. The huge ship heeled over and dragged to a stop with half its sails in the water.
The pirate crew cheered and yelled as we raced out to sea. Blackbeard and the guys who had been ready to toss us overboard ten minutes earlier, helped us to our feet.
“That was one bold move with a loaded hundred-pounder, lads,” said Blackbeard. “You’re welcome to join me crew, and ask any favor of me you wish.”
Fred’s eyes lit up. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
Before he could say anything, I asked, “Do you have a small book, about this big, dark blue with gold stars and moons along the back edge, and twisty silver designs on the front and back?”
Blackbeard scratched his still-smoking beard.
“A book? ... a book.” Blackbeard yelled out to the crew gathered around, “Does any of you swabs got a book?”
“We had a book once,” said the first mate. “But the preacher that brought it took it off the plank with him.”
“Could you take us home to New York then?” asked Sam, before Fred could open his mouth.
“Sorry, lad,” said Blackbeard. “If we sailed into New York, me and this whole bloody bunch would be swinging from a noose in a minute.”
Fred looked at Sam and me. We couldn’t think of anything else. We were about to become full-time members of Blackbeard’s pirate crew.
“Well, then,” said Fred. “Maybe you could give us a bit of ... buried treasure?”
“Yaaarrrrrrr!!!!” Blackbeard roared and clapped Fred on the back. “Spoken like a true pirate, lad. It’s buried treasure you want? Buried treasure you get.”
EIGHT
BLow the man down will ya, blow the man down Way hey blow the man down.
Just get me that treasure from out the cold ground And give me some time to blow the man down.
Fred wore Blackbeard’s three-cornered hat.
Blackbeard wore Fred’s Mets hat.
And they sang together in awful disharmony.
The red sun sank slowly toward the ocean. Sam and I rowed the small boat toward shore.
“I knew Blackbeard was an awful pirate,” said Sam. “But I never read anywhere that he was such a terrible singer.”
I thought about the two pirate prisoners who had been sitting in our seats earlier in the day. “Probably because nobody ever lived to tell about it.”
Blackbeard took another swig from his bottle of rum and started singing again.
Sixteen men on a dead man’s chest.
Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.
Drink and the Devil will do the rest.
Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.
“You know,” said Sam. “I read once that a dead man’s chest is another name for a coffin. That’s how sixteen men can fit on one.”
I rowed a few more strokes and watched the sun going down. “That’s great.”
I turned and looked at the huge pirate laughing and singing with Fred. Something about his eyes and the red light from the sunset shining off his pistols made me nervous.
Sam leaned over as he pulled his oar and said what I was thinking.
“I don’t trust this guy. All the legends and books say he was one of the nastiest pirates who ever lived. Why would he be taking us to a deserted island to give us some of his treasure?”
I remembered the sound of the two guys falling on top of the chest.
“Because he likes us?” I said.
Sam rolled his eyes.
We hit the beach and followed Blackbeard and Fred. We walked toward three familiar coconut trees.
“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, halt!”
We stopped about ten paces away from the old treasure hole.
I was relieved that we didn’t have to dig up any dead guys.
“Dig here, mates, and the treasure is yours.”
Blackbeard and Fred sang. Sam and I dug.
The scene seemed unpleasantly familiar.
“Watch your back,” said Sam. “I think we’re digging our grave.”
The sun sank until it hung balanced on the horizon.
Then, to our surprise, about three feet down, we hit wood.
“Buried treasure!” yelled Fred.
Blackbeard smiled. “Lift her out slowly.”
We cleared the sand from around a small chest and lifted it up.
Blackbeard slid a hidden button and popped up the lid. His smile suddenly turned to a frown.
“Arrrrrgh.” The red light of the setting sun shone in his eyes as he looked up at us. “Some thieving rats have been gnawing at me treasure.”
We looked in the chest. It was empty except for a small package wrapped in black cloth.
“But who could have stolen the treasure on this deserted island?” asked Fred.
Blackbeard looked at us. “Who, indeed? Maybe some spying monkeys, hiding in them coconut trees.”
Sam lifted the package out of the chest.
Blackbeard pulled out two pistols and leveled them at us. “Maybe these three spying monkeys.”
Fred held up his hands. “Oh, no. You don’t think we took your treasure.”
Blackbeard turned toward Fred. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a treasure thief.”
The black cloth fell from the edge of the package in Sam’s hand and showed a corner of blue.
“Man, you must be crazy,” said Fred. “We never—”
“Get over there,” thundered Blackbeard. “Stand by your grave with your thieving mates and say good-bye.”
I ripped the cloth off the package. It was a book—a thin blue book with moons, stars, and strange silver writing.
It was The Book.
In my hands it fell open by itself to a picture of three familiar guys.
The sun set behind the ocean.
I heard a shot.
And the wonderful green time-traveling mist swirled up over us all.
NINE
Crash.
Fred’s baseball smashed my lamp into a hundred pieces.
The last few bits of mist disappeared slowly like the tail end of a dream.
Sam sat on my bed looking stunned.
We looked at each other, then around my room.
“Where’s Fred?”
“Oh, no,” I said. “You don’t think he got—”
Sam nodded.
“What are we going to tell his mom?” I said.
“Joseph Arthur? What in the world are you boys doing in there?”
My mom.
“If that was your desk lamp I heard breaking, you are in big trouble, young man.”
“What are we going to tell my mom?”
“Joseph? Frederick? Sam? A
re you boys in there? Answer me.”
I put my hand on the thin blue book on my desk.
“Maybe we can go back to just before the pistol shot,” I whispered.
Sam nodded. “We have to go back and get him.”
“Boys?” The doorknob began to turn.
I reached for The Book. A baseball hat and a head appeared from under my bed.
“Ow,” said Fred.
TEN
Historical Afterword
Blackbeard, somewhat shaken by his encounter with the Trio, swore off drinking and pirating, got rid of his forty-gun ship, the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and his three-hundred-man pirate crew. In June, 1718, he received his Royal Pardon from the Governor of North Carolina and settled in the town of Bath, North Carolina, as Edward Teach, Retired Pirate.
He should have stayed that way.
But he didn’t. I guess he got bored. He started pirating again. On November 22, 1718, Blackbeard faced Lieutenant Maynard of His Majes ty’s Royal Navy in the Battle of Ocracoke Inlet. Blackbeard lost the battle, his life, and his head (which Lt. Maynard hung from the bowsprit of his ship). Legend has it that when Blackbeard’s headless body was tossed overboard, it defiantly swam around Lt. Maynard’s sloop several times and then sank.
For roughhousing indoors with guests, Joe was sentenced to one weekend of manual labor, cleaning and organizing his room (closet and desk drawers included) under his mother’s supervision.
Fred was lectured about playing outdoor games at the appropriate time and in the appropriate place. He was given the choice of helping Joe clean or paying to replace the lamp. He chose to pay.
Sam wrote an amazing account of the incidents you have just read about and handed it in as his history paper. For his work on Blackbeard—Awful Pirate, More Awful Singer, Sam earned an “F,” the reputation of being a real wise guy, and a chance to write a makeup paper.
He still owes the makeup paper.