1959, 1967 by Nancy Roberts
1992, 2019 University of South Carolina Press
First published by McNally and Loftin, Charlotte, North Carolina, 1959
Ebook edition published by the University of South Carolina Press, 2013
Published by the University of South Carolina Press
Columbia, South Carolina 29208
www.sc.edu/uscpress
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data can be found at http://catalog.loc.gov/.
ISBN 978-1-64336-045-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64336-046-1 (ebook)
Front cover images
Adobe stock.
Design by Adam B. Bohannon
THE GHOST COMES FOR BLACKBEARD
Death and the Devil had done for the rest. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum!
B lackbeard had always liked the color of night, and it suited him well. He made it his habit to wear black from the crown of his rakish, broad-brimmed felt hat and thigh-length coat to the dark, sooty hue of his immense boots.
It was Friday, November 22, 1718, and he had no reason to believe that today would be unlike any other. The rising sun limned the outermost rim of the dark winter sea with a flaming scarlet border, and the ropes and rail of The Adventure glistened with silvery hoarfrost. Blackbeards strong rough hands, thickly mantled with black hairs, traveled expertly over the rigging. From habit, the big fingers, half numbed, checked the rope-yarns of the furled sails, so that whenever he wished he could haul home the sheets without his men scrambling up to loose them.
It was an old precaution of his. The lowered main and foreyards gave The Adventure the deceptive appearance of having lain at anchor for a long time. This morning, in the bleak gray light before sunup, he was a caged panther pacing the deck of The Adventure. A tall man, he had a yard-long cutlass that swung on the belt at his hip as he strode back and forth with immense suppressed energy. The wide, wicked blade hanging from his belt had the slight curve of a saber but was actually a much heavier weapon, its rounded brass guard designed to protect his hand and wrist.
Blackbeard had taught his crew how to use these blades with brute strength and deadly accuracy. Sailors on merchant ships often panicked at the sight of the pirates cutlasses swinging in murderous arcs, blades glittering in the sunlight, and many surrendered even before their ships were boarded.
The captain of The Adventure saw a pale, sickly sun, barely visible through the clouds on the horizon, and bellowed. Israel! Israel Hands! Where in hell are you? It was Israel who often helped keep the crew in line. When the men didnt see action for a while, they grew slack and impudent.
Damn! Where was that rascal, Israel? Blackbeard threw back his head and took a great swig of rum from the leather flask at his waist, savoring the familiar fiery feel of it the length of his throat. Israel should be here to drink with himkeep him abreast of whatever crazy rumors crewmen were always whispering, or fight if need be, but the latter was unlikely. There could scarcely be a safer place than Ocracoke for mooring The Adventure.
And it ought to be so. He paid North Carolinas Governor Eden, who lived but a few miles away, well for it. Barrels of sugar and rum as well as other plunder were transported furtively by darkness from his ship to the governors back door.
The heavy, dark rum had left a pleasant, lingering warmth upon Blackbeards tongue, and despite a slight clouding of memory, he suddenly recalled why Israel wasnt there. When the weather was raw and the winds icy breath blew wickedly across the water, Israel often remained in Bath Town because of his bad knee.
Long ago, during a gambling game in his cabin, Blackbeard had playfully turned off the oil lamp, shoved a pair of crossed pistols under the table, and pulled the triggers. One pistol misfired and the slug from the other tore through Israels knee, crippling him for life.
Why did you do that, sir? a crew member asked timidly.
So youll remember who I am, roared Blackbeard, laughing raucously and slapping his thigh. Crew members within earshot melted away, stealing off to their quarters.
This morning Captain Edward Teach, or Blackbeard, as he was often called, wondered himself why hed shot off the two pistols. Drink and the Devil, probably. Some even called him the Devil! Maybe they were right, he thought grimly, but a little fear was good for the crewkept em in line.
Israel Hands had been a damn good fighting man, and despite his bad leg he could still swing a wicked cutlass. Why hadnt the shot hit one of the ruffians gathered around him instead? Some of em were better deck hands than fighting men. Theyd have been garroted long ago, if he had not trained them well. Nobody would ever take him alive. He would fight until his last breath.
But today he couldnt get the superstitious talk of the crew out of his mind. It was on that last voyage from Bermuda back to Ocracoke that it started as a whisper. Theres one man too many aboard, a man no one knows.
Israel had told him what they were saying. Well, blast them! he had replied. Lets find the rascal who started it, and Ill hang him from a yardarm. Assemble the crew! Israel got together seventeen men.
This extra crewman you think youve seen, mentell me what the rogue looks like? Blackbeard boomed out. But they stared off in the distance or down at the deck and none would say. Some began to slink off until finally only Israel and a handful of the crew remained. After questioning them and receiving blank looks or shakes of the head, he dismissed them, leaned against the rail, and spat into the water. Yellow-bellied riffraff! he pronounced with loathing.
His best officers and fighting men had left him, drifted off to join pirates of the high seas who had not accepted a pardon. Men like those would have told him the truth. Well, it didnt matter. In a few months, everyone would have forgotten this superstitious bilge about a mystery crewman.
