The rats that found habitation in the bilge for the last few months were now hiking to higher ground, indicating that the bilge was collecting too much water. As the filthy vermin collected and grouped themselves between decks, the men scrambling to keep the ship afloat continued to stumble over them, frustrating their progress.
While the Crimson Reef tossed to and fro on the waves of the great deep, Captain Stirvin fought back.
“Order the men to batten the hatches down, Mr. Tweed,” he commanded with urgency.
Tweed and a few others then rushed to fasten down the openings on the main deck. But, amid the unsecured objects moving aimlessly about the slippery deck, Tweed found it challenging to complete the task, but fought hard to do so.
Soon, temperatures plummeted, making it increasingly difficult for the crew to perform their duties. With more determination, Captain Stirvin pushed his men to keep their fears aloof and the Crimson Reef afloat. Enormous waves continued to slam against her hull and at times completely consume the top-side with commanding blankets of water. Clinging on for dear life to any firmly affixed object, a few crewmembers on the main deck forwent their stations unwilling to let go.
As the bilge continued to fill with water, the ballast more easily swayed with the ship’s every move, continuously throwing her off balance and creating further strain at the helm. The top-heavy ship was ripe to capsize if control could not be maintained. Bryan Black, the master gunner, and a few others rushed to the helm to help the pilot wrestle the ship’s pull against the undertow’s massive weight on her rudder, trying to keep her windward.
As Mr. Black made his way from the far side of the ship, the long ends of the riggings lashed as they loosened from the storm’s wrath. Whipping and snapping about, a thick rope struck Mr. Black in the back of the head causing him to lose his footing and slip, slamming his head against the mainmast, where he fell unconscious.
Mr. Black’s unconscious body hurled back and forth between the mainmast and mizzenmast along the portside wall and then across to the starboard side and back. Large swells braking against the hull, continued to force unsecured objects overboard. When Captain Stirvin spotted Mr. Black’s limp body, he thought it best to take immediate action before the waves could again flood in and carry him out in the same manner. From his position on the quarterdeck, Captain Stirvin noticed a single rope hanging from the mast above, flapping wildly in the wind about ten feet out.
“I refuse to lose even one man to this petty squall!” he shouted aloud, preparing himself mentally for the daring leap.
Captain Stirvin took a step onto the quarterdeck railing and jumped out toward the rope, snatching it firmly with both hands. He loosened his grip enough to descend to within a few feet of the main deck. When the vessel leaned in a favorable direction, Mr. Black’s beaten body slid toward Captain Stirvin. Holding on to the rope with one hand, he reached out with the other, catching Mr. Black by the sleeve. Sliding down the rope a bit further to the ground, Captain Stirvin knelt with Mr. Black still in his grip. Pulling him to the cabin beneath the quarterdeck, he placed him in a secured position for the remainder of the downpour and ran back out to assess the situation.
“Ahoy the deck!” shouted the lookout, catching sight of something in the close distance. In a panic he continued, “Land – off the starboard bow!”
There was an island close by and the fear of running onto the rocks, tearing her hull against the blind reef and, to the extreme, snapping her keel, swelled up within the mind of every man on board.
“This Man-of-War,” shouted Captain Stirvin, “will not fall heir to the likes of a blow such as this or any other such ruin!”
With the help of a few courageous sailors, and Captain Stirvin’s inspired direction, the pilot at the helm was able to steer the storm-tossed vessel away from the nearby reef and clear of danger. By the time the storm did finally subside, the Crimson Reef was still afloat and everyman was grateful.
Chapter VI
Black-Hearted’s days as captain faded into legend, as he plundered and pillaged many a ship and shore. People began to envision a giant who ruled with unconcealed cruelty; with a heart as black as the deepest abyss. Gossip of dealing with the devil and all other such wicked embellishments molded his reputation, which only meant greater ease for him in his cruel plight.
Black-Hearted’s crew was willing to pursue tasks as deadly as he commanded; willing to commit the countless number of crimes as he was demanding; and as eager to spill as much blood as was needed.
While docked at Port Lorne, the crew of Roger’s Jolly was loading up for the journey out to sea in search of a royal frigate, when a lad named Edward Teach approached Black-Hearted, as he stood with Stephen and Eric.
“Are you in need of an extra hand?” asked Edward.
“Why do you ask, boy? Who do you wish to sign for?”
“Myself? I wish to go on account with you.”
“How old are you?” asked Stephen. “You can’t be more than sixteen.”
“I’m old enough to sail and fight.”
“My youngest mate is near twenty-two years,” explained Black-Hearted. “Every one of my men is a well-fitted seadog. You have no idea what kind of ship you’re dealing with here, Mate. Now leave me be.”
“But Sir,” beseeched Edward, “I can’t stay on Port Lorne any longer.”
“You’re right, boy. You can’t. Now, go elsewhere. I’m not taken with fatherin’ the child of another man. I wouldn’t even be taken with fatherin’ my own. ”
Black-Hearted and his men just laughed, as Edward walked off in a discouraged slouch. His men finished loading Roger’s Jolly with supply and other such cargo. They weighed anchor and set sail for English waters.
About a day and a half into the journey, Edward Teach crept out from the bilge. It was dark and most of the men were fast asleep. He snuck silently across the main deck and reached for the articles just outside Black-Hearted’s quarters. Without making a sound, the boy took a small blade from his belt and pierced his index finger. He rubbed his bloody finger against his thumb to spread the blood as though it were ink. Edward then pressed his thumb along the bottom of the articles and hurried back down below.
In the morning Black-Hearted looked over his crew from the helm and noticed the top of someone’s head poking out from behind a barrel at the far end of the main deck. He asked Gunner to fetch the young lad. Black-Hearted was not at all surprised to find Edward standing ever so proudly before him.
“What in Jonesy’s name are you doin’ ‘board my ship?” toyed Black-Hearted.
“I belong here, Captain,” declared Edward. “It’s official. I’ve already made my mark on your articles – in blood.”
With a quick nod and a smile from Black-Hearted, Gunner knew what to do, taking Edward by the arm and forcefully escorting him, with the assistance of another, to the portside gunwale. “Sorry, boy,” said Gunner.
“What are you doing?” asked Edward, as they pressed his belly against the gunwale.
“If you want to sail with us, you have to know what it means to be a seabird,” said Gunner, exerting all his energy into lifting Edward’s hefty and underestimated weight with a long and painful grunt. Although he tried to resist, Edward was finally shimmied over the gunwale and overboard. “Can you fly, boy?” added Gunner
Just shy of a rope hanging off the wall, he reached out, helplessly flapping his arms and yelling at the top of his lungs, until he pierced the surface of the swelling sea. He came up immediately gasping and panting for air. Instead of being struck with fear at the sight of Roger’s Jolly sailing off. Edward should have been was angry and bitter. Black-Hearted continued on without a care. But determining that the boy did have heart and was larger than most his men, he concluded that Edward could be of some use after all. Calling out the order to turn the ship about, Black-Hearted saw fit to snatch him up out of the freezing water.
Shivering cold and wet, Edward fell to the floor on his face, completely fa
tigued. Rising slightly to his elbows, and shaking at the jaw, Edward defined himself with a few rash words. “I’m not leaving,” he grunted with a cough.
“No, I guess you’re not,” replied Black-Hearted. “But you’re going to do as you’re told and work your knuckles to the bone on this here vessel or the waters you swim next will have hordes of teeth! Nothing more need be said about that.”
Walking off and leaving Edward face down on the filthy deck, Black-Hearted ordered Gunner to put Edward to work.
Within three weeks of their departure from Port Lorne, a mast was seen about three miles aft of Roger’s Jolly.
“Turn this ship about,” ordered Black-Hearted.
Gunner looked at the compass to gage the new course and confirmed, “twenty-four degrees to port!”
Set in motion by the forceful winds, the sails on Roger’s Jolly bulged gently outward, pushing the ship at an impressive thirteen knots in their new direction.
The ship they sighted was called the English Pride, an English frigate of considerable size. It was commanded by Captain Thomas Blair.
Black-Hearted ordered the white flag hoisted, as he neared the English Pride. Some of the men just stood at the gunnel and waved. Curiously coaxed, Captain Blair, in a quiet chuckle, ordered his men, “Lower your weapons. No one in their right mind would be fool enough to attack a royal frigate with such a small vessel.”
The crew dismissed any premise of battle and straightway lowered their defenses. Upon encountering the vessel, within a few yards, Roger’s Jolly fired upon on the unsuspecting vessel with a damaging broadside blow.
Black-Hearted then gave the order, “Hoist me jolly, men!”
Needing the English frigate for his dark design and unwilling to sink her, Black-Hearted ordered a small broadside to scare and warn, slightly jolting the sailors onboard. Surprised and unprepared, many of the sailors were shocked when they noticed Black-Hearted’s fear evoking jack, denoting no quarter, climbing the enemy mast. Black-Hearted did not expect a frigate to surrender upon the onset of his frightful appearance, but without a second thought a few sailors began to abandon the ship in a crazed frenzy, shouting, “It’s Black-Hearted the Pirate! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!”
Although their abandonment did incite a spark of fear within several other crewmembers, they were all commanded not to concede their ship to Black-Hearted’s possession, by the ill-advised order of Captain Thomas Blair. Captain Blair ordered his men to forward the guns and prepare for close quarter combat. While most of them did maintain their position along with Captain Blair, fear continued to spread throughout his unwilling crew. “Give up the ship! It’s not worth it Captain. Surrender!” exclaimed a distraught crewmember, almost ready to jump ship.
Captain Blair, refusing to give in, turned on the distraught crewmember and fired his pistol. The young sailor fell to the deck, obliterated by a fatal blow to his chest. Captain Blair then turned to the rest of his men shouting, “We’ll never surrender! Now hold your ground! Remember who is in command!”
Losing more and more men to the mentality of those who wished to give up and forsake the fight, Captain Blair never once shied from his failing objective and zealous attitude. In due course, one by one, the entire crew of the English Pride unanimously agreed in favor of concession to Black-Hearted.
Giving Captain Blair one more chance, the first mate further beseeched, “Please Captain, surrender the ship, we cannot beat Black-Hearted – he has signed himself with the devil. He’ll consume this entire ship with darkness and fire, ‘tis suicide, Sir!”
Black-Hearted and many of his men quickly slung their grappling hooks to the portside gunwale of the English Pride and began the process of boarding, amid a hail of gunfire. Roger’s Jolly then sailed around to the starboard side of their prey, drawing most of the fire away from those now climbing the hull.
Stubbornly, Captain Blair remained undeviating in his course. “Cowards!” he cried. “I command this ship! My orders are to be obeyed, at all costs. Disobey my orders and that would be suicide! Do you understand me?” Captain Blair looked over his crew and knew they were not going to fire. “If you won’t obey my orders…” He pushed aside his master gunner in a childlike rage. “I’ll have to force you to fight!”
Ripping a torch from the hand of one of his men, Captain Blair lit the fuses to a few cannons and fired on Roger’s Jolly, leaving only minimal damage. Roger’s Jolly was more maneuverable and way too close to the hull of the English Pride to be effected, being much smaller and therefore too low in the water to give proper aim from Captain Blair’s position behind his ship’s gunwale.
Black-Hearted and most of his men had, by this time, boarded the English Pride. The few brave officers left on board, though siding with those wishing to abandon the fight, held Black-Hearted and his men at bay for as long as they could, rather than jump ship.
Captain Blair raged on, “Fight men!” Firing his pistol toward Black-Hearted, he hoped to inspire his spineless men. Continuing on, he hollered, “Fight, men, fight for your country and your lives, fight!”
“Are you mad, Captain?” grunted his first mate, shocked to see such fanatical defiance and denial of his impending loss.
“We’re not going to dig our own graves!” shouted another sailor. “Come men, before it’s too late!”
Several men rushed toward their unsuspecting Captain, as he stood enthralled in his adrenaline-fueled illusion of winning this obviously one-sided battle. Tackling him to the deck in one bone-crunching instance, his men seized him in hopes of ending the conflict. Binding him with strong cords of rope, they carried him from the quarterdeck to the portside gunwale.
“This is mutiny!” he cried hysterically. “I’ll have you all locked in irons for this! You’re all cowards. Cowards!”
The brave officers attempting to fend off Black-Hearted and his men, opting to live, lowered their weapons and surrendered when they noticed what was going on. Offering Captain Blair to the enemy, his mutinous crew then placed him at Black-Hearted’s feet.
Within the silence of the surrender, Black-Hearted laughed bemusedly. “Looks to me you’ve lost the fight, Captain.”
“It’ll do you well to untie me and surrender!” replied Captain Blair. “Admiral Flynn will have you in chains for this. You’re a dead man!”
Kicking Captain Blair in the chin to shut him up, Black-Hearted stated, “Well then, I guess that settles it. Dead men have no need to surrender. They’re already dead.”
“We’ve no wish to continue,” interjected the sailor in the forefront. “We beg quarter, Sir! Blair’s yours! Quarter, we beg.”
Gunner pulled a pistol from his belt and cocked the doghead back, aiming the barrel at the crown of Captain Blair’s head. Stopping him from pulling the trigger, Black-Hearted specified that he didn’t want any blood to stain the uniforms any further than was necessary.
The prisoners were then placed in the cells below the English Pride.
As he was about to sail away, Black-Hearted thought about all the uniforms he stood to lose with every sailor that abandoned ship. Desperately splashing about in the shark-infested waters, several men were fresh with the smell of blood. Black-Hearted ordered his men to fish them out. As they were doing so, a few shrieks could be heard, as several bloodthirsty sharks thrashed about, ripping into living meat and bone. Blood spewed viciously from their open wounds. The sailors nearby each attack hollered out in a frantic panic to escape the horde’s deadly jaws.
Black-Hearted was able to save twenty-three men. He made sure to strip them down to their skivvies and stowed the garments, until it was time to put them to good use. As Black-Hearted sailed out toward a nameless and deserted island not found on any map, Roger’s Jolly followed close behind.
“Land Ho,” shouted the lookout after hours on due course.
Dropping anchor about a mile off shore, Black-Hearted forced all prisoners, with the exception of Captain Blair, to the main deck. “There be a first mate among you? Or
has he gone the way of the sea? Speak up! Who be the first mate? Step forward.” Not one person moved in fear of what was to become of him. “Step forward or I’ll bleed every last one of you and feed you to the sharks.” Still no one moved or spoke a word. “Alright then, let’s have it your way, mates.” Black-Hearted unsheathed his machete, taking the closest prisoner by the arm and pulling him close.
Pleading from somewhere in the crowd for the prisoner in Black-Hearted’s grasp, one man broke the silence. “Please, Sir. Don’t do this. Have mercy. The first mate is with us, Sir. I swear it.”
“Then step forward or this man, I swear it, will be dead in the next twenty seconds.”
“I am first mate,” said a soft and humble voice. Stepping forward a few paces, to the forefront of his crew, was a slightly timid middle aged gentleman. Though he was trembling, he stood boldly with his chin up and head held high in an attempt to stay proud.
Black-Hearted thrust the prisoner he was holding back into the worried crowd of captives and then walked up to the first mate, standing an intimidating six or seven inches taller.
“And what name do you go by, Mate?”
“First Mate Benton C. Wresfin, Sir”
“You know how an English vessel is to be properly run; all the appropriate proceedings and the proper look of her. Am I right?
“Aye, I know everything.”
“I despise the Royal Navy and anyone taking part. I could kill you right now without a blink! The only reason you’re not dead is because your captain is a fool.”
“Please, Mr. Hearted, don’t kill me. I’m a just humble man. Please, Sir.”
Port of Errors Page 7