On Stranger Tides (32 page)

Shandy brushed a stray lock of salt-stiff hair back from his forehead and squinted up at Hurwood—who smiled at him and shrugged in mock sympathy.

“That Navy captain,” Shandy said, striving to keep his voice level, “was about to murder Davies—kill him without a trial. I had no choice. And your father—” He stopped for a moment in despair, then forced himself to go on, ridding himself of the words like a crew flinging cannons and casks overboard from a foundering vessel. “Your father intends to evict your soul from your body so that he can replace it with your mother's.”

There was no answer from inside the cabin.

“Please get off my ship now,” said Hurwood courteously.

Instead Shandy reached for the door's bolt—and a moment later found himself suspended in midair, rising up and away from the cabin door. His eyes went wide and then clamped shut, and then opened in a tense squint, and his whole body was rigid with uncontrollable vertigo.

When he had passed over the
Carmichael
's gunwale and hung thirty feet above the water in front of the
Jenny'
s fire-blackened bow, he was released, and plummeted through the air for one long second before plunging into the cold water.

He thrashed his way to the surface, and wearily swam to the
Jenny
, and brawny arms reached out and pulled him aboard. “It's stinkin' magic, cap'n,” Skank said to him when he was safely aboard and leaning against the mast and breathing deeply while a puddle of sea water spread out on the deck around his boots. “Lucky even to get away, we are.”

Shandy didn't let show his surprise at being addressed as captain. After all, Davies was dead and Shandy had been his quartermaster. “Expect you're right,” he muttered.

“I'm sure glad you made it, though, Jack,” Venner assured him with a broad smile that didn't conceal the chill in his gray eyes.

The last couple of pirates freed the grappling hooks and leaped down into the water and were soon aboard the
Jenny
and demanding rum.

“Yeah, give 'em rum,” Shandy said, pushing the stray hair off his forehead again and reflecting that he'd soon have to draw his hair back and add another inch or two to his tarred pigtail. “How bad's the
Jenny
hurt?”

“Well,” said Skank judiciously, “she wasn't in great shape even before that fireball. But we ought to be able to get her back to New Providence easy enough—all tack, no jibe.”

“New Providence,” Shandy said. He looked up and saw the corpse of Mr. Bird climbing the
Carmichael
's shrouds. The body stepped into the footrope loop that hung just below the yard that supported the main course sail, and with the precision of a clockwork mechanism began unreefing the sail while cooling hands below worked the halliards. The sails filled, the sheets creaked through the blocks, and, slowly at first, the big ship moved away from the
Jenny.

“New Providence,” repeated the new captain of the
Jenny
thoughtfully.

AND IN the
Carmichael
's cabin the spell was finally lifted from Beth Hurwood's throat, and she gasped, “I believe you, John! Yes—yes, I'll come with you! Take me away from here,
please!
”

But by then the
Jenny
was a shabby scrap of discolored canvas in the middle distance of the sea's glittering blue face, and, aside from her father's, the only ears her words reached were those of the dead men crewing the
Vociferous Carmichael
.

“What's o'clock?”
It wants a quarter to twelve,
And to-morrow's doomsday.

—TL. Beddoes

SIX MEN climbed out of the boat when it rocked to a halt in the shallows. Stede Bonnett, peering down at them from behind a dogwood tree at the crest of the sandy hill that sheltered his campfire from the chilly onshore wind, grinned with relief when he recognized their leader—it was William Rhett, the same British Army colonel who had captured Bonnett more than a month ago, and was now clearly here to recapture him after his recent escape from the watchhouse that doubled as Charles Town's jail.

Thank God, thought Bonnett; I'm about to be locked up again—if I'm very lucky, in fact, I may be killed here today.

He turned quickly and trudged back down the other side of the hill before any of his companions could come after him and notice the attacking party themselves; and he tried to dampen his excitement, for the black man could sense moods nearly as well as Blackbeard could.

He found the three of them still sitting around the fire, the Indian and the black man on one side, David Herriot on the other.

“Well, David,” he said, striving to sound enthusiastic, “the weather is definitely lightening. I imagine you've been looking forward to getting off this damned island and onto another ship, eh?”

Herriot, who had been Bonnett's docile sailing-master from the day the
Revenge
was launched until the day Colonel Rhett
captured the ship in the Cape Fear river, just shrugged. His childish elation at their escape from Charles Town had begun to turn to superstitious fear when inexplicably bad weather forced them to take shelter here on Sullivan's Island, and ever since the Indian and the black man joined them he had sunk into a morose lethargy.

The Indian and the black man had simply been standing outside Bonnett's tent one morning a week ago, and though they had offered no introductions they had greeted Bonnett and Herriot by name, and explained that they had come to help them get another ship. Bonnett thought he had seen the Indian aboard the
Queen Anne's Revenge
in May, when Blackbeard had been terrorizing Charles Town to get the ghost-repelling medicinal weed, and the black man's gums were as white as his teeth, the mark of a
bocor.
It was as clear to the simple-minded Herriot as it was to Bonnett that Blackbeard had found them.

FOR ALMOST a month and a half after that terrible inland voyage to the Fountain of Youth, Bonnett had had no control over his own actions. The
Revenge
accompanied the
Queen Anne's Revenge
north to Virginia, and though it was Bonnett's mouth that called shiphandling orders to his sailors, it was Blackbeard who spoke through it. Like a sleepwalker Bonnett found himself taking the King's Pardon from North Carolina's Governor Eden, and making arrangements to sail south, back home to Barbados, where he would, to whatever extent possible, resume his role as a member of the island's high society of plantation owners. Blackbeard was of course planning to be killed so that he could return in a new body, and he obviously felt that it would be useful to have a wealthy gentleman—or even exgentleman—working as his puppet on that rich island.

After he had taken the pardon Bonnett began to regain control of his actions; apparently Blackbeard felt that a return to his
previous life was what Bonnett wanted most on earth, and so he didn't particularly bother to force the man's cooperation any more.

Actually, though, Bonnett dreaded returning to Barbados more than he dreaded death. He had been a respected citizen during his years there—a retired Army major and a wealthy planter—and he could not bear to return as an ex-pirate, one who was still at liberty only because he had chosen to hide under the skirts of the royal amnesty. And any hope he might have had that the citizens of that remote island would be ignorant of his piratical career had been shattered only days after he embarked, for the second ship he took was the
Turbet
...a Barbadian ship. Even at the time, he had known that he ought to kill everyone aboard so as to leave no one to testify, but he hadn't had the stomach to give the order ...and besides, David Herriot would never have stood by while people he had sailed with all his life were murdered.

And the idea of seeing his wife again,
now,
nearly made Bonnett faint. The woman had been a vituperative harridan even before he set out—however unwillingly!—on his felonious cruise, and he still frequently woke up sweating, with her scornful cries ringing all too well-remembered in his ears: “Get away from me, you brutal slug! You bitter pig!” Always he had fled the house, his own house, trembling with the desire to commit uxoricide or suicide ...or both.

But a return to Barbados and her was what the future held ... unless he could wreck the plans Blackbeard had for him. And so on the fourteenth of September he sent Herriot into town to round up as many members of his original crew as could be found—he wanted no one who had sailed with Blackbeard or Davies—and get them aboard the
Revenge.
The ship was not a prize of piracy—he had paid for every plank and every yard of rigging—and so the New Providence harbor authorities had no
objection to his taking her out for a cruise. As soon as they were out of the harbor he had his men scrape the name
Revenge
off the ship's transom and paint
Royal James
on instead.

And then Bonnett set about violating his pardon as thoroughly and quickly as he could. Before the sun set on that Wednesday he had taken a ship, and during the next ten days he took eleven more. The plunder was minor—tobacco, pork, pins and needles—but he was demonstrably engaging in piracy. He told the crews of the robbed ships that his name was Captain Thomas, for he didn't want word of his backsliding to get back to Blackbeard until he could get himself safely out of Blackbeard's reach.

To accomplish
that,
he decided to steal Blackbeard's own planned defeat scenario—being entirely under Blackbeard's control, Bonnett had been the only person the pirate-king had dared to discuss his defeat plan with—albeit Bonnett would now employ it for a humbler end; for while Blackbeard planned to use it as a stepping-stone to immortality, Bonnett hoped only for a quick death, or, failing that, a trial and eventual hanging far from Barbados.

He sailed the
Royal James
up the Cape Fear river, ostensibly to careen her for repairs—but he made sure that the captain and crew of the last ship he'd taken saw where his anchorage was before he turned them loose.

The governor's pirate-hunters under Colonel Rhett had obligingly arrived at the river mouth on the evening of the twenty-sixth; and Bonnett made sure that his feigned escape attempt took place at low tide the next morning. Though Herriot had stared in astonishment at the impracticality of his last few orders, Bonnett succeeded in running the ship aground in a position from which any effective fight would be impossible. At the last moment Bonnett had tried to detonate his own powder kegs, which would have scattered the remains of himself and most of
his crew across the marshy landscape, but he was stopped before he could ignite it.

Then there had been the voyage back to Charles Town—in shackles. His crew was promptly locked up in the Anabaptist meeting house in the southern corner of town, under the guard of a full company of militia ...but Bonnett and Herriot were just kept in the watchhouse south of town, on the banks of the Ashley river, with only two guards assigned to them.

One evening two weeks after their arrival there, both of their guards walked back to town for dinner at the same time ...and the door's lock proved to be so rusty that a hard shove snapped the bolt. Even Bonnett had never really wanted to face the humiliation of a trial and public execution, and so, elated at what seemed to be a stroke of luck, he and Herriot had slipped out and stolen a boat and then rowed east past Johnson's Fort and right on out of the harbor.

The weather had turned foul then, with wind and rain and choppy seas, and they had had to land on Sullivan's Island, just outside and north of the harbor; and, too late, both of them began to wonder uneasily whether their escape really had been just luck.

The weather had not improved. The two fugitives managed to make a tent with their boat's sail, and for two weeks they lived on flounder and turtle cooked over a carefully concealed fire. Bonnett hoped the modest, wind-scattered smoke of it would pass unnoticed against the perpetually gray skies.

Clearly it had not.

BONNETT NOW tore a fan-shaped frond from one of the ubiquitous palmettos, and threw it onto the fire; it began popping and curling, and he hoped the sounds would cover any noises made by Colonel Rhett and his men as they crept up the seaward side of the hill. “Yes,” he went on loudly, “it'll do us both good,
David, to get off this island. I'm ready to go out and take more ships—and I've learned from my mistakes! Never again will I leave anyone alive to testify against me!” He hoped Rhett's party was hearing these sentiments. “Rape the women and shoot the men and pitch 'em all over the side for the sharks!”

Herriot was looking even more unhappy, and the
bocor
was staring at Bonnett with lively suspicion.

“What are you doing?” the
bocor
asked. Extra alert because of their distance from the protective Caribbean
loas
, he raised his hand and sifted the breeze through his fingers.

Where are you, Rhett? thought Bonnett desperately, his cheerful expression beginning to falter. Are you in position yet? Guns loaded, primed and aimed?

The Indian stood up and swept the clearing with his gaze. “Yes,” he said to the black man, “there are concealed purposes here.”

The
bocor
's fingers were still waving, but the hand was pointing to the seaward slope. “There are ...others! Nearby!” He turned quickly to the Indian. “Protective magic! Now!”

The Indian's hand darted to the decorated leather bag at his belt—
“Fire!”
yelled Bonnett.

A dozen nearly simultaneous explosions shook the air as sand was kicked up all over the clearing and the fire threw up a swirl of sparks. Voices were shouting at the top of the slope, but Bonnett couldn't hear what they were saying. Slowly he turned his head and looked around.

The Indian was sitting in the raked-up sand clutching his ripped and bloody thigh, and the
bocor
was gripping his own right wrist and scowling at his torn and nearly fingerless right hand.