Read Fire on Dark Water Online
Authors: Wendy Perriman
Fire on Dark Water (32 page)
“Aye, I’m Glasgow!”
“Liverpool—we be. . . .”
The crowd chipped in their own information.
Teach stood up to acknowledge their query and was thoughtful for a few moments before responding, “Sweet merciful heaven—you’re all free men! And verily rich to boot. I’ll warrant there’s many a pretty wench waiting ashore to wed with you.” He stalked round the inside of the circle pointing at various tars as he continued explaining, “You, sir. Might you now have a mind to set up in business? Purchase a farm? Own a tavern?” Some of the more ambitious faces nodded with approval. “Or if the sea’s in your veins—sign up legal?” Every eye was focused on his lips. “Well, forsooth, this is your chance!” He watched the quartermaster attributing the spoils into various hats. “Take your blunt and put it to good use. . . .” Then he paused before adding, “And for my part I’ll keep my faith with the Brethren and promise you this. . . .” The company was stunningly silent as all ears prickled for the coming vow. “Any mate not content as a lubber may return to this very spot at midnight Good Friday. Watch for the signal fire.” This seemed to settle the matter and the young spokesman nodded gratefully before disappearing into the crowd. Will Howard completed the payments, and boat by boat the newly retired pirates sailed off to their brighter tomorrows. But as the gathering thinned I noted none of the commodore’s officers had taken the opportunity to leave. Major Bonnet sat with Ignatius Pell and Israel Hands; David Herriot was now fast friends with Lieutenant Richards and Garrat Gibbens; and Caesar, Will Howard, and Philip Morton remained with Blackbeard, half a dozen faithful old sea dogs, and me. Some grand plan had been agreed that I didn’t know about, for it seemed these chosen few were staying on Ocracoke to guard the ships. My husband took me roughly by the hand to our cabin on the
Queen Anne’s Revenge
and deposited a collection of useless medicines on the table, informing me that mercury was in short supply around Bath Towne. I watched with bleary eyes as he collected his personal belongings and asked him if I should pack too. He shook his head, told me he’d heard of a surgeon who could cure the Pox, pushed the navigation charts safe under his bunk, and then left me to my fate. Of course I immediately realized my usefulness had ended—that I’d never see him again.
Queen Anne’s Revenge
and deposited a collection of useless medicines on the table, informing me that mercury was in short supply around Bath Towne. I watched with bleary eyes as he collected his personal belongings and asked him if I should pack too. He shook his head, told me he’d heard of a surgeon who could cure the Pox, pushed the navigation charts safe under his bunk, and then left me to my fate. Of course I immediately realized my usefulness had ended—that I’d never see him again.
Now, if you’ve ever played Brag you might understand how I was feeling at this uncomfortable point. I’d to show the cards dealt from a previous hand without no shuffling—and fate had just upped the ante without my consent. My days were now numbered. But I remembered the cardinal rule—that you cannot see the blind man—so decided to play my hand blind. Now, my only options were to continue betting or to fold (and I’d played enough skillful games to know that you don’t win big if you threw in or fail to bluff). Blackbeard held the better hand—but if I didn’t fold out of turn—and never showed my cards to anybody—seeing my suits would cost him twice as much as any of the previous players. So I determined not to throw in my luck. . . . I’d play by my life and take the whole pot.
I
t was only much later I heard about my husband’s antics in Bath Towne. He’d apparently decided to settle down and become a proper gentleman again, so began establishing himself with the locals and building the house on Plum Point. Seems he also started wooing Mary Ormond—a teenage debutant with education, breeding, and connections who would soon unsuspectingly agree to become his fourteenth wife. I’m sure she thought she’d be able to civilize her buccaneer prince, but I’m told that instead she actually met the fate that was destined for me. Of course, this is all hearsay and speculation. I only really knew what was happening on my island.
t was only much later I heard about my husband’s antics in Bath Towne. He’d apparently decided to settle down and become a proper gentleman again, so began establishing himself with the locals and building the house on Plum Point. Seems he also started wooing Mary Ormond—a teenage debutant with education, breeding, and connections who would soon unsuspectingly agree to become his fourteenth wife. I’m sure she thought she’d be able to civilize her buccaneer prince, but I’m told that instead she actually met the fate that was destined for me. Of course, this is all hearsay and speculation. I only really knew what was happening on my island.
This early part of the year was unseasonably warm with just enough sunlight to camp on the beach, in preference to the hammocks on ship. But that first night I was so afraid for my safety (being alone and unprotected with all those sailors), I ensconced myself in the main cabin aboard the
Queen Anne’s Revenge
and sealed the door tight with a chair wedged under the handle. I’d been given my share of the plunder along with everyone else—but only because they knew I’d never get to spend it. Now in the safety of the cabin I opened the sailcloth to see what I’d acquired . . . a cluster of gold and silver coins to add to the silver chalice still buried in my medicine chest. Quite a good haul, but not nearly enough for severance. I glanced out the cabin window to the men already starting to gamble by the fire and noted Slouchy, who’d appeared from nowhere, was busy preparing a pot of salmagundi. He’d sense enough to bury his riches, whereas the others who were addicted to dice—too lazy or overconfident—had opted to keep purses and hats at hand, and that would soon be their undoing. I drew a calming breath to clear my fuddle and then numbly forced my limbs into action.
Queen Anne’s Revenge
and sealed the door tight with a chair wedged under the handle. I’d been given my share of the plunder along with everyone else—but only because they knew I’d never get to spend it. Now in the safety of the cabin I opened the sailcloth to see what I’d acquired . . . a cluster of gold and silver coins to add to the silver chalice still buried in my medicine chest. Quite a good haul, but not nearly enough for severance. I glanced out the cabin window to the men already starting to gamble by the fire and noted Slouchy, who’d appeared from nowhere, was busy preparing a pot of salmagundi. He’d sense enough to bury his riches, whereas the others who were addicted to dice—too lazy or overconfident—had opted to keep purses and hats at hand, and that would soon be their undoing. I drew a calming breath to clear my fuddle and then numbly forced my limbs into action.
First off I took the good whiskey Blackbeard had brought with the supplies, carefully removed the stopper, plucked the laudanum bottle from my chest and poured in enough to render a brown bear senseless. I shook the mixture vigorously, then waited for the cloudiness to fade. Next, I pulled the navigation sack from under the bunk and tipped the contents onto the floor—I needed a makeshift ditty bag to carry my possessions and this would suffice—but the rolled-up charts caught my attention so I carefully unwrapped the most recent to see if I could decipher where we were stationed and which direction I should run. I found the map to be a plundered French chart but recognized the words
Caroline
and
Virginie
—and when careful scrutiny showed
Charles Towne
too close for comfort I determined to head North for Virginia. I spotted
Okeken
(which I took to be Ocracoke) on a long, thin spit of land running almost the entire length of the colony and tried to memorize the dog-leg path I’d be taking. I wouldn’t be needing no compass, though—there was only one way to go and that was forward. Now, I knew that sandbars shifted and split and didn’t expect to get all the way on land without getting wet so I scrabbled about for useful items—rope, a sailor’s knife, candles and tinderbox, hardtack, apples, and two buoyant jugs of water. I got my battle clothes organized (including my boots and cape) but decided I couldn’t take the silver chalice or my chest so I stuffed the last of the figs into the sack. When all was ready I tidied myself up, picked up the whiskey, and sauntered out to the men at the fire.
Caroline
and
Virginie
—and when careful scrutiny showed
Charles Towne
too close for comfort I determined to head North for Virginia. I spotted
Okeken
(which I took to be Ocracoke) on a long, thin spit of land running almost the entire length of the colony and tried to memorize the dog-leg path I’d be taking. I wouldn’t be needing no compass, though—there was only one way to go and that was forward. Now, I knew that sandbars shifted and split and didn’t expect to get all the way on land without getting wet so I scrabbled about for useful items—rope, a sailor’s knife, candles and tinderbox, hardtack, apples, and two buoyant jugs of water. I got my battle clothes organized (including my boots and cape) but decided I couldn’t take the silver chalice or my chest so I stuffed the last of the figs into the sack. When all was ready I tidied myself up, picked up the whiskey, and sauntered out to the men at the fire.
As I approached I noticed they were engrossed in a game of dice but strangely enough there was no money in the pot. Instead, Slouchy was paying out faceup cards that already ranged from one to seven. The excitement hushed as I grew close and someone nudged Philip Morton (who happened to be holding the ace). The leer in their eyes told me what was going on—they were betting on who was to have me in which order. I feigned ignorance and said gaily, “Gentlemen! A gift from Governor Eden to welcome us to Carolina . . .” and before anyone raised suspicion I began pouring whiskey into their mugs. They downed the draft with annoying slowness but I kept refilling as each became empty, trying to dish out equal shares.
“Aren’t you joining us?” Slouchy asked.
I smiled sweetly and said, “Aye. I’ll go get my bowl and mug. . . .” Then I intentionally rolled my hips for their pleasure as I sashayed back to my cabin. I watched covertly through the window as the betting continued in my absence and everyone had their turn assured. But the opium didn’t seem to be working any and I broke out in a panic. The only other temptation was a half-empty barrel of rum so I hurriedly ground up some dried valerian root and dropped it into the mixture to steep. Then, when I couldn’t delay any longer without suspicion, I collected my mess kit and the rum and made my way back to the fire.
By now the men were busy eating. I casually put the rum on the ground, walked over to the cauldron, and scooped a ladle of pottage, and was pleased to see William Howard already helping himself from the barrel. Everyone was drinking heavily to celebrate the end of the cruise and I ate as slowly as possible, hoping on hope that the drugs would work before I’d to start giving out favors. Major Bonnet’s eyes began to droop and I could see him trying to pinch his brows to stay alert. But Philip Morton was chipper as ever and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they let me in on the dastardly plan.
Lieutenant Richards, I saw, had the deuce and when he couldn’t wait no longer to get things rolling he shouted, “Morton—I’ll be taking your turn if you don’t shift your boozy arse!”
The gunner looked momentarily befuddled, then he wobbled to his feet and without further ceremony grabbed me by the arm and hissed, “Come away with me, wench.”
I pretended I didn’t know what was going on and allowed the jack-tar to manhandle me some distance off to a patch of live oak trees. There was a sandy spot quite hidden from the others where he laid me down and immediately fell on top. He slobbered round my ear, muttering lusty oaths into my neck, all the while grinding his hips against mine. I played along with his enthusiasm and began undoing his codpiece. At first he seemed deliriously excited but as I fumbled into the necessary position his wood went suddenly limp and the rest of his body followed with a silent thump. The gunner lay unconscious on top of me and I panted to push myself free. I checked his deep-breathing chest and knew he’d definitely be out until morning. Good. I glanced around to make sure no one else was looking on, stealthily searched his pockets for the purse, and stuffed it deep in my cleavage. One down . . .
Now, I’d half expected the rest of the crew to follow us and watch—and it wasn’t until I crept back to the fire I realized why they hadn’t. Every single light was out. It seemed like my mickey had finally worked! But just to make sure this wasn’t some trick, I clumsily tripped over Slouchy to see if he’d respond to my accidental kick. Nothing. I whisked off the major’s hat with my skirt and got no reaction. And David Herriot didn’t cease snoring even when I sifted sand in his wavering mouth. So one by one I frisked the dormant monsters and quietly stole their loot. I left Gibbens until the last though—and was sorely tempted to forfeit his gold because even in slumber he terrified. But then my greed got the better so I crept forward to where the buccaneer lay sprawled across a log and cautiously rooted around for his pouch. As I tugged against the pocket his eyes flicked open in a manic stare and his scabby hand reached up to counteract mine. But the rage in his eyes seemed to fizz to blankness, the squeezing grip fell useless, and with a mighty snort he rolled facedown into his blackest nightmare. I gave a hurried glance at the dying sun and realized I’d only about an hour of light left and needed to put as much distance as possible between us so ran quickly to the ship, slipped into my practical clothes, stuffed the coins into the waistband of my breeches, and left with the ditty bag over my shoulder and an unlit lantern in my hand. And I knew from the map I’d have to skirt round the marshes ahead so I set off by the grass-flecked shoreline alongside the patchy sunset.
The tide was ebbing, allowing me to squelch through the sucking mud, and I certainly preferred wading in wet boots to the potential venom of black swamp snakes coiled waiting farther inland. The moon rose enough to dapple the foam a lighter gray as I plodded my way up the edge of the Sound, and an hour or so later the boggy marsh set to firmer sand. By then I wished I were in Nassau (where my boots would have already started to dry) but I trekked on and on and on into darkness well aware that I’d passed the point of no return. Sometime before the witching hour I came to a bay that reflected the glistening moon in all her glory. The ripples resembled a writhing pond of mercury and everything was tranquil except for the slush of the sweeping sea. But I couldn’t waste no time negotiating this obstacle so I carefully turned inland and assumed I was now heading east. Soon I came to an eerie woods full of shadow and untold rustling noises, but the thought of the terror I’d face if the groggy men caught up with me was more than enough motivation to screw up my fears and swallow them whole. So I stopped for a gulp of water, lit my lantern, and then picked my way through the forest of black, grasping limbs. I walked and walked until I could feel the blisters pop. Then I walked some more. Now, I didn’t know if they’d come after me by land or water—but reckoning to be safer on the far banks where the open sea would give better warning I bumbled along in a jagged line—never too far from someplace I could hide. The sun rose pink then purple then gold, etching the sky in a moody slate of gray as the clouds rolled in to dim the horizon. This side of the island was a ribbon of beach, shells, and dunes, but wherever possible I scurried along under shadow of the trees. When I really couldn’t stumble another step, and it was warm enough to believe the hunters were probably abroad, I began to look for a good place to rest away from sudden danger.
A flash of something in the trees sent shivers across my neck. And even though common sense told me it couldn’t be one of the crewmen I instinctively dropped to the sand behind a hillock. As I peered into the gloom the light changed to shadow and was followed by a series of thuds that shifted like restless ghosts. Something puffed and whined—something surprising and wonderfully familiar—a mustang snuffling for fresh, sweet shoots. The silver flank was nudged away by a chestnut snout and I realized the horse was not alone. Had some scary hostile natives discovered me first? I lay panting with my chin flat on the dune, barely daring to lift an eye in case a painted face stared back. Then I heard a boatswain’s whistle cut through the distance, a human shout from somewhere in the swamp, and a second whistle echo on the faroff shore. The pirates had apparently launched a sloop each side of the island and another band on foot—they were systematically hunting me down and I knew I’d have to move fast. So I opted for the lesser danger—I’d take my chances with the red skins.
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