In commemoration of the 296th anniversary of the Battle of Ocracoke and the brutal death that sealed the fate and secured the legend of our beloved Captain Thatch, please enjoy this excerpt from the Prologue of Thatcher: the unauthorized biography of Blackbeard the pirate. As the bedraggled and breathless one-time pirate clawed his way through the final stand of myrtle trees, their branches permanently reaching westward from the omnipresent ocean winds, it was immediately obvious that his desperate flight had been for naught. He drew next to the oversized dog that sat at the water’s edge, bending at the waist and placing his hands on his knees and tilted his head to mimic the Mastiff’s stare as both took in the ferocious battle before them. On the deck of the ship just a few yards off shore, the legendary pirate captain he’d come to warn was locked in mortal combat with a dozen men whose collectively engaged pistols and sabers could not seem to fell the black mane giant. The look on the battling brigand’s face was not one of desperation or anguish, despite the many slashes and bleeding stab wounds evident on his body. Rather, it was an expression of exuberance as if, through this inhuman demonstration of ferocity, he were indeed confirming the myth that he was a demon, impermeable, inviolable, incapable of dying. The contest on the quarterdeck was certainly more intense than the low grade slaughter on the bow. One by one, the crew succumbed to their foes, freeing up one very stout fighter to take up his axe and charge toward the stern to join his comrades in their quest to fell this bearded dragon. One more man should not have made a difference, but the messenger who had come so far so quickly in an attempt to avert this engagement struggled fruitlessly to muster the breath to warn his former commodore. The woodcutter’s tool rose high, flashing brilliantly against the morning sun, then crushed down on the great pirate’s shoulder, bringing the melee to a standstill. The axe buried deeply into the skeletal frame of the legendary buccaneer, a voluminous plume of crimson gushed from this latest of two dozen wounds as the pirate slowly whirled, at last collapsing to the deck from this near decapitation. His expression had now changed, betraying his own surprise that, perhaps, the rumors of his immortality been exaggerated. In his dying moments, his eyes turned to his dutiful first mate who had been an uneasy sentinel aboard the deck of their own ship. The large African took this sudden turn of events as the sign to execute their Doomsday Plan requiring him to shimmy his immense frame into the narrow confines of the hold, offering him no time for pity, grieving or remorse as he prepared to ignite the stores of black powder beneath him. This most notorious of sea raiders had hard earned his reputation for giving no quarter and never taking any in return, and he was pleased that his most loyal companion would at least, if not give them the victory, snatch it from the jaws of the mercenary pirate hunters. His duties completed the heralded King of Pirates dismissed all further thought of his foes and their fate, averting his attention to the beach, noting his dog faithfully manning his post where he had left him and, beside him, his old Quartermaster. He smiled at the notion of Spotty having acquired a new and equally surly companion. As his view shifted, his expression changed once again as his eyes were drawn to three men now standing near the failed messenger. He smiled more warmly as he took in the aged cleric whose face was etched into the deepest cores of his memory, standing in the strange company of a frail-looking fellow with pale skin and an unmistakably regal nose. Next to him was a tall African radiating a dignity reserved for only the most tested of warriors. Their presence brought a countenance of long sought and hard won peace. But then his eyes softened, his smile broadened as a delicate young woman, with a tiny frame and luxurious blonde hair, emerged from behind the masculine retinue. She walked slowly toward the water’s edge, her gentle smile confirming for him that, indeed, all was well, encouraging him to yield to the easy peace that had eluded him for four decades. It was a peace that could only come as the pirate hunter who had bested his much sought after quarry used the last of his waning strength to deliver the final blow. The gentle countenance of bliss was eternally fixed upon the pirate captain’s face as his head was violently slashed from his body, a necessary final act to seal in blood the legend of the most infamous pirate of the Caribbean Sea. Enjoy the rest of the tale at thatcherthebook
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 19:52:48 +0000
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