North Carolina Ghosts & Legends

The Ghost Comes for Blackbeard

The Ghost Comes for Blackbeard Death and the Devil had done for the rest Yo, ho, ho and a bottle ofrum Blackbeard had always liked the color ofnight, and it suited him well. He made it his habit to wearblack from the crownofhis rakish, broad-brimmed felt hat and thigh-length coat to the dark, sooty hue of his immense boots. It was Friday, November 22, 1718, and he had no reason to believe that today would be unlike any other. The rising sun limned the outermost rim of the dark winter sea with a flaming scarlet border, and the ropes and rail of The Adventure glistened with silvery hoarfrost. Blackbeard's strong rough hands, thickly mantled with black hairs, traveled expertly over the rigging. From habit, the big fingers, half-numbed, checked the rope-yarns of the furled sails, so that whenever he wished he could haul home the sheets without his men scrambling up to loose them. It was an old precaution ofhis. The lowered main and foreyards gave The Adventure the deceptive appearance of having lain at anchor for a long time. This morning, in the bleak gray light before sunup, he was a caged black panther pacing the deck ofThe Adventure. A tall man, he had a yard- 2 Ocracoke long cutlass that swung on the belt at his hip as he strode back and forth with immense suppressed energy. The wide, wicked blade hanging from his belt had the slight curve ofa saber but was actually a much heavier weapon, its rounded brass guard designed to protect his hand and wrist. Blackbeard had taught his crew how to use these blades with brute strength and deadly accuracy. Sailors on merchant ships often panicked at the sight of the pirates' cutlasses swinging in murderous arcs, blades glittering in the sunlight, and many surrendered even before their ships were boarded. The captain ofThe Adventure saw a pale, sickly sun, barely visible through the clouds on the horizon, and bellowed . "Israel! Israel Hands! Where in hell are you?" It was Israel, and sometimes the loyal, massively built Black Caesar , who often helped keep the crew in line. When the men didn't see action for a while, they grew slack and impudent. Damn! Where was that rascal, Israel? Blackbeard threw back his head and took a great swig of rum from the leather flask at his waist, savoringthe familiar fiery feel ofit the length of his throat. Israel should be here to drink with him-keep him abreast ofwhatever crazy rumors crewmen were always whispering, orfight ifneed be, butthe latterwas unlikely. There could scarcely be a safer place than Ocracoke for mooring The Adventure. And it ought to be so. He paid North Carolina's Governor Eden, who lived but a few miles away, well for it. Barrels of sugar and rum as well as other plunder were transported furtively by darkness from his ship to the governor's back door. The heavy, dark rum had left a pleasant, lingering warmth upon Blackbeard's tongue, and despite a slight clouding ofmemory, he suddenly recalled why Israel wasn't The Ghost Comes for Blackbeard 3 there. When the weather was raw and the wind's icy breath blew wickedly across the water, Israel often remained in Bath Town because of his bad knee. Long ago, during a gambling game in his cabin, Blackbeard had playfully turned off the oil lamp, shoved a pair of crossed pistols under the table, and pulled the triggers . One pistol misfired and the slug from the other tore through Israel's knee, crippling him for life. "Why did you do that, sir?" a crew member asked timidly. "So you'll remember who I am," roared Blackbeard, laughing raucously and slapping his thigh. Crew members within earshot melted away, stealing offto their quarters. This morning Captain Edward Teach, or Blackbeard, as he was often called, wondered himselfwhy he'd shotoffthe two pistols. Drink and the Devil, probably. Some even called him the Devil! Maybe they were right, he thought grimly, but a little fear was good for the crew-kept 'em in line. Israel Hands hadbeen a damn goodfighting man, and despite his bad leg he could still swing a wicked cutlass. Why hadn't the shot hit one ofthe ruffians gathered around him instead? Some of 'em were better deck hands than fighting men. They'd have been garotted long ago, if...