So called land pirates or wreckers used to light fires atop rocky outcroppings, luring merchant ships to their doom instead of safe harbors. Once wrecked goods were salvaged and any sailors who managed to swim ashore were killed. Experienced sea captains passed on these overtures of death but even the most knowledgeable captains had trouble navigating the waterway between the Carolina coast and the Outer banks. The Carolina coastal waters are veritable shipyard of wrecks, countless in terms of lost goods and unfortunate souls.
The Revenge had been beating hard to make the Carolinas. A run to Bermuda was out of the question with gunnels awash with every heel or big wave. The hold full of Spanish gold, she was bound for the briny deep if safe harbor didn't find her soon. Having slipped through the gauntlet of Spanish war ships and made it to safety of the intercoastal, Calico Jack was not new to the intercoastal but had been marauding in the Carib for the past three seasons. Shifting currents and sandbars were normal occurrences here and it was suicide to run at night. The fates had been with him so far and he had information that the Spanish lacked.
Blackbeard haunted these waters exclusively and few pirates dared poach on his hunting ground, but Jack had sailed with Blackbeard for a time and was a member of the bloody brotherhood. Estuaries were common escape routes and foul weather harbors. The common agreement between pirates was to light fires at night to identify these safe harbors.
Jack's wife and fellow pirate, Anne Bonny, leaned over the port side rail sweeping the shore line with her spyglass. It was uncommon for a women to sail aboard a pirate ship but the Revenge was an exception in many ways. Two women actually sullied the decks of the Revenge. Anne Bonny and Mary Read were both pirates in their own right, feared by pirate hunters and pirates alike. Mary Read huddled in the crows nest watching the same coastline. It was a blue moon but the Revenge stayed in the middle of the channel which was safer than risking a grounding close to shore. Estuaries cut deep channels into the intercoastal and were usually safe to navigate. The problem was finding them in the dark. Jack had assured his crew that a safe harbor was close and would be fire by brotherhood agreement. Mary Read was feeling the effects of a long watch but kept her post as any man would. She scanned the East, praying for any signs of signal fire. The light of the moon made it difficult as reflections created ghost images on the waves. Several times she thought she had seen fires only to have them disappear with the crest of a wave. Way off in the distance, an orange glow caught her eye. It played in and out of her vision for minutes before she was sure.
"Signal fire!" Yelled Mary Read.
"Where away?" Jack hollered back.
"Mid ship off the port side!" She yelled. Bonny swept the glass mid ship and orange filled the end of her spyglass. "There Jack," she said pointing the way for the captain. Jack spun the wheel to port yelling commands as sailors hauled on ropes and repositioned sails to make a run for the coast. Jack felt a bit of relief but kept his guard. It had been some time since this ploy had been used and wasn't sure if it was still safe. Fear of grounding was a pirates worst fear and the intercoastal was a deathtrap at night. However, the prospect of dancing from the yardarm of a Spanish war ship was not palatable either.
Read climbed down the mast and joined her comrades on the poop deck. Another pirate was ordered to the crows nest and the trio sailed the Revenge toward safety.
Jonas Tibble knew to keep his gaze away from the fire so to keep his night vision keen. The blue moon had been much luck in the past, making it easy to see signs of sail well into the early morning hours. Jonas had set this trap after running afoul of the brotherhood and jumping ship in the night just ahead of a death sentence. Jonas had seen Blackbeard turn into fire lit rivers to escape bad weather or British pirate hunters. Soon after jumping ship, finding a stake and joining a group of cutthroats, he suggested a trap at the mouth of the Cape Fear River at Southport. This was just past where Blackbeard normally placed his fires to slip past Fort Caswell and seek shelter in the river. This night would prove his scheme in spades. As Jonas squinted at the horizon, sails danced into his vision. Jonas signaled his man, who passed the word quietly as the sound of excited shouts might carry across the water to the unsuspecting ship. Like jackals, they waited patiently with longboats ready on the beach. Jonas had gathered twice the number of men as the usual ships compliment to be sure his prey was outnumbered. Most groundings in the intercoastal were really beachings, leaving the ship in tact in shallow waters. Cape fear was so named due to a healthy outcropping of granite that pierced the sand in a wide arc. It was difficult to see during the day but impossible at night. At low tide, the water was deep enough to take a whole ship. Jonas employed only men who could swim in order to make salvage on the wrecks goods.
Patience paid off and the loud cracking sound of heavy timbers carried to Jonas's ear. He sent out four boats to mark the wreck and depth. The longboats balked at the surf then slid into the bay toward the ship. The first longboat to the wreck bumped against floating debris. An arm came over the side followed by the face of a breathless pirate. His gasping was abruptly silenced as a cutlass separated his head from his neck and a fountain of blood washed the cutthroat. Jonas waited for the return of his boats or for any survivors to find the shore. Helping the cutthroats, survivors usually swam towards the light of the fire.
Mary Read and Anne Bonny swam together, silently. They had tried to rally wreck survivors to sighted long boats until they saw the carnage being perpetrated upon them. They hoped to beach down shore of the fire and escape into the night, but the current had other ideas.
Jonas saw two sailors emerge from the surf cutlasses in hand. He only knew one kind of man who would swim with his cutlass.
"Name your vessel dogs or feel my metal on your innards!" Jonas called to the pair outing them as pirates to the rest of his crew.
Bonny edged to the side of Read as they slogged out of the surf so they could come together, back to back. Daggers appeared in each of the others hands as they became a wheel of pointed death.
"The Revenge," Bonny proclaimed hoping that the name alone would cause these dogs to flee. Yet one of the men, silhouetted by the fire, started to laugh.
"Anne Bonny, you Irish whore, who be that with you?" Jonas said recognizing her brogue.
Bonny dipped her cutlass, wary but not off guard. Had they been set upon by fellow pirates? Could they maybe find quarter?
"It be not Calico Jack, you black bastard. He is bound for hell and you soon after unless you see us safe to Blackbeard," Bonny said, hoping to illicit fear into those around her.
"It is another woman Jonas," said one of his men, now having surrounded the two on the beach.
"Aye, but a better hand than you any day, " said Read on her behalf.
Jonas laughed again and said, "Well lads, all we're missing is the ale since we have wenches. This started a low laugh among the circle of men. Rape was always central on the mind of pirates. Even as crew mates, until they could match men in a fight, women were prone to abuses. Bonny and Read were not the push overs these men thought. Rape was in their pasts and not something they were ready to revisit.
"Well lads, have at them, they be only two, but look sharp! Bonny is a snake with that blade." Jonas said.
"If you don't mind, I'll be knowing your name before I run you through," hissed Bonny.
Jonas moved around the circle till firelight caught his face, then smiled.
"Jonas, I thought you'd be still swinging. Bastard, come get what's aching for you!" Said Bonny
The dance commenced. The men weighed in one at a time, having difficulty with the idea of killing a woman. They became more willing once a few had been run through. Then the real dance began. Men darting in, flashes of steel catching the light of the moon then dampened by dark blood dripping to the hilt. Arcing steel weighing into then flesh of men. Both women were masters with a sword and were fast friends, hell bent on saving the other from rape and a sure death. In the midst of the fight Jonas kept his distance, biding his time. Soon after the last man fell, kicked off the end of Read's sword and a quick stab to the neck, unneeded but for effect, the women turned to face Jonas.
Jonas clapped his hands and said, "Mores my share! Many thanks my ladies." Jonas bowed and made a sweeping gesture with his arm while reaching to his back for the volley gun stuffed in his belt. He came around with the end of the flourish and gave them all four barrels. A loud shot sounded as acrid smoke billowed around the gun.
As soon as Bonny saw the gun, she knew it was close to over. She took the shot, well into her first step towards Jonas. She felt the hot lead and kept stepping. By the time the smoke cleared she had closed the gap, leading with her cutlass. It found the middle of Jonas, the silly grin still on his face. He looked down at the length of metal attached to his innards. Then surprise took over his visage. Bonny Smiled and pushed in to the hilt. The sound of tearing sinew and the cracking of ribs could be heard over Jonas's strained cry.
"No man but Jack will ever touch me again in heaven or hell, you bastard. As for you, " she said and pulled hard on her sword, twisting it as it came, a length of intestine squirming out of the seeping wound.
"Hell waits for you here on this beach. I put a curse on you and yours in this life and the next. If I can't have a life with my love then no one on the blue moon shall either." Said Bonny.
She didn't wait to watch Jonas fall, instead she turned and pushed a finger into the bloody hole below her sternum. She looked up to see if Mary Read was satisfied with the demise of their tormentor and gasped. Mary Read was down on the sand, bleeding from her neck. Bonny fell to her side, cradling Reads head.
"I cursed them Mary, I cursed them all. Our blood will be the bond of my words. Together, they died as they lived. Their blood washed out with every surge of surf. The current took the blood out, where the intercoastal washed it onto every beach along the Carolina coast.
Will and Laura, just married, hand in hand, walked the beach. It was late November and a blue moon had risen huge over the breakers of the outer banks. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day and a romantic start to the rest of their life. Despite the chill in the air they had gone shoeless, feeling the primordial urge to dig their toes into the sand as they walked, just one more thing they shared. They stopped to let a cold wave wash over their cold feet. They embraced, each melting into the other, lips touching, nose to nose. Suddenly Laura felt a burning on her feet. She tensed and Will stepped back to see what happened.
Laura was trying to step away from the surf. Will looked down to find his feet covered in a dark ichor. It started to burn, not a warming heat burn like an icy hot. Soon, they were both stomping and trying to use sand to get the ichor off. Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it stopped and was gone. They both looked at their feet in disbelief. They looked to each other with reticent smiles, thinking maybe it was just a weird illusion put upon by the moon. They started to laugh and again joined hands. As they did, skeletal fingers erupted from the sand and grasped the couple by the ankles. In horror and disbelief they looked between each other and the hands grasping them. Hand over hand they were pulled down into the sand. Will reached for Laura hoping to stave off what seemed a crazy nightmare. Bony arms kept them separate. To their necks now, face to face, no words, no screams, as the bony hands covered their mouths and pulled them beneath the sand. Mouths filling with sand, lungs, their brains not understanding what was happening and losing consciousness at the same time. A wave erased any evidence of their struggle. On the wind, a woman's laughter could be heard, just louder than the surf.
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