Read the First Chapters of Pirates of the Wild West | Storm of Time Saga
Pirates of the wild west
By
Bryan Cantrell
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A pirate time travel novel
Storm of Time series
Book One – Pirates of the Wild West
Book Two – Pirates of World War II
Also by Bryan Cantrell
The Bellevue Boys
Pirates of the Wild West is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously other than the public figures depicted in the book. You may ask are pirates and outlaws’ public figures? Absolutely. All dialog and story elements of the public figures in this novel are the work of fiction. I did an extensive search and found no public records of any pirates, cowboys or other public figures time traveling or doing the things they do in this novel such as committing theft, murder, or mayhem. Again, for the record -Fiction.
Copyright © 2022 Brian Cantrell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher.
Published by Dark Gravity Studios
First edition: July 2024
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Contents
Chapter 1 - The Pardon. 1
Chapter 2 – The Emergence. 21
Chapter 3 – Legends. 33
Chapter 4 – Coming to Terms. 44
Chapter 5 - Dead Eyes. 54
Chapter 6 - The Pirate Hunter 64
Chapter 7 - Burial at Sea. 71
Chapter 8 - The Light of Day. 78
Chapter 9 - Shanghaied. 90
Chapter 10 - The James Gang. 101
Chapter 11 - Locked & Loaded. 113
Chapter 12 - Outlaws. 125
Chapter 13 - Roberts’ Cross. 138
Chapter 14 - A Grand Party indeed. 154
Chapter 15 - The Smart Englishman. 164
Chapter 16 - Charlotte’s Fortune. 171
Chapter 17 - The 8:12 from ST. Louis. 185
Chapter 18 - Pirate Booty. 195
Chapter 19 - The Ruse. 200
Chapter 20 - A Fine Day for the Pirate Hunter 209
Chapter 21 - Air vs Water 214
Chapter 22 - Prisoners. 231
Chapter 23 - The Ascent 236
Chapter 24 - Friends in Low Places. 236
Chapter 25 - Biscuits & Bombs. 259
Chapter 26 - The Pirate Life. 280
Chapter 27 - A Short Trip to Hell 287
Chapter 28 - Strike the Colors. 300
Chapter 29 - The Crossing. 313
Chapter 30 - The Crash. 336
Chapter 31 - The Tempest 358
Acknowledgements. 367
A little about me before you go. 368
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Chapter 1 - The Pardon
Nassau Harbor 1718
Edward Thatch expertly lit the sweet-smelling tobacco that was packed into the bowl of his ivory pipe with the help of his tinderbox. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust back to the darkness of the night as he inhaled that first hit of head-clearing nicotine. The jolt to his heart rate felt satisfying, and he exhaled slowly and deliberately, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. He carefully closed the tinderbox, waited a moment, then opened it again to ensure the mix of cotton and wax was completely snuffed. He knew all too well the consequence of carelessness when it came to fire management on a 200-ton frigate made almost entirely of wood. Even cooking in the galley required the exercise of great caution on a ship with forty cannons, a hoard of gunpowder and many gallons of flammable tar and oil that was used to waterproof the hull and sails. One had to be incredibly careful and have their sea legs about them to construct a meal using hot oil and grease while constantly accounting for the roll and pitch of the unpredictable Caribbean Sea. Edward was well aware of the ban on smoking aboard ship, as he was the architect of the rule, but as captain of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, he allowed himself a few liberties. There was also no one else aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge to hold him accountable for breaking his own rule. No one other than his first mate Black Caesar, that is, who was currently below deck preparing for their arriving guests.
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The low rumble of thunder in the distance caused Edward to turn his head toward the open sea. The dark of night and the starless sky prevented him from seeing the coming storm clouds encroaching on the Pirate Republic city of Nassau. The occasional streak of lightning would illuminate the angry gray clouds covering the Caribbean like a billowing blanket. The sheeted trio of masts that lined the deck of his frigate were only now beginning to smack and clank in the wind. Thatch turned his eyes back to the small harbor as the lamp lights of several tenders carrying passengers were rowed slowly toward his anchored ship.
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He took a puff from his pipe as he considered the parchment he had tucked into his belt. He had read its contents many times over, even out loud to the over two hundred men under his command. They all had listened in rapt silence as he recited the official offer of a pardon from the King of England. Most, if not all, of his crew were illiterate, and in this part of the world, most people couldn’t read even a lick of the written word. Edward, however, was an educated man and a well-trained English Navy sailor. He had come to piracy after the war with Spain and France ended. Many of his ilk had taken the same path. Once the war ended and privateering against France and Spain was no longer sanctioned by the English Crown, there was no work for most of the sailors that were now stranded in the waters of the Caribbean. For many, privateering or what they now considered piracy was the only job they were qualified to do. It was truly the only job that was available to them.
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Thatch unrolled the parchment to read over the details again but found it impossible in the low light of the evening. In truth, he could recite the words from memory now after so many readings. The idea that that damned German King George the First would honor the pardon was difficult to believe after an entire year of Thatch and his cohorts raiding England’s merchant ships. The King of England’s pardon granted indemnity from all acts of previous piracy and crimes as well as the rights to keep all plundered loot and assets obtained prior to the signing of the contract. He and his crew had quite a haul on board, as well as in the pockets of each member when they disembarked to enjoy the spoils in the capital city of the pirate kingdom. Edward smirked as he imagined the debauchery that was taking place in the lively drinking holes of Nassau. He himself would have joined his crew if it had not been for this call to parley between the reigning pirate captains. The message he had received upon arriving into the harbor from his old commander Benjamin Hornigold contended that there was some urgency to the discussion on the signing of the contract. The urgency probably had something to do with the three British Navy ships that now sat in the crowded harbor.
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The heavy footfall of Black Caesar sounded behind him as the dark and imposingly large man climbed up the stairs from midships.
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“Everything prepared below for our guests?” Thatch asked without turning from the vision of the small boats just moments from arriving.
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“It is. And me brought your armament.” Black Caesar held out the belts and holstered weapons he carried in his large hands.
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Edward Thatch made short work of the buckles and straps to adorn himself with four ornate 7-inch flintlock pistols held tight against his chest, two polished and sharpened cutlasses scabbarded on each hip, several daggers clinging to various belts and bootstraps along with a prized 26½-inch blunderbuss within easy reach hooked to his waist. Black Caesar gave a nod of approval to his captain and adjusted his own plethora of personal armaments. Thatch tapped his pipe against the railing, sending the smoldering tobacco into the warm Caribbean waters.
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“Drop a ladder for our brethren and gather ’em in the main hold,” Thatch said as he strolled to the forecastle.
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“Aye, Captain,” Black Caesar responded and made his way to the folded rope ladder waiting on the starboard side.
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The first drops of rain began to fall as the tenders arrived to tie off against the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Black Caesar watched as the first man ascended the ladder and climbed over the top of the rail. His mood darkened as he took in the broad-built form of Henry Jennings. Jennings was a coarse, self-righteous, arrogant man that Black Caesar had the displeasure of knowing for about a year now. He was a man that only smiled maliciously if at all. Jennings was a captain in the Royal Navy during the war and a plantation owner on one of the islands that Black Caesar could never remember the name of. Jennings took in his surroundings as would a cat seeking its next mouse to make a meal of, as the Queen Anne’s Revenge was the envy of all pirate ships. He looked right through Black Caesar as though he was just another fixture of the 200-ton frigate, another tool or mechanism that was just used to operate the vessel. Henry Jennings commanded the ship named Bersheba and spent most of his time sailing along the coasts of Florida and Jamaica raiding shipwrecks and small merchant vessels. His sometime first mate Charles Vane followed him up, using Jennings’ shoulder to steady himself. Jennings roughly brushed off Vane’s hand, almost sending the half-drunk man sliding to the deck. As Vane recovered, he sent a smirk in Black Caesar’s direction.
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“Where’s Thatch?” Jennings questioned the empty deck of the ship as he would not talk directly to a former slave such as Black Caesar.
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“Probably primping in his mirror like some sort of dandy,” stated a slurring Vane. Black Caesar only waited silently for the rest to climb aboard.
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Next up was the young Sam Bellamy with his long coal-black hair and dashing good looks. Sam in just a few short months had become one of the wealthiest pirates ever to sail. He and his crew had captured a returning English slave ship named the Whydah that was loaded down with a fortune in gold and ivory. His first mate, Paulsgrave Williams, hopped easily to the deck next to Bellamy.
“Yes, where is that old sea dog?” Sam said with a flash of bright white teeth that shone even in the dark of this night. Black Caesar clasped the outstretched hand of Bellamy, then of Paulsgrave.
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“He waits below deck,” said Black Caesar.
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Bart Roberts and Charlotte De Berry boarded seconds later. The two only knew each other by reputation before this meeting but found common tastes in their clothing and jewelry. They both had a fondness for crimson and wore waistcoats of the same shade. Bart Roberts wore an enormous diamond-crusted cross made from an unusual heavy silver metal with a pink hue that was plundered from a treasure destined for the King of France. Charlotte’s mocha-colored skin was decorated with bracelets, rings, and necklaces of gold and brightly colored gemstones. The two were becoming fast friends, and Roberts offered an unnecessary hand for Charlotte to take when climbing up from the ladder.
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“A gentleman pirate. How disarming,” Charlotte said, accepting Bart’s hand.
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Roberts bowed with a flourish. “At your service, my lady. I find it best to be gracious when a beautiful woman ornaments herself with such finery as well as deadly… accessories,” Roberts said, glancing at the several dirks, blades and other sharp instruments of death that adorned Charlotte’s attire. Charlotte gave a knowing smile as she strolled past Roberts to join the others on deck. Bart smiled and gave Paulsgrave a wink as they watched her pass before they both followed in her wake.
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Sam Bellamy leaned over the rail and whistled down at the next arriving boat.
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“Be quick about it, you sad lot. Are we to wait around, becoming drenched in this rain?” Bellamy called.
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The second ship to tie up held Benjamin Hornigold, Mary Read, Anne and James Bonny, Calico Jack Rackham, Stede Bonnet and several of their seconds-in-command. Once they were all on deck, their total numbers were twenty-four. Twenty-four of the most successful and feared pirates that had ever sailed the waters of the Caribbean. The deck of the Queen Anne’s Revenge was gently swaying and becoming slick with rain under their thick leather boots. The wind was kicking up, and the raindrops were becoming larger and more consistent by the minute.
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“That’s all? Then follow.” Black Caesar led them all down the steps to the main hold. Flickering whale-oil lanterns that lined the gangway guided them into the large hold that was lit by several lanterns whose flames danced, creating shadowy ghosts along the walls. The large hold was filled with treasures that would delight even the wealthiest merchant or duke of their age. The store held floor-to-ceiling stacks of commodity goods, chests yielding overflowing coin, jewelry, and ornate weapons. There were crates of rum and wine to tempt the thirst of the tavern-hungry sailors. Several spare cannon, pistols and long rifles also lined the walls. Though these pirate captains were jaded by their own successes, they couldn’t help but stare admiringly at the impressive haul of loot crowding the hold belonging to Thatch and his thriving band of pirates.
Anne Bonny leaned comfortably against one of the polished wood beams in the spacious mid-deck hold of the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Her husband, James, had told her earlier of the supreme craftmanship of the vessel. It was certainly a prize to be envied by all the pirate captains gathered here. She glanced with disdain at James standing beside her, gawking overtly at the open boxes spilling over with linen finery, ivory and pewter and silver items. The rich, intoxicating smell of tobacco filled the room, no doubt wafting from the collection of burlap bags shelved floor to ceiling on one side of the room. She found that her stomach had turned lately when she was so close to James. Maybe it was his weak chin, or the paunch of his middle, his smell… the smell of a coward. She couldn’t help but shake her head at the thought of all the opportunities James had to lead, yet he had always chosen to follow or to fink.
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Her wild eyes drifted to the dashing figure of Jack Rackham standing aloof, preening his fingernails with an ornate stiletto. Her heart now leapt at the memory of the night they spent together after they had captured the Kingston off the shores of Port Royal. The Kingston was a fine sloop with eight guns that now added to their growing fleet. Jack’s thirst for adventure was only matched by her own and it twisted her heart to be married to James when her destiny was to be at Jack’s side forever. The passion that had overtaken them that night was heard by the entire crew and was now etched in the legend of their bold attack on the Kingston, within sight of all the merchants watching helplessly from the port. Jack slyly looked up from his grooming and drank in her copper-colored hair and exposed cleavage spilling from her open-topped men’s shirt. If that same look had come from James, she would have shuddered with revulsion, but she now arched her back a bit and tossed her hair to one side.
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Anne’s eyes reluctantly pulled away from Jack to observe the other occupants. Most were men, though beasts may have served them better as a simple description. Two other women were present within the group, though, and she gave a quick nod to Mary Read. Mary was standing next to Jack and was smirking at Anne as she clearly had noticed the exchange that had taken place between them. Mary made a rude gesture in relation to James with her ringed pinky finger, that caused Anne to stifle a giggle. The two women had been friends instantly when meeting as they found themselves so like-minded. They both adopted the dress of their male counterparts, not to conceal the fact that they were women, as was clear by their ample breasts, but for the freedom of movement allowed by men’s breeches, shirts, and coats. One needed to move quickly and efficiently on board a pirate ship, especially in battle. How fierce could one possibly be with both hands hiking up skirts to run from one side of the deck to the other? Anne unconsciously laid her hand on the handle of her sheathed machete and gazed at the third woman in the room.
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Charlotte De Berry barely glanced in Anne’s direction. She had never been receptive to any advances that Anne ever made to her, friendly or otherwise. Charlotte’s dark coffee-colored skin accented the array of bangles and bracelets that decorated her sleeveless arms. She too chose to wear breeches like Anne but with knee-length soft leather boots. Her hair was braided long and ornamented with beads and colored glass jewels. Charlotte slouched back in a chair, tipping its front legs off the floor with the ease of a panther relaxing on a branch high above the forest. She was well known for her expertise with a blade, that was almost like watching a trained dancer performing a ballet of death and mayhem. Anne watched as Charlotte tapped the ivory handle of her flintlock attached to her waist. Her long fingers moved in rhythm as if she were tapping along to a piece of music only she was hearing. Charlotte only carried one pistol on her person, unlike the rest of the gathered pirates who were outfitted with up to ten such weapons, unwilling to risk the need to reload once engaged in a heated battle. This was most likely due to the fact that Charlotte De Berry was one of the worst shots that ever wielded a gun. Jack had commented once that it was probably because of her poor eyesight when it came to seeing anything more than a yardarm away.
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Bart Roberts eyed the lusty form of Charlotte De Berry as he made his way around the hold. He ran his hand over the crates and barrels Thatch had stored throughout the crowded room. He knew Thatch had been quite successful the last several months, harassing the trading vessels coming to and from the new world. There were rumors that Thatch was known to stop at various small islands and atolls around the Carolina coast to bury portions of his plunder, careful to ensure it wasn’t being stored in just one place. It was hard to believe that even more existed outside of the treasure-crowded hold in which he now stood.
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A sly smile formed on his lips as he caught the eye of Charlotte while she watched him case the room. She was definitely a desire that he would seek to satisfy once they were all back on land in the port of Nassau this evening. His hand touched the cool stones of the jeweled cross that hung from a cord around his neck. He felt an odd shiver course through his body as he strode past the many chests while Charlotte squinted at him.
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“Where is Thatch for God’s sake!” Jennings bellowed.
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Black Caesar was in the process of passing out cupfuls of wine from several pitch-black bottles and held one out to Jennings who ham-fisted it from him, sloshing the dark, crimson-colored liquid to the wooden floor. Black Caesar stared momentarily as it slowly seeped between a slim gap in the floorboards as Jennings stomped away. Vane took one of the cups from Thatch’s first mate and held it out for a pour. Black Caesar accommodated and in a quick gulp, Vane swallowed the wine with a grimace and held the cup for another round.
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“Where the devil did this come from?” Vane asked as Caesar moved on. “It burns horribly, but with a touch of sweetness.” Vane focused his bleary stare on Anne Bonny. “Just as Anne would taste, I’d say.” Vane nudged his elbow into the side of Jack Rackham.
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Anne retorted with a rude gesture that sent many to laugh.
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“Can we get on with this meeting, Hornigold?” Jennings said, turning toward the architect of the Pirate Kingdom of Nassau. “I can only imagine what nonsense Thatch will have to say regarding the pardon in hand.”
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Hornigold looked around the room at the expectant faces and cleared his throat.
“We’ve all had a chance to read… or have the King’s pardon read to us…” he began.
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“Imposter King!” Thatch’s deep-toned voice boomed from the doorway as all heads turned to see his figure backlighted by the brightly lit oil lamps framing the entrance. Thatch held the silence, or more accurately, relished the silence his statement initiated. He then sauntered into the grand hold and several pirates gave way as he brushed past them to stand in front of the crowd with the boxes of shimmering loot behind him. “The German-born King George offers us this weak document in hopes that some of us will jump at the chance to bend the knee once again. He claims we can keep our plunder, crimes against the Crown and its interest forgiven and forgotten. All we must do is give up piracy. We must disband the haven we’ve created—that Hornigold has created!—and allow the dreaded pirate hunter Woodes Rogers to ascend to the governorship of our beloved Nassau.”
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“You’d rather we were hunted down by the Royal Navy for the rest of our lives?” exclaimed Jennings. “We not only have the English Crown to attend to, but Spain, France, the Dutch and now thanks to you releasing the slaves bound for Virginia and the Carolinas, we have those governors wanting our heads as well! We’ve all become rich this past year, at least if you didn’t spend all your take on whoring and drink. I say we take the pardon and count ourselves lucky.”
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“That’s an easy choice for a plantation owner to make. Easy to retire when one has land and title,” said Mary Read. There were many grumblings through the crowd as each voiced an opinion. Hornigold stepped forward, gesturing with his hands for quiet.
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“It’s true I had designed this republic as a new beginning for those of us who were cast aside by our beloved England…” he began.
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“Not so beloved to those of us Irish!” laughed Anne Bonny, interrupting. Many joined in with the jest as some attending were Irish, African, and Scots.
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“Fine, fine, beloved for some of us,” said Hornigold “We were abandoned throughout the Caribbean when the three crowns made peace, while most of us sailors had no way of going home. We all saw opportunity, and we took it. We decided to continue doing what we do best. During the war we were privateers with the blessing of King George, now… now we are all pirates. Pirates that King George relished as he looked the other way while we plundered the merchants of Spain, France, and the Netherlands. This republic was to be a haven where any man or woman could raise their station. A place you could arrive without a pot to piss in and, through your hard work, cunning and grit, carve out a life with freedom and success. We’ve done that. Together. Look at you all. I would imagine that none in this room would have believed they would have achieved so much. But some, and I’ll put my foot forward to be included, got greedy. We became tempted by the fat merchants that sailed from our beloved…” (said with a smirk and wink at Anne) “England and began to bite the hand that held the whip. We have all done well, as Jennings has said, and it is my opinion that we take our spoils and begin a new life. A life that doesn’t end with our necks in a noose.”
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“This pardon is a Kraken!” Thatch roared. “A Kraken meant to wrap its rubbery tentacles around our hearts and drag us under the sea to a watery grave. Do you not see the fallacy of it, Hornigold? It is meant to divide us. German George knows good and well some of our rank will jump at the chance for forgiveness. Divided, we are weakened. Easy pickings. But if we stand together, we have the strength of three navies. I command over two hundred of the strongest, fiercest, best-trained sailors ever to roam these waters. Together with Hornigold, Rackham, Sam Bellamy, Stede and Jennings there is a combined total in the thousands.” Thatch pointed to each man with his cup of wine. “I say we stand our ground. Retain our rights and independence! Together we could bring the Crown to its knees!” Thatch raised his cup in a toast and downed the liquor in one giant mouthful.
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The divided crowd erupted in both cheers and dissent. Jennings and Hornigold shared a look together, even though there was no love lost between the two. Jennings turned to his drunken first mate Vane, who he knew had no desire to sign the pardon and give up his life of piracy. It was easy to see that Vane agreed with Thatch. Jennings’ mood darkened as his life was becoming too complicated and dangerous to attach himself any longer to this lot. He desired nothing more than to disband his crew of five hundred thieves and degenerates and sail home to the Bahamas. He was in fact a plantation owner and had no more need for the treasure that had driven him into this life after the end of the war. As unwilling as he was last year to give up the command of a ship, he was now unwilling to sail with the threat of the English Navy behind every cove and squall he encountered. In truth, he avoided fighting alongside these lesser, ungodly men, choosing to pursue the easy prey that would give up before combat or to plunder the recent wrecks that occurred throughout the reefs, rocks, and sandbars of the Caribbean Sea. Hornigold, who once was his second-in-command during the war, felt the same. They had spoken days before, agreeing that they must find a way to convince their brethren to sign the pardon in order to preserve their influence on the profitable trading port that Nassau had become. If Thatch and the rest of these bastards and whores continued to pirate these waters, they would force the Crown to send a large armada to control the ports and shipping lanes to deal with them. If that happened, then his and Hornigold’s hold on Nassau would be threatened.
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Jennings looked over at the monster that was Edward Thatch. Wine was dripping from his long braided beard as he laughed and was patted on the back by Sam Bellamy. He despised them both. Partly out of jealousy, as they were two of the most successful pirates ever known. Bellamy, he mused, was just lucky. He was an excellent sailor but did not have what it took to run a ship with an iron fist. Bellamy was a true believer of the pirate republic ideals. He fancied himself a Robin Hood, known for his mercy and generosity. Young and an idealist, that one. It was told to Jennings that Bellamy had pursued piracy in the hopes of earning enough money to win the approval of his love’s father up in Cape Cod. Bellamy was a street rat that wanted to marry into a proper upper-class family and Jennings could understand exactly why the girl’s father would never allow it. No matter how much money a rat could steal, a rat he would still be. Thatch, though, was something else altogether. He arrived in Nassau as a mystery of sorts. It was apparent that he was an educated man, well read, and an adept war technician that one would dread to come up against in battle. Jennings had overheard him converse in as many as six languages, yet the debauchery that he was capable of would bring a blush to the cheeks of the devil himself. Whereas Jennings’ first mate Vane was a tool of violence to be used by someone with intelligence and wit, Thatch was an instrument of destruction that could not be controlled and could possibly outsmart you at every turn. Jennings knew he should not take chances when dealing with that one. Best to leave him for Hornigold to clash with, and maybe both would do each other in on their own.
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Jennings was about to take a drink of the rich, dark wine in his cup when he felt the ship rise and fall from the crest of a wave. He managed to keep from spilling the liquid only from the years of experience one acquired from living aboard ships and coping with the mundane challenges of eating, drinking, and shitting without solid ground underneath your feet. The size of the wave struck him as odd as they were anchored in a bay. It must have seemed unusual to the rest of the seasoned pirates, as everyone in the room paused what they were doing and stood in abrupt silence. The noise of the rain and wind, as well as the creaking of the wooden vessel, seemed amplified by the hush that went through the hold. Then the ship rose and fell on the crest of an even larger wave that sent all of them grabbing something to steady themselves. Jennings looked over at Thatch and saw his wild eyes widen and turn to Black Caesar.
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“Topside!” Thatch commanded.
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Black Caesar was the first to climb the stairwell with Thatch behind him. The rest crowded the narrow exit to follow them up as another wave drove the ship high in the air at an odd angle before crashing down with a loud bang as the hull must have lifted out of the water to come slamming down on the surface of the sea. Those still left out in the open went sliding down, banging their bodies against the floor and beams. Jennings found himself knocked to the floor. The crates that hadn’t been secured skidded about and one narrowly missed smashing into Jennings’ legs as he quickly pulled them to his chest. He shot to his feet as soon as the ship righted itself and shoved his way up the stairwell and onto the main deck.
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Thatch was shouting orders as Jennings once again lost his footing on the slick surface, wet with rain. He looked in shock as he was assaulted by the howling wind, pelting downpour, and the force of waves as they crested the frigate’s railing. Jennings rushed to starboard and searched for the lights of Nassau. Blackness engulfed the horizon. He pushed his way past the frenzy of pirates arriving on the main deck. Darkness was the only thing to be seen beyond the rolling sea.
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“Hoist the main!” Thatch shouted as he climbed the ladder to the aftcastle and took the wheel. He continued to shout orders that were echoed by the collection of captains and first mates, as they were all well-trained sailors who knew every job aboard a ship this size.
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Stede Bonnet made his way to the aftcastle and yelled to be heard against the raging wind. “Who pulled anchor, and why?”
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“I don’t bloody know!” growled Thatch.
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“We were God damn anchored in the harbor!” yelled Jennings, as he mounted the ladder to the aftcastle. “How the bloody hell do you explain we find ourselves in the middle of the damn ocean, Thatch?” They all were rocked when a wave slammed into the ship with enough force to throw them both against the large mahogany wheel. The water that drenched them roiled over the deck to empty out on the other side. Thatch pushed Jennings away from the wheel as they regained their footing.
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“Find a job and do it,” he said.
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Black Caesar appeared at the top of the ladder.
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“Anchor lines were cut,” he told Thatch.
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“Cut! By who?” Jennings demanded.
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Black Caesar just shook his head.
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“Who would cut the anchors? And why?” Stede questioned.
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They were suddenly lifted into the air, weightless. The Queen Anne’s Revenge was thrown completely out of the water, tossed like a twig by a thirty-foot wave. For the pirates, it seemed as though time stood still while they all hung in the air a foot above the safety of the ship’s deck. The frigate hit the water below a mere second before its crew came crashing down against the hardwood flooring, soaked with salt water. Lightning cracked all around them, sending ozone and electrified droplets prickling over their exposed skin. Jennings pulled himself to his feet and was about to scream an obscenity at Thatch when he spotted an enormous shadow looming in the distance. No sound escaped his lips, but his excited eyes, haunted expression and pointed finger caught Thatch’s attention.
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Edward Thatch turned to see the forming of a fifty-foot wall of water closing in on them. With urgency, he spun the wheel of the ship to point the bow to face the oncoming wave head-on.
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“Come about!” Thatch screamed, and the crew responded frantically, working the rigging to turn the ship into the behemoth. At first it seemed the bow had dug into the bottom of the wave and was forcing the ship down into the sea to be crushed, but as the wave grew beneath the ship, they started to climb. Thatch was the picture of a man gone mad, his hair and beard plastered back by the gale force of the wind, his eyes wild and mouth open in a half scream, half laugh. He steered the frigate up, climbing, climbing the seemingly endless wall of water. The wave towered over the ship, threatening to curl over it, and pound it to the bottom of the sea.
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Anne Bonny held the rigging of the aft sail in hopes of not falling backward over the railing into the roiling sea below. Her location meant she was the last of the crew to climb to the top of the wave. From her view, it seemed the world had fallen away as the Queen Anne’s Revenge crested, pivoted, then began its thundering descent down the other side. She searched for her new love, Jack Rackham, across the crowded deck but couldn’t pick him out among the drenched figures cloaked in the darkness of the starless night. Anne fretted that he may have been tossed overboard to drown in the churning waters, as she had seen happen to several others in these last minutes of hell. Her heart ached at the thought and tears streamed down her face, mixing with the salty sea water that coated the rest of her hair and skin. The horrifying sea below caught her attention, as it looked so foreign that she didn’t trust her eyes. Their ship was speeding down the back side of the monster wave they just ascended, yet it seemed there was no end to their descent. The water below them spun in a giant funnel so large that she struggled to see the other side. By all rights they should have slipped down the backside of the wave only to be tossed again by another, but there seemed to be no bottom in sight. A scream escaped her lips as the ship was caught up in the spinning whirlpool, accelerating it, around and around, sucking the Queen Anne’s Revenge and all its passengers down into its gaping mouth and into the unfathomable darkness below.
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Enjoying the story? Continue the adventure.
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Chapter 2 – The Emergence
San Francisco Harbor 1873
Charlotte De Berry’s wide eyes blinked rapidly in the dark salt water that filled the ship’s cargo hold. She was holding back panic as she swam along the ceiling looking for an air pocket to give relief to her oxygen-starved lungs. Her last breath was a distant memory now, as was her mind’s image of the cargo hold since the torrent of water rushed in to fill the room from a hole created by an untethered eight-foot cannon barrel that sailed across the room to crash completely through the side of the ship. She was using that fading image of the room to navigate herself back to the entrance in the pitch-black water. She turned and moved her braided hair to see the dimmest rays of light that were coming from the stairwell now. Charlotte kicked her feet off a beam to propel herself toward that welcoming sight.
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Her mind pushed back the fleeting thoughts and confusion of how she found herself in this horrifying predicament. Images flashed in her head of the enormous whirlpool that swallowed the Queen Anne’s Revenge. The entire 200-ton ship was sucked into its gaping mouth like an ant caught in a drainpipe. The storm, with its hurricane-force winds, had brought forth the ghastliest sea that had ever been seen. Her brethren pirates were tossed and slammed about the ship’s deck, some propelled over the side as if the tentacles of a Kraken yanked them over. Edward Thatch, in all his fiendish glory, faced the brunt of the storm, hands gripped tightly to the wheel with a maniacal grin on his bearded face. He had steered the ship up that wave of ungodly proportions, which seemed an impossible feat, bringing the hull fully out of the water and into the starless sky as it crested, only to plunge down faster than a raging tiger toward the bottomless depths of the churning sea. She remembered diving down the stairwell of the hold to escape being thrown from the drowning ship, which in retrospect was a foolish idea now that she was trapped in the flooded, dark compartment.
​
A clamorous sound reverberated through the vessel, audible even in the water, as it suddenly twisted and what seemed like up became down. Charlotte, lungs burning, scraped and clawed along the floor as her buoyancy flipped and the light faded away. She fought against all urges to breathe in the cold, salty ocean as she reached the stairwell. Working her arms and legs, she desperately traversed out of the stairwell, finally reaching the deck of the drowned ship. She achingly searched for the surface of the water and felt the force of the ship pressing down against her. She was about to let out a watery scream in frustration as she realized the ship was sinking upside down with her underneath it when suddenly the Queen Anne’s Revenge let out a thunderous groan and once again rolled, righting itself. Suddenly, the bow of the ship pointed toward the surface like a hand desperately reaching out for a hold. Charlotte’s eyes could see the dim light of the surface becoming brighter as her lungs reached their limit and began to take in the briny, cold water.
​
​
Mary Read had no time to shiver despite being plunged into the freezing water as she struggled to stay afloat. She was now regretting the years she spent at sea, never learning how to swim. Cold and fatigue were taking its toll on her legs and arms as she looked around at the bits of flotsam surrounding her. Her eyes searched desperately for something to hang on to, something large enough that would float and carry her weight. A few yards away the vacant eyes of the drowned Paulsgrave Williams, first mate of Sam Bellamy, panicked her heart. Her head went under for the fifth time, and she kicked and churned to rise again. Spitting water and sucking in air, her face crested the water’s surface. She saw at that moment Jack Rackham clutching a large floating piece of yardarm. She called out to him, screamed in fact, for his help. He clung tightly with both arms wrapped around the safety of the wide cut of wood. His eyes full of fear, he turned his head away from her.
​
Coward, she thought. Pretty to look at, but with the backbone of a jellyfish. This was it, she thought. Here was her end. Doomed to drown in the sea in which she sought to command, only yards away from a helping hand that was selfishly gripping the only floating thing large enough to support a woman’s weight.
​
Mary’s strength waned, and she dropped under again. She made less of an effort this time to surface, giving up and letting her body sink as the gentle pull of the water enveloped her. She looked down beneath her feet into the dark sea. She could barely make out the brown ocean floor rising to meet her. My mind must be going, she thought, she was the one sinking, not the sandy floor rising. Air bubbles began to surround her as she watched the incredible sight of the Queen Anne’s Revenge ascending to the surface underneath her. The wide deck was rapidly surging up from below her feet. She made a determined effort to kick her feet and swim her arms to match the speed of its ascent. The ship reached her, picked her up, and pressed her body to the deck of the bow as it raced to the surface.
​
​
​
​
The Queen Anne’s Revenge broke through the water and into the night air, rising five yards out of the cold sea before settling down, listing starboard. The fifteen-degree list caused Charlotte De Berry’s body to roll several times until she slammed into the rail. That impact is what most likely saved her life. The thrust of her body hitting the rail against her back caused her chest to convulse and expel the sea water from her lungs. She violently coughed and spit, gasping for breath. It took a moment, but she realized someone was holding her and slapping her on the back. A woman’s voice, she thought as her head cleared. She turned her tear-filled eyes to see the smiling, soggy, wretched face of Mary Read. Mary had a gash on her forehead that leaked blood over one side of her face. Her wavy red hair was darkened by the water and clung in wild mats against her face.
​
“You can stop slapping me, you ghoul,” Charlotte managed to choke.
​
Mary Read helped Charlotte sit up and then slouched down next to her.
​
“You’re welcome,” she retorted. “Next time we drown, I’ll not help you if that’s how you say thanks.”
​
Charlotte looked over at Mary and then used her hands to wipe the blood from Mary’s face.
​
“Comin’ back from the dead to first see your bloody face could make a girl die again from fright,” she said.
​
The two women looked on, exhausted, as several other figures began to rise and cough water out of their lungs.
​
“To hell with you, Poseidon!” the booming voice of Edward Thatch called out as his broad, panther-like frame rose from the deck of the aftcastle.
​
There were a few laughs as the throng of water-drenched pirates gathered themselves from the chaos. Thatch, followed by Black Caesar and Henry Jennings, climbed down onto the main deck. Emerging around them were Bart Roberts, Sam Bellamy, Benjamin Hornigold, Charles Vane, and Anne Bonny. All differences were set aside as they patted each other’s backs and laughed off the danger they had all faced. Mary helped Charlotte to her feet, and they joined the remaining crew.
​
“Is this the lot of us?” asked Hornigold as he gazed around the deserted deck.
​
“I saw many drown and go over the side,” Black Caesar commented.
​
Anne looked fearfully at Black Caesar.
​
“Jack? Did you see him? Did the sea take him?”
​
“Aye. Your husband James as well,” Black Caesar told Anne, whose face flushed as she’d given no thought to what happened to James. “Paulsgrave, Stede Bonnet, others, all swept away.”
​
The pirates looked around at one another, taking stock of the remnants of their crew.
​
“Ten, just ten survivors. The sea did in one night what England, France, and Spain could not,” said Jennings, shaking his head.
​
“Help!” came a distant cry to their ears.
​
“Jack!” exclaimed Anne. She ran to the side, peering off into the night, searching for the source of the voice.
​
The rest of the pirates lined the railing, leaning out over the water, looking for Jack Rackham.
​
“There!” Vane pointed.
​
Jack was clinging to the broken yardarm with his hand reaching out just below them. His long, black, water-soaked hair hung over his face.
​
“You look like a drowned cat, Rackham,” Thatch laughed.
​
“Throw me a damned rope! This water is freezing!” Rackham yelled desperately.
​
Black Caesar tossed down a rope and he, Hornigold, and Sam Bellamy hauled up Rackham, shivering and soaked to the bone.
​
Anne threw her arms around him and held him close as Rackham’s teeth chattered.
​
“I thought I lost you, love.” Anne said through tears.
​
“Nothing could keep your Jack away. Not even the worst hurricane the Caribbean has ever seen,” Jack told her.
​
“I don’t know what makes me want to retch more, the sea water in my belly or listening to these two,” said Thatch.
​
“I’d drink a barrel of ocean water if given that choice,” said Charlotte.
​
This made the crew erupt into laughter that brought on fits of coughing from a few. The ship’s creaking and groaning was the only thing that quieted them down. Henry Jennings eased himself port-side and gazed off at lights on the distant shore. He was shortly joined by Thatch and Hornigold.
​
“Looks like all the lanterns in the entire town of Nassau are lit tonight,” said Hornigold. The two other men were silent for a moment.
​
“The coastline looks strange. Different,” Thatch said quietly.
​
“I’ve never felt the Caribbean waters so cold before,” Charlotte De Berry said from behind them. Neither of the men turned around, eyes fixated on the lights.
​
“Maybe the storm blew us to another port? Saint Augustine, Tortuga?” suggested Jennings.
​
“Too far,” said Hornigold.
​
“Aye, but that ain’t Nassau,” Thatch said.
​
“Then where?” asked Jennings.
​
The Queen Anne’s Revenge groaned again and began to list even more, causing everyone to stumble toward starboard.
​
“Caesar, do we have an intact skiff?” Thatch called out to his first mate.
​
Caesar went aft to check on the condition of the two skiffs that were stored near the rear of the ship. The sounds of wood giving way could be heard as water continued to flood below decks.
​
“She’s definitely taking on water,” Rackham said.
​
“Observant that one,” Charlotte De Berry quietly quipped to Mary Read.
​
“You have no idea,” replied Mary with a shake of her head as she squeezed water from her long hair.
​
Edward Thatch made his way to the stairwell leading back to the main hold, along with Bart Roberts and Sam Bellamy.
​
“There’s a fair amount of plunder below deck,” he told them. “Let’s see what we can carry.”
​
“The main hold is flooded,” called Charlotte.
​
Thatch looked down the ladder, seeing it was as she reported.
​
“Damn it all,” he said.
​
“Captain! We have only one skiff, the storm must have taken the other,” Black Caesar arrived to exclaim.
​
“Right then. Let’s get it in the water,” Thatch said, leading the motley band of pirates toward the stern.
​
They arrived and began quickly untying the skiff and lowering it into the water. There was no longer the need for a ladder to reach the waterline as the Queen Anne’s Revenge had sunk low enough to have the sea lapping over the deck now. They piled into the small craft just as the ship’s list grew greater and half the deck was swallowed by the bay. Bart Roberts and Charles Vane manned the ores and stroked toward the shore. Thatch stoically watched as the sea claimed the Queen Anne’s Revenge. Hornigold sat next to him, watching the ship’s forecastle disappear beneath the water.
​
“She was a prize,” Hornigold remarked.
​
“That she was.” Thatch took a last look, then turned toward the lighted port.
​
The extensive docks were crowded with ships of all sizes. Several large ships were anchored nearby. One such ship became more visible as they approached the harbor. This one held all the pirates’ gaze in awestruck silence. Mary Read took in a loud breath as its details began to become clear. The ship was of massive size. She estimated it to be almost four hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. It towered out of the water like nothing she had ever seen before. Most notable was the inadequate number of sails attached to its three masts. A ship this size would need a dozen sails to move its hulking frame, she mused. She searched the sides and the deck and realized that it had no cannons or guns, no way to defend itself for such a trophy. A great wheel was placed midships like a huge wheel taken from a giant’s wagon. Next to the wheel stood a large black cylinder that was slowly leaking dark smoke from its opening, that smelled of burning coal.
​
“What the devil?” exclaimed Jennings.
​
“What the devil indeed,” replied Thatch.
​
Roberts and Vane had ceased their rowing as they coasted slowly past the ship, its name now visible along the side of the hull: SS Great Republic. Vane stared, mouth agape, at the enormous vessel. They all silently inspected its details in amazement.
​
“What is the wheel for?” asked Anne Bonny.
​
“Moves the ship,” Hornigold answered quietly.
​
“What moves the wheel?”
​
“Don’t know,” Hornigold answered after a few moments.
​
As the pirates slowly glided upon the water, the rest of the ships anchored and moored in the harbor continued to astonish. There were many that were clearly made not of wood but entirely of metal, with some completely devoid of sails whatsoever. The crew remained silent and awestruck as they reached a small beachfront that allowed them to pull the skiff up onto the shore.
​
“Where the bloody hell are we?” asked Jennings of no one in particular.
​
They all walked up the bank to the dirt road that stretched along the beachfront. To the left were the docks lined with buildings that looked like storehouses and boatyards. There were strange, softly glowing lamps illuminating the buildings, roads and sidewalks that expanded into the main part of the large city. To the right, the buildings were sparser; most resembled homes that became larger and more grand as they crept up the hillside.
​
“I could use a drink to wash out the taste of the sea from my mouth,” said Charlotte De Berry as she began walking toward the docks.
​
One by one the rest of the pirates followed her up the path. There were still men working at this hour of the night, moving boxes from ships to shore or in reverse. Groups of people could be seen walking through the streets and milling about. Horses and carriages trotted up and down the roads in the distance.
​
The eleven pirates, in dripping clothes, marched toward the main street that ended at the docks. A small party of men standing on the street corner smoking and talking paused in their conversation as they noticed them approaching. One of the men nudged the man next to him who then turned to take in the motley group. The men were dressed in pants, pointed boots, with buttoned shirts underneath vests and long overcoats. They wore a variety of hats that featured bowler to wide-brimmed styles. All the men sported mustaches of various lengths. They all watched in confoundment as the ornately dressed and overly armed pirates of the Caribbean Sea approached their little band.
​
“Ain’t this a fancy bunch?” one of the men said.
​
“Maybe they’s part of some entertainment playing in one o’ them theaters?” suggested another.
​
Thatch was the first to speak as they stopped in front of the men.
“What town might this be?”
​
The men looked at each other in confusion.
​
“San Francisco.”
​
“Never heard of such a town. What island is this?” asked Bart Roberts.
​
One of the men squinted his eyes at them and let out a chuckle.
​
“Ain’t no island. Y’all actors in a play or something?”
​
“This part of the Americas?” asked Hornigold.
​
“Yeah, San Francisco is part of the Americas,” one of the men said with a laugh and an elbow to one of his mates.
​
“How far is it to St. Augustine?” asked Jennings, referring to the popular Florida port of call.
​
The men looked at one another before one of them piped up.
​
“Hmm, maybe three thousand or so miles. Best get yourself some good, sturdy horses. Or maybe take the train if you’re needin’ to travel there.”
​
“Train?” inquired Anne Bonny.
​
There was an awkward silence as the men tried to figure out if this was some sort of joke that was being played upon them.
​
“Why are y’all dressed like that?” one of the bolder men finally asked. “You with the theater or something?”
​
“No, blast your eyes, we’re not,” Jennings replied testily, fingering his nearest pistol. “And who might you be to presume such slander?”
​
“Oh, we’re nobody, sir,” another of the men said hastily, “don’t mind us. We’re just harmless cowboys, sir, passing through.”
​
“Where can we find a drink?” asked Charlotte.
​
One of the men pointed up the street, and the pirates made their way along the lighted boulevard, leaving the befuddled group in their wake.
​
“Ever heard of San Francisco?” Jennings asked Thatch.
​
Thatch answered by shaking his head. He was too busy looking at the storefronts, wagons, horses and uniquely dressed townsfolk. He hadn’t seen so many people in one city since his days in Europe. Even Virginia paled in comparison to this… San Francisco. They, as well, were being noticed by the many people they passed. The stares were becoming uncomfortable. The uniqueness of the faces was intriguing as well. Thatch noticed there were more Chinese faces here than he had ever seen. There were also blacks, natives, South Americans, Irish and more he didn’t recognize.
​
They were passing the front of a three-story brick building with a waiting crowd out front when several bystanders pointed and motioned toward the pirates. The crowd was well dressed in suit coats, ties and top hats for the men, and the women sported ornate gowns and dresses. Two men were in the middle of the street with a black cloth draped behind a device standing on three legs. One of the men nudged the other and pointed at the group. Hornigold stopped, and the others paused with him to stare at the onlookers.
​
“Hold, hold, hold,” said one of the men, holding up a hand. The other man spun his device to face the crew. Hornigold and several other pirate hands found the hilts of their swords or pistols but paused there as the man behind the device ducked his head under the black drape and the other held a light on a pole that flashed brightly. Vane and Bart Roberts pulled their cutlasses at the blinding flash but held their ground as the crowd laughed and cheered. The device men clapped and waved before gathering up the gear and moving into the building with a sign above displaying the name Wade’s Opera House.
The pirates looked at one another in confusion and continued their journey through the strange streets of San Francisco.
​
“There,” said Charlotte, nodding toward an ornate two-story building with red curtains hanging behind the windows. Lively music was emerging from inside and the sign mounted above the door frame proclaiming the name of the establishment as The Paris. Charlotte marched up the steps to the entrance. She turned back toward the group. “Come on then. Thatch, I think you owe a girl a drink after that voyage.”
​
Thatch arched his wide black brows. Charlotte opened the door and piano music and rowdy laughter poured out from the opening.
​
“That I do,” Thatch said with a mischievous grin. With a wide motion of his hand, he held open the door for his band of Caribbean pirates to enter the late 1800s gambling hall sitting at the end of Sacramento Street in San Francisco, California.
Chapter 3– Legends
The Paris Saloon & Gambling Hall
Brightly lit by gas lamps and chandeliers, the main room of The Paris was a feast for the eyes. A large, polished wood bar dominated the left-hand side of the room with a mirror extending its entire length, doubling the images of the multitude of bottles filled with various spirits that lined the shelves. A large indigenous man with long braids in his hair poured glasses of amber-colored whiskey for the patrons and waitresses. He moved with efficiency, never cracking his stone-faced expression as people shouted their drink orders to him.
​
The crowded hall was bustling with energy as cowboys, miners, gamblers, and thieves indulged themselves in the entertainment The Paris provided. A corner stage featured a piano man hammering out an upbeat tune while three women in colorful dresses danced. Several men stood at the edge of the stage and whistled and hollered whenever the women would hike their dresses to kick their legs in unison. There were tables crowded with gamblers, drinks in one hand and a fistful of cards in the other. Pretty young women moved through the crowds in dresses and petticoats, delivering drinks, offering quick dances, and engaging the patrons in laughter and merriment.
​
A staircase in the rear of the hall led up to the second floor that featured a long hallway balcony with a multitude of doors. Several of the doors were open with views of decorated rooms with four-poster beds and clawfoot tubs. A man and woman were sharing an intimate kiss in one of the doorways until they passionately moved inside, and the man shut the door behind them with his boot heel, never interrupting the embrace.
​
Philip Edward Albert was intently watching the cards that were being dealt around the table. He glanced briefly into the eyes of the dealer Colette Dallaire, who was also the proprietor of this establishment. Her pale piercing eyes bored deep into his own as she seemed to dare him to continue his task of counting cards. He felt his face flush and with great effort turned from her and began watching the cards again. This was his second night playing Colette’s unique game of twenty-one. She had delighted him with the story of how she had learned to play the game from her Choctaw Indian abductors when she was just a young girl. The tribe had raided ranches and farmhouses kidnapping young women to sell back to their families. Colette had lived with them for years in semi-captivity, but eventually her family paid a ransom, and she was returned home. As it turned out, her family would later shun her, claiming she was a ruined woman and could not be properly married. It seemed those years of living with the Choctaw had brought out a wildness that didn’t integrate well into the proper New Orleans society.
​
Philip watched players around him take cards as he stayed the course with a nine and a jack held in his delicate hand. His wife always complained that his were the hands of a woman, long thin fingers with soft, pale skin. He had to concede that next to her large plump digits his would be considered dainty, but then so would most unless one was a hardened farmhand from birth.
​
Philip hadn’t seen her in years, barely even writing at all these days. He had little desire to sail home to London. A chemist by trade, specializing in explosives, he had carved out a nice niche working with mining companies to blast away unwanted rock to get to the precious ore they sought. Here in San Francisco, there was no shortage of companies and individuals that needed his services, as the easy pickings of gold and silver had already been had. It took a lot of digging or blasting to get down to the precious metals hiding underneath tons of worthless stone, rock, and dirt these days. He watched as Miss Dallaire drew cards turning over first a three, then a five to end her hand with an eighteen. He was delighted by his win, though the two miners next to him in recently washed clothes slapped down their cards in disgust and vacated their seats in an angry huff, slamming empty glasses on the table.
​
“Tough luck, boys, but don’t let your luck get you down. Go have a drink at the bar on the house,” Colette said, as she gave a head nod to the large Choctaw bartender, and he nodded in return as the miners approached the bar. The bartender fisted two glasses and generously filled them with whiskey as they sat down. Two smiling young women, as if on cue, approached the men and engaged them in conversation.
​
“Well, don’t you have everything rightly in hand?” Philip said as he watched the two young girls quickly turn the mood of the men.
​
“I merely care that all my patrons leave remembering what a good time they had at The Paris.”
​
Philip watched as the men laid down more money on the bar to buy drinks for the women. He watched as the bartender filled the girls’ glasses from a different bottle than the one he used for the men.
​
“Your working girls are drinking a watered-down version of spirits,” Philip said knowingly.
​
“It would do no good to have them walking about without their wits all night,” replied Colette.
​
“Indeed,” Philip started to say as the door opened and the most unusual-looking band of characters entered one by one. Colette turned toward the door to see what Philip’s wide-eyed gaze was taking in.
​
Charlotte De Berry was the first to enter. Her wild and dreadlocked hair swayed as her head swiveled to survey the room. Her embroidered coat was open, showcasing her African kukri blade, with its jewel-ornamented hilt and a flintlock pistol strapped to her waistband. Charlotte’s tan-colored eyes took in the scene as though she was a panther happening upon a watering hole where small animals had gathered to drink. She was followed by the raven-haired Sam Bellamy, Bart Roberts, Anne Bonny, Calico Jack Rackham, Mary Read, Charles Vane, Henry Jennings, Benjamin Hornigold, and Black Caesar, who turned and waited as his captain entered in all his glory.
​
The hall went quiet as, one by one, the patrons turned to take in the new arrivals. The music awkwardly stopped as the last of them entered and the door closed.
​
Edward Thatch’s white teeth shone brightly in the midst of his bristly dark beard as his broad smile widened as he took in the saloon. The crowded bar seemed in awe of the group’s grand attire, and the amount, as well as the antiquity of the pirates’ armaments. Most men in the saloon would never have been seen with a sword on their side, not since the Civil War ended, that is. Now before them were eleven ornately dressed, sword-carrying pirates with out-of-date flintlock pistols crowding into the gambling hall.
​
“I think I’m going to like this place,” announced Thatch with a wide grin. “Let’s drink.”
​
Colette recovered quickly and threw a look at the piano player and dancing girls, who immediately launched into a new tune. The rest of the bar slowly followed suit by going about their business but keeping a wary eye on the strangely dressed newcomers. Bart Roberts, Bellamy, and Vane headed to the bar while Rackham, Read, and Bonny took seats at one corner of a large table. The patrons sitting on the far side of that table hastily moved away as Thatch, De Berry, Jennings, Hornigold and Black Caesar approached to sit.
​
“A night at The Paris never ceases to astound,” said Philip.
​
“It’s why you keep returning, Mr. Albert.”
​
Colette watched out of the corner of her eye as drinks were brought to the pirate table and the group began to break apart as a few went to watch, in curiosity, the entertainment on the stage. The others went to drink at the bar, enquiring about the variety of spirit bottles that lined the back counter. The one with the wild blue eyes and long black beard was standing now alongside another pirate with brown hair tied in a ponytail, his face framed by long sideburns. They conspired a moment after noticing her and the open seats at her table, then began to make their way over.
​
“What sort of game have we?” Edward Thatch inquired as he noisily adjusted the seat to allow himself and all his armaments to sit in the chair. Hornigold sat in between Philip and Thatch, with one lone cowboy seated at the end of the table. The cowboy looked the men up and down, scooting his chair a bit further away.
​
“It’s called twenty-one,” said Colette as she expertly shuffled the cards. “You win by having the highest total number without going over twenty-one.”
​
Hornigold looked around the table, noticing the US banknotes that were stacked in front of the gamblers and Colette.
​
“We don’t have banknotes, but I have these.” Hornigold pulled a few silver coins from a small bag at his hip.
​
“Where are these from?” asked Philip, reaching for one of the silver coins. Hornigold snatched them back before Philip could take one.
​
“Spain, though it be no business of yours.”
​
“May I see one? To test the authenticity of the coin,” asked Colette with a hand extended.
​
Hornigold flipped the coin in the air, which was caught deftly by Colette. She looked it over, turning it around, checking the sides and the weight. She then flipped it back into the air to be caught by Hornigold.
​
“’Bout the size of our silver dollars if you’ll accept them as equal,” said Colette, pushing a US silver dollar across the table.
​
Thatch picked up the dollar and hefted its weight.
​
“Aye, close enough.”
​
“Then let’s wager, gentlemen,” Colette said.
​
Philip and the cowboy sitting at the table pushed paper money in front of them. Hornigold and Thatch mimicked their move with coin and Colette dealt out two cards to each and laid two in front of herself, with one queen showing and the other card face down.
​
“The cards with faces are worth ten and the ace,” Philip showed the ace in his hand to Thatch and Hornigold, “is worth eleven.” Philip smirked at Colette over the ace in his hand.
​
“A kindly fellow Englishman is showing us his cards, Thatch,” quipped Hornigold.
​
“I am English, London, and I show you because we are not in competition with each other, only with the dealer.”
​
Thatch looked at his cards, calculated, and looked around the table. “What now?”
​
“Would you like another card, or are you happy with what you have? You can take as many as you want, but if your total is over twenty-one you lose,” said Colette.
​
“I’m quite happy with what I have then, lass.”
​
“What about you, dear sir?” she asked Hornigold.
​
Hornigold looked up in the air, calculating in his head.
​
“She has a ten,” Philip said, “and must take another card until she at least has seventeen, though we won’t know until the end what the face-down card is worth. If you want to stay with what you have, she could possibly draw cards totaling over twenty-one and lose the game.” Hornigold only frowned at him, still not comfortable with the little man’s help.
​
“The longer you think, the older I get, Benjamin,” Thatch sighed, leaning back in his chair to adjust the blunderbuss from his hip.
​
“Quiet, Thatch, I’m considering my choice.”
​
“I’ll take a card if these fancy pants ain’t takin’ one,” the cowboy said.
​
Hornigold looked harshly at the man, noticing the drab nature of the man’s clothing compared to him and his mates. He merely wore a pair of brown trousers and a whiteish shirt underneath a vest made from sheep’s wool.
​
“It’s not your turn, Clayton, you know that,” scolded Colette.
​
Hornigold leaned over to see the other player’s cards, with the cowboy pulling his close to his chest.
​
“Hornigold, please!” Thatch bellowed.
​
“I’ll take a card,” Hornigold exclaimed.
​
Colette pulled the top card from the deck, turning it over in front of Hornigold. The card was a nine.
​
Hornigold paused in thought, then his face went slack.
​
“Twenty-four,” he said with dismay.
​
“Truly unfortunate,” said Philip. He then asked for another card and Colette delivered a five.
​
Colette turned over another card for the cowboy, which was a three. He then asked for another, and it was a five which elated the cowboy.
​
“Nineteen!” he exclaimed. Colette only smiled at him.
​
Colette turned her card over, and a seven sat next to the queen, making her hand a seventeen.
​
“May I see your hand, good, sir?” she asked Thatch.
​
Thatch turned over a king and an ace making twenty-one.
​
“Beginner’s luck,” said Philip as Colette paid out the winners.
​
“What’s with your getup?” asked the cowboy named Clayton.
​
“It’s obvious that they are actors. Costumed for a performance at the opera house,” answered Philip.
​
“Captains, privateers, pirates if you wish! But do not insult me, you little worm,” Hornigold said with a dagger quickly pulled and pressed against Philip’s neck.
​
Colette was wide-eyed and wary. Her hand reached under the table to a short-barreled rifle affixed underneath to a hook. She clandestinely pointed it at Hornigold.
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“I meant no offense, my good man. Forgive me for my ignorance,” Philip stuttered out, arching his neck so it wouldn’t be pierced by Hornigold’s blade.
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“Oh, let the little man be, Benjamin. We do seem to be in a city with contrasting fashions,” Thatch said, putting a hand on Hornigold’s shoulder. Hornigold slowly pulled the dagger from Philip’s neck and then expertly flipped the blade into the sheath on his belt. Philip rubbed his neck and looked at his hand, relieved to see that no blood had been drawn.
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“Where exactly is this San Francisco located in relation to Nassau?” asked Thatch.
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“Why, I haven’t heard of Nassau before. Is that where you and your friends have traveled from?” Colette said as she eased her hand away from the hand cannon under the table.
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“We were in the port of Nassau when a hurricane hit and then got caught in the storm. Blew us out of the harbor and beat the ship to kindling. When the storm passed, we ended up here,” Hornigold said.
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“Ha. Simplified the story a bit, Hornigold. Mind you never be the one to tell me life’s tale.”
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“You want me to tell about the largest wave man has ever seen that you steered us over, Thatch? Only to plunge the entire ship into a whirlpool that drug us to the bottom of the sea? Half our crew dead and drowned. All of us trapped many leagues below the surface. Then emerging, though not in the warm waters of the Caribbean, but in the ice-cold bay of God knows where! This… this, San Francisco,” Hornigold ranted.
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Thatch looked at him and stroked his beard in thought. Philip stared at the bar where Sam Bellamy, Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, and Mary Read were sharing a bottle of dark rum. He turned back to Thatch and looked over his garments. They were ornate, yes, but a bit worn, unlike a costume, authentic. He noticed that their clothing was damp and smelled of sea water. The blade that was held to his neck was genuine, of that he was sure. The multitude of weapons arranged on these men were not props from an opera, but also authentic and deadly devices albeit antiquated.
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“Thatch? Hornigold? Edward Thatch?” Philip said, staring at their weathered faces, looking them over carefully.
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“That’s right. You’ve heard our names before?” Hornigold asked.
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Philip let out a chuckle that sounded like a cross between a laugh and the noise a frog would make. He looked at Colette, who just sat with a curious expression, and then at the cowboy, who was completely confused.
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“Heard of you? Of course I’ve heard of you. Who hasn’t heard stories of the pirates that ruled the Caribbean seas?”
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Thatch slapped the back of Hornigold. “See that? And you were about to stick your dagger in his throat.”
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“I still might if he doesn’t answer where we are.”
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“Nowhere near Nassau. Nowhere near the Caribbean nor the Atlantic,” Philip said, looking manically at each pirate. “You’re on the northern coast of the Pacific Ocean.”
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Thatch and Hornigold looked at one another. Neither were ready to believe this little man, but the waters were vastly different from the Caribbean. Any sailor worth his salt could have seen that. This strange town they found themselves in was completely alien from any other that was near their usual ports of call. Thatch looked at the woman who was dealing cards. She was quite an attractive young creature who he was sure had a weapon hidden underneath the table as her hand had suspiciously gravitated there when Hornigold had held the blade to the little Englishman’s throat. She was staring at them with curiosity and a bit of wariness. Thatch had already noticed that several men in the hall were armed with small-barrel pistols the likes of which he had never seen before. The glowing lamps used to light the room were unique as well.
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“You’ve heard stories of these men? Back in England?” asked Colette.
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Philip was still staring in awe at Thatch and Hornigold. He turned and looked at the entire party that had entered The Paris along with them. His eyes took in again the authenticity of their dress and weapons. The way they moved and talked. The scars and wounds they bore, he now took notice of. These were not actors ready to put on a show in the newly opened San Francisco opera house.
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“Yes, I know all about them. But it’s not possible. Edward Thatch and Benjamin Hornigold disappeared, along with the rest of the pirate captains of Nassau in 1718. Everyone knows their story. Miss Colette, you’re from New Orleans. You must have heard of them. Their names are legend.”
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“Hornigold, Thatch, can’t say those names ring any bells,” Colette said.
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Philip shook his head. “Maybe, maybe… maybe not by the name Edward Thatch, but this man,” Philip pointed at Thatch. “This man is better known as… Blackbeard.”
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Enjoying the story? Continue the adventure.
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Pirates of the Wild West is a time-travel pirate adventure featuring Blackbeard, Anne Bonny, and Calico Jack Rackham as they are hurled from the Golden Age of Piracy into the American Wild West.
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