A Sea Too Far by Hank Manley Page A

the able seaman said as he sipped on a flagon of the wine liberated from the French merchant ship. “Them Frenchies know their drink. This be as fine a vintage as I’ve ever tasted. And rest assured, I’ve tasted many a grape in me day.”
    Warren looked around at the crew lounging in pairs and groups of four on the wooden deck. Without exception, the men were drinking. Card games were in progress, and the voices of the participants were increasing in volume with each round of libations.
    “You mentioned the dangers of operating in these waters,” Warren said. “With the crew voting to sail here, I guess you’re committed to staying with Blackbeard.”
    Gladstone inched closer to Warren and looked around for anyone close enough to hear their conversation. “Nay, laddie,” he said in a conspiratorial voice. “I not be committed to tossing in me lot with Blackbeard. I have too much to lose.”
    The boy looked at the rough appearing sailor and wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Are you speaking about your life?”
    The seaman took a deep draught on the wine and shook his head. Several red drops slipped over his lips and rolled into his beard, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
    “Aye, laddie,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I place a high premium on keeping me neck from a rope. But I’ve built a nest egg of gold and jewels, and I want the pleasure of spending me bounty rather than watching some other scoundrel pick them from me pockets before I walk the plank.”
    “What can you do?” Warren asked with genuine interest. “You can’t just swim ashore with pockets full of jewelry some night.”
    “I vouch ye be right about that,” Gladstone said. “And I can’t just walk into Charles Town and announce me presence to the good town fathers. Men in me clothes and all scruffy looking draw suspicion and questions I not be sure I can answer.”
    Warren pondered the pirate’s dilemma and couldn’t arrive at a successful solution. “So, how are you going to handle your situation?”
    “I not be as dull as I appear, laddie,” Gladstone said. “When I see me opportunity staring me in the face, I’ll know it.”
    “I need to get back to Nassau, too,” Warren said wistfully. “I can’t stay in this Charles Town chasing other ships and robbing them. My mother’s probably half crazy with worry about me and Conch.”
    Gladstone raised his flagon in Warren’s direction in a mock toast and then drained the last of the wine. “We be in a similar fix, me boy. I can’t swim to Charles Town with me gold and jewels, and you can’t swim to Nassau with thy dog.”
    * * *
    “Ship ahoy, captain. There be a ship approaching from the town,” yelled the pirate stationed on the platform halfway up the rear main mast. “She appears to be a packet named Crowley .”
    Captain Edward Teach emerged from his quarters beneath the rear upper deck. He was dressed in a coat with his customary sash around his waist. His long sword was tucked into the band. Three pistols hung from lanyards around his neck. The ubiquitous candles in his magnificent beard were lit, and wisps of smoke drifted around his large head.
    Warren studied Blackbeard as he strolled toward the side of the ship where Crowley was positioned to pass. He smiled at the captain’s obvious bellicose demeanor meant to intimidate potential foes.
    “Prepare a cannon to fire,” the pirate captain yelled. “And run up me flag.”
    The gunner loaded a ball in the central cannon on the main deck and inserted a load of powder. A second pirate stood by with a smoking stick to ignite the charge.
    The lookout in the mast scrambled to the top and launched Blackbeard’s personal pennant.
    Crowley sailed across the harbor on a predictable path toward the single channel leading to the ocean. When the vessel was two hundred yards from Queen Anne’s Revenge , Blackbeard shouted across the open water through a raised megaphone.
    “Heave to,” he called. “Drop thy