Fire on Dark Water (24 page)
Read Fire on Dark Water Online
Authors: Wendy Perriman
We were interrupted by a booming shout of, “Ahoy, my beauty—it be none other than the lovely Miss Lola!” I spun round and found myself staring at Blackbeard’s enormous chest. He held me at arm’s length between his two hands as if to examine me more closely. “Hearty greeting—to what do we owe this pleasure?” he mused. I held out the package with the flag inside and awaited his reaction. He unfurled the material and yelled, “Ha, Will—look at this!” Then he chuckled deep inside to himself.
I noticed that he spoke differently when on-ship but as I didn’t know any other way of talking I asked, “You like it?”
“I like it without doubt!” he cried. “Wait ’til Cap’n Bonnet claps eyes on it.” I didn’t have no idea who Bonnet was but waited patiently as he climbed belowdecks with my handiwork. Will apparently didn’t want to talk now, so my eyes swept round the vessel and studied the
Revenge
in silence.
Revenge
in silence.
Blackbeard’s sloop had twelve guns and looked like it might hold seventy men at a squeeze—the more anonymous members of the crew I assumed were currently ashore spending their loot. The craft was flush-decked, with no discernible quarterdeck in the long, open space, although there was a roundhouse in the aft that I later discovered led to two cabins below. At the rear was lashed the longboat, and beyond that was the empty staff where my flag would soon hang. The
Revenge
had a huge single mast just off-center toward the fore of the vessel, which held the mainsail and the foresail, and suspended between this and the impossibly long bowsprit were three triangular jibs. But the mast was singed and splintered and the sails had obviously seen better days. Two cargo hatches opened either side of the mast and the pockmarked vessel—designed for both speed and comfort—looked like it had been in the wars. The quartermaster finished up his work at the capstan and stood awkwardly awaiting Blackbeard’s return.
Revenge
had a huge single mast just off-center toward the fore of the vessel, which held the mainsail and the foresail, and suspended between this and the impossibly long bowsprit were three triangular jibs. But the mast was singed and splintered and the sails had obviously seen better days. Two cargo hatches opened either side of the mast and the pockmarked vessel—designed for both speed and comfort—looked like it had been in the wars. The quartermaster finished up his work at the capstan and stood awkwardly awaiting Blackbeard’s return.
I attempted renewed conversation by inquiring, “Who’s this Captain Bonnet, Will?”
And Mr. Howard took great delight changing the subject from Violet by telling me all about the gentleman pirate. “Well now, this is his sloop,” Will began. “But it’s sailed by Blackbeard.” I must have looked puzzled because he continued, “Bonnet got seriously wounded on route so Cap’n Teach was kind enough to take command ’til he recovers.” I listened with genuine interest.
Now, as it happens, this turned out to be a very strange tale indeed. Major Stede Bonnet was a rich planter from Barbados who was unhappily married to a shrew called Mary Allamby. The story goes that in order to get away from her bickering tongue the major went and
bought
himself a pirate boat and crew! Such a thing was unheard of among the Brethren of the Coast, who usually pillaged and captured whichever craft took their fancy. And every buccaneer knows that if
there’s no prey there’s no pay
—so to be given a regular wage for marauding was really quite the joke. Bonnet, however, was canny enough to hire Ignatius Pell as his boatswain, which accounts for his early successes, and all was going well until he ran into the Spanish man-o’-war that killed or maimed half his crew and almost took his own leg off. The sloop managed to limp far enough to safety and make essential repairs at sea but was so suffering from a lack of command that when Blackbeard spotted the disorganized vessel he swiftly pulled his own craft alongside. Perhaps because they’re both well-read men Bonnet and Teach hit it off, so Blackbeard agreed to command the
Revenge
until Bonnet was sufficiently recovered. They’d made it as far as Nassau and had stopped to repair the sails and take on fresh supplies. But the major didn’t want anyone to know he was here because the folks back in Barbados weren’t yet aware he’d gone on the account, and Blackbeard was keeping his usual low profile. So I asked who was looking after the injured man and was told that the carpenter had sewn up his wounds as the surgeon had been killed in the fray.
bought
himself a pirate boat and crew! Such a thing was unheard of among the Brethren of the Coast, who usually pillaged and captured whichever craft took their fancy. And every buccaneer knows that if
there’s no prey there’s no pay
—so to be given a regular wage for marauding was really quite the joke. Bonnet, however, was canny enough to hire Ignatius Pell as his boatswain, which accounts for his early successes, and all was going well until he ran into the Spanish man-o’-war that killed or maimed half his crew and almost took his own leg off. The sloop managed to limp far enough to safety and make essential repairs at sea but was so suffering from a lack of command that when Blackbeard spotted the disorganized vessel he swiftly pulled his own craft alongside. Perhaps because they’re both well-read men Bonnet and Teach hit it off, so Blackbeard agreed to command the
Revenge
until Bonnet was sufficiently recovered. They’d made it as far as Nassau and had stopped to repair the sails and take on fresh supplies. But the major didn’t want anyone to know he was here because the folks back in Barbados weren’t yet aware he’d gone on the account, and Blackbeard was keeping his usual low profile. So I asked who was looking after the injured man and was told that the carpenter had sewn up his wounds as the surgeon had been killed in the fray.
“Don’t you have a doctor?” I asked. Will shook his head and said that they hoped to press someone suitable from the next prize.
“Has he a fever?” I inquired.
“Aye,” Will said. “But he won’t see anyone in port.”
“Would he let me look?” I asked.
Will laughed at the thought and said, “Ha, I don’t think it’s his cock as needs fixing!”
I blushed and said arrogantly, “I’ve other skills too, you know.” Then I remembered Violet and said more quietly, “I know some apothecary remedies. I’m used to nursing . . . and sometimes I can help.”
Howard studied my serious demeanor and decided to take up my cause. “So ho, wait about here then,” he said, “I’ll see what they answer.” And with that Will disappeared into the roundhouse.
Not long after, his head emerged on top of the steps and he called, “Lola! Come away aft.” I walked over to his voice and climbed down into the gloom.
Blackbeard was stood by the bed of the patient. The major was nowhere near as old as I’d imagined but his face was flushed with delirium.
“You come in a fair breeze, Lola. Might you assist Cap’n Bonnet?” Teach asked.
I nodded and recognized the smell of decay. I gently pulled back the grubby coverlet to observe the festering wound. It would need to be reopened, cleaned out, and then stitched properly if we were to save the leg. “I’ll have to go get my chest,” I said. “And he’ll need laudanum for the pain.” Blackbeard gave Will enough coins to pay Pierre for the flag, and then told his quartermaster to accompany me back to the shop. Caesar was dispatched to find opium and fresh bedding. And Teach would supply enough rum to see us all through the harrowing ordeal.
When everything was in place Teach reckoned we’d enough hours of sun left to complete our surgery so the patient was moved to the wooden table and all the windows were opened to let in as much light as possible. We waited for the opium to dull his senses, then Blackbeard heated his own knife over a candle until the tip glowed white before immediately plunging it into a bucket of water to temper. Bonnet was strapped down with ropes across his chest, and the offending leg secured at both ankle and groin. The sick man was wounded mid-thigh—just above the knee—with a gash as long as my hand. Teach took up the hissing knife and with one brutal swipe sliced through both stitch and flesh to split the wound. A putrid stink wafted up from the injury, heralding the oozing pus that bubbled up alongside the blood. I took some of the purest brandy from my chest, poured it onto a strip of cotton, and set about cleaning the mess. The patient stared with buglike eyes at something on the rafters but he groaned lightly now and then, assuring us he was yet alive. I ain’t got no idea how much he could feel but he was sensible enough not to fight against us. Then as I was dabbing the slime away, my cloth snagged something foreign inside the leg so I poked about gently with my small pincers and managed to remove a portion of shot. “Here’s the problem. . . .” I muttered.
When the cleaning was done best as able, I used all my weight to pressure the wound shut ready for stitching. But there was too much blood to work with so I whispered to Blackbeard, “Reheat the knife, sir.” I realized we’d have to cauterize the gash. Now, I remember seeing Dr. Simpson seal skin together this way—and I wasn’t looking forward to the ghastly stench of burning flesh—but I’d never actually done it myself before so my fingers were a tad too shaky.
Teach was about to hand me the knife when he spotted my hesitation and quickly brought down the sizzling blade at the edge of the gash where it needed to meld. He worked swiftly along the hole, ignoring the gurgles coming from Bonnet, until the edges blistered into one bumpy seam and finally congealed together in a blackened line. “Quickly, if you please!” he ordered. “Sew whilst the skin remains numb.” So I used one of Pierre’s fine-tipped needles threaded with some valuable catgut I’d purchased in Charles Towne soon after Anne Bonny had attacked me. Now, I reckon I did a pretty good job, if I may say myself. I washed the whole thigh with water, daubed the repair with more brandy, bound the leg in fresh linen strips, and showed Will how to give the patient small sips of water while I prepared a clean bed.
After it was all over I sat on deck with the crew who were still aboard waiting for the sun to drop. The captain broke out some fancy wine and everyone threw whatever food they had onto a cloth draped over the top of a hatch. So we feasted on goat meat, fish, and bread, then had cheese and raisins for pudding. Blackbeard draped his heavy arm across my shoulders and asked if I was getting cold. I nuzzled in closer and said I was fine, and then he slowly bent over and kissed the top of my head. “You did grand today and no mistake,” he told me. I pinked with pleasure. “Where did you happen to acquire such art?” he asked. So I gave him a potted account of my experiences learning to be an apothecary, and was thrilled that he listened with full attention. Then imagine my confusion when he suddenly kissed my mouth, looked hard into my gaze, and said, “When will you consent to wed with me?”
I caught the swallow in my throat, took a very deep breath, and whispered, “Whenever my master desires it.”
And so, before the next full moon crested, I became Mrs. Edward Teach—as splendidly as that.
10
YO-HEAVE-HO!
MID-AUTUMN, 1717
A
s soon as new sails were in place and the galleys restocked, we cast off by common consent toward Jamaica. The crew had decided to take the
Revenge
, and Blackbeard’s original sloop
Adventure
, to some deserted cove where the vessels could be properly cleaned and restored, so my wedding took place at sea that same first night. I wore my very best red stomacher but was outshone by my husband’s velvet attire and lacy shirt. As quartermaster, Will Howard conducted the ceremony, which was immediately toasted by the already-drunk crew with a keg of plundered Portuguese wine. Then two musicians (Bob Dilly from Bonnet’s craft and Ron Green from Teach’s) set the decks rolling with a vigorous medley of tunes that me and the groom used to initiate even more merriment, and I was pleasantly surprised by how elegantly my big man could caper. Then after we’d exhausted the fingers of our players my master threw me over his shoulder and carried me off to his cabin to a bellow of salty catcalls and hoots. When he told me to turn my back I assumed he was going to unlace my bodice but with a sudden flash of silver his knife cut through the cords of my garment and tore it to the floor. He laughed and cried out, “Heigh-ho, wench. I’ve waited on you long enough now!” Then he thrust me onto the bed and urgently consummated our union.
s soon as new sails were in place and the galleys restocked, we cast off by common consent toward Jamaica. The crew had decided to take the
Revenge
, and Blackbeard’s original sloop
Adventure
, to some deserted cove where the vessels could be properly cleaned and restored, so my wedding took place at sea that same first night. I wore my very best red stomacher but was outshone by my husband’s velvet attire and lacy shirt. As quartermaster, Will Howard conducted the ceremony, which was immediately toasted by the already-drunk crew with a keg of plundered Portuguese wine. Then two musicians (Bob Dilly from Bonnet’s craft and Ron Green from Teach’s) set the decks rolling with a vigorous medley of tunes that me and the groom used to initiate even more merriment, and I was pleasantly surprised by how elegantly my big man could caper. Then after we’d exhausted the fingers of our players my master threw me over his shoulder and carried me off to his cabin to a bellow of salty catcalls and hoots. When he told me to turn my back I assumed he was going to unlace my bodice but with a sudden flash of silver his knife cut through the cords of my garment and tore it to the floor. He laughed and cried out, “Heigh-ho, wench. I’ve waited on you long enough now!” Then he thrust me onto the bed and urgently consummated our union.
Now you may wonder why on earth I’d consent to marry a man I hardly knew? Well, let me try telling you, mister. Firstly—you’ve to imagine what life’s like for a whore on an island of pirates. Given the random violence, disease, and disaster, life expectancy is about three years tops, as Violet painfully highlighted, so having the protection of a formidable patron offers a tempting security. Now, I ain’t high-class like Annie so I wasn’t expecting to attract no Jennings or Bayard—but a rogue such as Teach I felt was within my sphere. And then secondly, imagine the kudos of being Blackbeard’s wife! His reputation would give me some standing in this otherwise fragile community. It meant that if ever I’d to solicit again in the future I could demand a celebrity price—I’d attract more custom from the curious (or those with a grudge content to roger me in the stead of my husband)—and none would ever dare abuse me again. And I’ve also got to admit there’s a certain excitement to union with a genuine swashbuckler. My beau was successful and generous and treated me like a captured princess. The glamour was quite overwhelming . . . and the promise of moving up and away.
Of course, I was still mourning my loss at the time so perhaps I was not as sensible as usual but the captain was certainly a pleasant distraction that loosed my hold on sour memory. So when his sweetness dribbled in my ear I believed what I needed to savor—although you’d likely call me gullible and naive, which was probably my appeal to Teach. And in my defense I ain’t the first girl to fall for the wicked mystique of a man sticky enough to be treacherous. He was sensual—in a dangerous way—with a hardness carefully molded, and (truth be told) I wanted to feel those edges and run my finger along the snick until it bled. I was flattered that, of all the trollops, Blackbeard had chosen little Lola, because he opened up a flaming expanse of adventure. And I honestly believed that I’d seen a side of Teach few ever witnessed, so thought to change and settle him down. That we’d have a glorious future together—maybe even a normal life.
Now, being used to all manner of men I wasn’t too alarmed by the roughness of my lover but when his passion turned into painfulness I quickly employed some of my brothel tricks to speed up his completion. He finally rolled off and stretched with his arms above his head contemplating the roof as I lay beside and pretended to glow.
“Would you like rum?” I asked. I took his grunt as affirmation and poured us both a cup from the cask on the table. He sipped without saying a word. I began to panic that perhaps I hadn’t pleased him so I said playfully, “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?” He emptied his mug and pushed it out for a refill. I topped up my drink too, then sat in the crook of his arm, leaning against his damp body. Now, I ain’t never been wed before so I didn’t have no idea how I was supposed to feel—but I was hoping for something different than the usual tumble and vacant silence so I tried starting a conversation that began, “I truly thank you for stealing me off.” He absently kissed the top of my head but I could tell that his mind was elsewhere. “Anne Bonny wouldn’t have never given her consent,” I explained, knowing full well that indentured servants couldn’t wed against their owner’s permission and that no one was supposed to marry at my age without parental consent. “But . . . I . . . I don’t know if this is all legal . . .” I confessed.
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