The Dark Pirate

1

Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia

Peter halsey was only nineteen years old, but already was the skipper of his uncle’s schooner Melville. The catch was good. He filled his hold with cod and cleared the fishing grounds late Thursday evening. With a moderate but steady northeast breeze, the Melville reached anchorage at Nova Scotia’s Mahone Bay a little after midnight on Sunday morning in June of 1722. A half-dozen or so Grand Banks fishing schooners were riding at anchor.

A light sleeper, Peter woke at dawn to the sound of an anchor splashing nearby and its chain running over the side of a vessel. He stretched his lanky frame, yawned and sliding open the cabin’s starboard port, glanced out. The sky glowed bright red through patches of lingering mist on the eastern horizon. It was time to roll out of his bunk and prepare for selling the catch. The buyer at the local fish plant bought cod from Marblehead bankers. Salted and dried, the fish were re-shipped to British islands in the West Indies — primarily Barbados and St. Kitts — where salties became part of the staple diet for slaves working sugar plantations.

The first on deck, Peter was joined soon by two other young men from Marblehead: his cousin Benjamin Nichols who at six foot-one was two full inches shorter than Peter but shared his cousin’s sandy hair, slim frame and handsome features, and Lyman Jenkins with a shock of black hair, who stood five foot ten in his rubber boots. Looming above them through the thinning mist, an aging brigantine had glided into the harbor and dropped her anchor a short distance from the Melville. The old ship lay inshore of their schooner, screening them from view of both the shore and other boats nearby.

A moment later, a crop of unkempt red hair showed itself above the combing of the schooner’s cabin, and Billy Lawrence, the fourth and at fifteen the youngest member of the schooner’s crew, stumbled on deck. Joining the others at the rail, he stared at the old ship and was first to sense something strange about the brigantine.

Don’t som’um seem kinda odd ta ya ’bout dot old ship? Billy asked of no one in particular. Could be she’s a West Indiaman, he added, answering his own question.

Peter Halsey grinned. Probably an old merchantman with a cargo of Jamaican rum, he replied. Everyone knew that rum, called by the coastal folks, West Indian Merchandise, carried an excessively high tax, and as such was often smuggled ashore among the rocky coves of some northern colonies. Occasionally even those most pious were known to add a drop or two to their evening tea to ward off the bitter cold of a long New England winter.

The mystery ship, swinging on her anchor chain into a freshening offshore breeze, slowly presented her stern to the Melville. The startled men on Peter’s schooner read the name carved across her high stern — a notorious fear-inspiring name — a name that recently had been in the news all along the coast of the northeastern colonies.

"Th’ Rebeckah! Billy Lawrence gasped, My God skipper, she bees th’ Rebeckah!"

They had all heard this name, an infamous ship of an equally infamous pirate, known now to be operating in New England and Canadian waters. Not since the capture and beheading of the melodramatic pirate Blackbeard in 1718, almost four years before off the barrier islands of North Carolina, had any pirate commanded such fear along the Atlantic coast as did the pirate captain of the brigantine Rebeckah.

Born Edward Lukas in 1681 of poor English parents on the Isle of Wight, he eventually wound up in Boston. In 1712 he married a girl from a respected Bostonian family. They had a daughter and shortly afterwards, both mother and daughter died in a fire. From that point life turned sour for Lukas. After losing his job, he signed on a ship as a logwood cutter and went to sea, bound for Roatán Island in the Bay of Honduras.

On the uninhibited island of Roatán in an apparent attempt to shoot his captain, Lukas shot and killed another man. Fearing for his life if brought to trial, Lukas, with twelve other disgruntled members of the crew, took over the ship and escaped to sea, where shortly afterwards he joined forces with the notorious pirate Captain George Lowther. In a short time, Edward Lukas was known as the infamous pirate Captain Ned, and developed an evil reputation for brutally slaughtering his captives and burning their vessels.

Captain Lowther found Lukas a hot-tempered man often difficult to control. On May 25, 1722, a little more than three weeks before the arrival of the brigantine in the harbor at Mohone Bay, Captain Lowther and Captain Lukas parted company. The latter took with him the aging brigantine Rebeckah and a small number of her pirate crew. In just a few weeks prior to his arrival in Nova Scotia, his name was known and feared by many, including members of his own crew. His reputation was of possessing a hair-trigger temper and being the most unpredictable, ruthless and downright cruelest of the many pirates operating in North Atlantic waters at that time. To the horror of the young crew of the fishing schooner Melville, here was that dreaded monster anchored beside their small vessel.

Hailing the Melville, a group of ragged men on the brigantine’s stern trained a swivel cannon as well as an assortment of small arms down on the startled fishermen. A battered longboat was lowered full of fierce-looking pirates bristling with pistols, pikes, cutlasses and knives of all shapes and sizes. To the young crew frozen with fear on deck of the smaller vessel, it seemed to take only seconds for the longboat to cover the short distance to the schooner, and bumping roughly along her starboard side, men swarmed onboard.

There was no doubt in the minds of either Peter Halsey or his crew that they were being seized by this fearsome mob of pirates. With vile curses and jeers, they professionally went about their business of tying the schooner’s frightened crew to the foremast and plundering the small vessel. Everything of value was cut loose and tossed into the longboat. The Melville’s four lightweight fishing dories neatly nested by twos on either side of the small vessel were loaded with all manner of loot and hoisted one-by-one up to the main deck of the ancient brigantine.

One pirate, somewhat darker than the rest, had long greasy-looking black hair. Wearing a broad-brimmed hat and bright green coat, he approached the Melville’s terrified crew. In an almost friendly voice, he inquired as to which among them would be the ship’s carpenter? Several of the crew, not daring to tell this ferocious-looking man that their small schooner had no carpenter, nervously glanced over at their skipper. The pirate, drew his cutlass from a leather loop fastened to his belt and putting the point an inch from Peter Halsey’s face, slowly twisted the sharp blade in the early morning light.

We could use us a good carpenter, we could, he said, displaying broken yellow teeth. Dat bees, he added, dramatically dropping his voice, lessen ya wants a taste o’your own ears.

This threat brought a wave of cold fear to each young man tied helplessly to the foremast. All had heard the gruesome stories drifting about the coastal villages. Captain Ned Lukas received special enjoyment by cutting off ears, lips or noses of many of his captives and frying them in salt and pepper. He would then force his bloody mutilated victims to eat their own body parts before having them beheaded. This last duty was awarded to his quartermaster, a fear-inspiring giant of a man named Mister Roger Quincy Farrington. On seeing the effect of his words on the faces of his young captives, the dark pirate untied Peter and demanded that he fetch his carpenter’s tool box that any sizable sailing vessel was known to have on board.

After they were out of earshot of the rest of the schooner’s crew, thinking that Peter was indeed the schooner’s carpenter, the pirate wasted no time in attempting to recruit his unhappy and badly frightened captive. He assured Peter that he would enjoy ‘signing on’ with Captain Lukas, exclaiming that as ship’s carpenter, life would be far more interesting and with far greater compensation, than slaving from sunup until sundown on the heaving deck of a cramped cod-schooner.

Badly shaken but nonetheless an astute young man, Peter realized that this pirate thought him Melville’s carpenter and not her skipper.

This was good, he thought. He had heard gory tales of what Ned Lukas and his murderous gang of pirates did to masters of vessels they captured. Peter, in his frantic state of mind, figured that he might seem far less important to the fearsome pirate captain as a humble fisherman-carpenter rather than a schooner’s skipper, that just maybe his life might be spared.

Peter volunteered a tale that his own captain had become ill and had gone ashore the evening before. He prayed to be believed. Somehow he had to get word of his deception to his crew before one of them pointed him out as their skipper.

A few days before, Captain Lukas had lost his ship’s carpenter in taking an English merchantman off the coast of Maine. Short-handed since his break with Captain Lowther, a young able-bodied carpenter with seafaring experience was far more valuable to a pirate captain’s recruitment plans than a dozen schooner skippers. This would prove to be Peter Halsey’s first stroke of blind luck among many to come in his dealings with the pirates.

The pirate, holding the point of his cutlass between Peter’s shoulder blades, prodded the young man forward. Trying not to aggravate him, Peter pointed out the schooner’s heavy wooden tool chest secured to a bulkhead beneath a short flight of steps that led to the galley. The pirate ordered two of his men to bring this large box on deck to be transferred to the longboat while Peter, his hands tied behind his back and fastened to the port side, was too far away from his fellow prisoners to get them word of his planned deception.

The surprise capture of the fishing schooner and her young crew of four had taken less than a half an hour. Not a shot had been fired nor as yet, had a drop of blood been spilt. At a shouted command from the stern-rail of the brigantine looming above, the pirates — with vicious kicks and curses — untied the captured fishermen from their plundered little schooner and tossed them roughly into the cluttered longboat.

2

The brigantine

Once onboard the rebeckah the captives were brought one by one before Captain Lukas who briefly, but with surprising politeness, questioned each man separately. Last to be questioned, and not knowing what the others had been asked or what information they may have volunteered, Peter told the pirate captain only his name, and that he had been a fisherman since the age of fourteen. Standing nearby his captain, the dark pirate in the green coat bent over and whispered something into Lukas’s ear. The captain smiled, but the smile quickly turned into a dark frown. He abruptly stood and taking a pistol from among several thrust in his belt. He cocked it and glared at his frightened captive.

I am Captain Ned Lukas, he bellowed. Perhaps you have heard of what happens to men who try to hide the truth from me. I will ask you one time and one time only. Are you, or are you not, a ship’s carpenter by trade?

His legs quaking, Peter, in as steady a voice as he could muster, replied that it was true that, when needed, he sometimes acted as the schooner’s carpenter. In an attempt to downplay his importance, and hopefully to make his reply sound as truthful as possible he added, But I am not a carpenter by trade.

This reply seemed acceptable. Nodding to the now broadly grinning pirate, Captain Lukas un-cocked and tucked his pistol back into his belt. The four men had been questioned separately, but had been told absolutely nothing concerning the fate awaiting them. All — with their arms still tied behind their backs — were roughly tossed some six feet down into the dark foul-smelling forward hold of the brigantine, the fall causing them all much pain.

For more than an hour the frightened fishermen were left alone to worry in the dark hold while the pirates held a meeting topside to decide what they would do with them, and whether or not to raid other vessels in the harbor. Captain Lukas needed a new vessel. The Rebeckah, now slow and becoming less seaworthy with a thick coating of barnacles on her bottom, had seen better days. After a short deliberation, the basically lazy pirate crew voted to capture another ship rather than make repairs on the old brigantine.

From among the unsuspecting fishing vessels quietly riding at their anchors nearby, Lukas selected a large Marblehead schooner that appeared to be relatively new. Her name was Susannah. She was eighty-five feet in length compared to the Brigantine’s seventy. From the looks of her graceful lines, the large schooner was probably a fast sailing vessel. In his mind — even before taking possession of the schooner — Lukas had changed her name to Fancy. After the quick vote to seize the vessel, the brigantine’s longboat pulled alongside the sleek schooner. As was the plan, the capture happened without firing a shot or alerting anyone in the village or aboard the other vessels. Quietly towing her alongside the brigantine with their longboat, the pirates began transferring some of the cannons, shot, and powder from their old vessel to the new prize. Lukas at once decided that he would make Farrington — his fearsome and trusted quartermaster — the new master of the brigantine Rebeckah.

With the large schooner rapidly being refitted, the pirate captain and several of his officers brought the young captives back up on deck, including two from the hapless Susannah. One was a boy of about twelve or thirteen, and the other the vessels’ watchman, an elderly Portuguese who had injured his leg attempting to jump overboard. Quietly at first, the pirate captain began trying to persuade each of the six captives that it would be to their ‘utmost advantage’ to ‘volunteer’ their services and sign on as pirates.

Shorthanded since parting company from Captain Lowther and having lost others besides his carpenter in the recent battle for the English merchantman, Captain Lukas was desperately short of men. He was especially anxious to recruit young men who were experienced, able-bodied seamen. With a mixture of persuasion and dire threats for their lives, he attempted to convince each captive that ‘going on the account’ was far more exciting and rewarding than wasting their young lives engaged in the low-paying hard labor aboard a cod schooner in the cold waters of Newfoundland’s Grand Banks.

Finally, after more than an hour with no success, all six of the anxious prisoners were brought before the captain at the same time. They were assembled at arm’s length from one another in a ragged semicircle facing the now enraged Captain Lukas. The pirate crew, most of them filthy and dressed in rags, eagerly crowded around to watch. They perched on the cabin roof, or dangled from the rigging. With much clamor while punching each other and grinning, they eagerly anticipated a bit of amusement.

Standing beside Captain Lukas was the fearsome ex-quartermaster, the Captain’s enforcer who kept order among the lawless crew of misfits. On Lukas’ other side stood the now solemn pirate in the green coat. In a gruff voice, Captain Lukas asked if there was a man among the captives who was married. All, thinking the question some sort of a trick, were afraid to answer. When no one spoke or raised their hand, the captain’s face flushed and he frowned. He bellowed in a loud, harsh voice that startled the captives, demanding which among them refused to sign and go on the account as one of his ship’s company.

It was well known that all pirates maintained an Account, a written set of rules or laws known as The Articles, by which the lawless governed themselves. The signing of which was known as ‘Going on the Account’. Once signed, a man was considered a pirate and an international outlaw forever unless pardoned by an Act of Grace from a higher authority, such as a governor of one of the colonies or, as in the well-known case of Sir Henry Morgan — the famous Welsh pirate — by the King himself.

It was the exciting but precarious life of a pirate that was being offered to the six frightened captives, standing in a semicircle before the cruel and now quite furious Captain Ned Lukas. When asked again who among them was not willing to sign on, they all hesitated. But then, following Peter Halsey, one by one they all raised their hands in quiet refusal.

Next came much pandemonium, with loud threats, curses, and promises of violent death. None among the six fearful men noticed that Farrington, the huge ex-quartermaster had stepped behind the line of terrified prisoners. Captain Lukas, now in a much lower and menacing voice, asked once more, which among them dared refuse his kind offer of hospitality. Again, after a few hesitating moments, all of the prisoners slowly raised their hands.

Excitement surged through the now eager pirate crowd. After the last captive had dropped his hand, Captain Lukas, his sullen face flushed with anger, nodded. A surge of raw energy crackled through the motley mob of spectators and they roared in glee. Suddenly there was a sharp ‘thunk’, sounding to Peter like the violent but muffled crack of a bullwhip. Immediately he was sprayed with something hot, and experienced the gruesome sight of a man’s head rolling across the blood-splattered deck at his feet.

3

At Sea

23 June, 1722

One by one, the captives painfully regained consciousness in the dark forward hold of the old brigantine. Immediately after the brutal execution on deck, the remaining five including the boy, were pounced upon and savagely beaten at the hands of Mister Farrington and a number of his favored thugs. With the prisoners unconscious and thus non-responsive, the pirates threw them back down into the rat-infested hold. A heavy wooden grate was secured across the hatchway above their heads.

It was the light of midday filtering through the wooden grate that awakened Peter — immediately followed by intense pain and the alarming awareness of a familiar motion that told him the ship was underway. His heart sank. To be carried off by pirates was a death sentence. Whether or not he signed and went on the account, made no difference now. It was the early 1700s. A harsh and bitter fact was that if he or any of the others were ever found in the company of pirates, they would be considered guilty by association. No one would believe their claim to have been brutally beaten and carried off against their wills — a claim every pirate made on his way to the gallows.

For many years there had been a major effort by the British, as well as the French, to rid the high seas of the ruthless sea rovers and their menace to shipping. Naval warships of many nations were combing the seas around the world, actively searching for pirates like Captain Lukas. It was a cruel and lawless time. Peter knew that if captured and considered a pirate, no naval vessel would bother to take out time to haul him into some port for trial. He and the others — pirates and innocents alike — would be swiftly tried at sea and found guilty, and just as quickly hanged high from a yardarm to twist in the wind. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that his own hanging on board a naval vessel would seem to all hands part of a good days work. The Captain, feeling good about having rid the high seas of yet more pirate scum, would note the brief trials and executions in his log, and the warship would continue on her mission to search and destroy.

The dark hold strongly smelled of urine and vomit. Peter’s throbbing head hurt badly. His arm had been twisted behind his back while the pirates viciously beat him. When he moved there was a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He straightened his legs and tried to stand. A quick searing pain flashed through his right side. He knew there must be broken ribs, but he did not seem to have any cuts.

Thank God, they had not used their knives, he thought.

Peter could remember the grinning face of the pirate in the green coat. He wondered if he was still alive only because the man considered him the ship’s new carpenter. He could remember little else, other than the man’s thin dark face seemingly at a distance, as if he personally had not been involved in the savage beating. He remembered vile slurs and curses hurled at him by others as vicious kicks and brutal blows rained down.

Somewhere nearby in the semi-darkness — amidst the clutter of boxes, barrels, rolls of canvas, and coils of heavy manila line — Peter could hear what he thought was the young boy from the Susannah crying. The sound came in ragged sobs from behind a huge coil of line. Another man draped across the coil had landed there when tossed unconscious from the deck above. The man, his bloodied face turned partly away, was not moving and Peter feared he was dead.

Easing his pain-racked body into a sitting position and reaching up with difficulty, Peter turned the man’s face toward him. It was his cousin, Ben Nichols. The young man’s eyes fluttered open when Peter called his name, but he closed them again and with blood oozing from between his puffy lips, he drifted back into unconsciousness. Peter straightened his cousin’s arm that had been twisted under his body, and trying to make him more comfortable, slowly eased him down to the wooden deck.

Skipper?

Peter turned at the sound of the raspy whisper. It was Billy Lawrence, the youngest of the Melville’s crew. Very little light filtered through the hatched grate; in the gloom Peter could barely see. He spotted the younger man, sitting on the deck and leaning against a wooden crate that was chained to the deck to prevent shifting in heavy seas. In much pain, Peter crawled over to Billy, who quickly wiped his battered face to hide the fact that he had been crying. He tried to smile. Peter examined him as best he could; touching his side Billy cried out in pain. He too had broken ribs. He could barely bend his fingers, and Peter thought he might also have a broken left wrist. Peter made his friend as comfortable as he could and then slowly crawled toward the young boy.

The boy was sitting upright, intensely sobbing, with his head on his arms. Peter suddenly realized that he did not know who had been beheaded on the deck above. He had not even thought of the brutal execution since he had regained consciousness. Had the shock of seeing a bloody human head rolling across the deck temporarily blocked not just his memory of the ruthless murder, but the identify of the victim as well? In the gloomy darkness of the hold Peter became aware that he had not yet seen Lyman Jenkins, the third member of his crew, nor the elderly Portuguese watchman.

For the moment, he pushed away the fear that the murdered man may have been his friend from home, and continued his slow painful crawl toward the crying boy. Thinking that touching the boy might badly frighten him, Peter called out when he was a few feet away. The youngster’s sobbing ceased; he raised his head from his arms. A battered face stared at Peter through the gloom.

Closer examination revealed that most of the damage done had been to the boy’s head: eyes swollen almost shut, one ear badly torn. His bloody lips were cut through in several places, probably by his own teeth. The youngster did not speak much English, but from their brief conversation it became clear that the boy, like the watchman, was also Portuguese, and that the elderly man was his grandfather.

When Peter tried to see if the boy could stand he discovered a dark bruise on the youngster’s right hip from either being viciously kicked or from being thrown into the hold. He could not put any weight on that leg. Peter told the boy to stay where he was and rest, and promised to return to him soon. As he crawled away, he could hear the ragged sobbing begin again.

Crawling on his hands and knees, Peter searched the dark hold. His breath came fast at not finding anyone else. He saw a shoeless foot sticking out from behind a large wooden barrel in a dark corner of the cluttered space. Crawling as fast as his pain would allow, he felt a flood of relief when he saw the bloodied face of his friend, Lyman Jenkins. The solace from finding the last member of his crew alive vanished when he realized why the sobbing youngster had seemed so inconsolable. The boy’s grandfather was dead.

4

Newfoundland

After two weeks at sea Captain Lukas’ two pirate vessels and a recently seized smaller sloop, put into an anchorage along the rugged eastern coast of Newfoundland. It was a forlorn and isolated place known as Voisey Bay, with numerous rocky outcrops and small treeless islands. Here Captain Lukas intended to finish the refitting of the large schooner as his new flagship, and transfer himself into her as the Commodore of his growing fleet. In a rare mood of compassion he also planned to use the smaller sloop to rid himself of the captives still alive that he thought unfit for service aboard his ships by allowing them to go free.

On leaving Nova Scotia, a wizened elderly Scotsman by the name of Tim McFarland, the brigantine’s ‘doctor,’ was sent down daily into the ship’s hold. He bathed and tended to the wounds of the Melville’s crew and those of the young boy from the schooner Captain Lukas had renamed Fancy. The old Scotsman was not a real doctor. He had tended to the sheep of a rich Laird who owned much land in the northern highlands of Scotland, caring for the health of the animals on a huge estate called Metawin.

The old sheep doctor had been captured by Captain Lowther almost two years before when Lowther had sent a raiding party into the Scottish coastal village of Montrose on the North Sea. The purpose of the raid had been to acquire a medical chest for the pirate ship and a doctor to go along with it — the previous doctor having died of complications resulting from a combination of consumption and bad rum. The closest thing to a physician in the village at the time was old McFarland, there to pick up a prize ram for his master’s stables at Metawin, some forty-odd miles inland. Fearing for their lives, the old Scotsman had been pointed out to the pirates by the terrified villagers as, "A mon wot bees good a’ doctoring." That had been enough for Lowther’s chief gunner, an angry pirate named John Russell and leader of the raiding party. Tim McFarland, grabbed and then whisked on board the pirate vessel became the ship’s new doctor. A year later he had been one of the crew along with John Russell, to agree to go with Captain Ned Lukas aboard the brigantine when the two pirate captains parted company.

Me thinks dot de lad soon be off-loaded, the old Scotsman said, grinning through his white beard and referring to Billy Lawrence, while he washed an ulcerated sore over Peter’s rib cage with salt water and vinegar. Tis de lad’s wrist mon, the Scotsman continued, frowning at a slow-to-heal place on Peter’s side. "Dot young lad’s wrist bees broken fo’ sho, and t’ain’t nerry a ’ting I can do wif it. He ain’t no use ta Captain Lukas aboard dis ship. Since he bees given quarter wif all de rest o’ya, de onliest ting left ta do wif ’im is ta off-load ’im here in this goddom place wif de others dey wants ta be rid of."

Several days after the beheading, the pirate in the green coat — whose name was Mister Dancy — came down into the hold with two rough-looking men armed with cutlasses. He took Peter aside to warn him to be very careful how he and the others replied to any questions from either Captain Ned Lukas or his quartermaster, Mister Farrington. In the gloom the pirate leaned his thin face close to Peter and whispered, The captain bees mean-minded, merciless, and totally unpredictable. He wanted ya all beheaded the day after ya refused to sign on to sail with him. But, he added, Farrington no able ta do dis ’cause de company done voted else wise." He explained that all the pirates had, for their own protection against their brutal captain and his bloody quartermaster, voted to enforce the Articles. These Articles, signed by all seamen and officers, if broken for any reason would put every man among them in mortal danger.

Mister Dancy, lowering his voice, whispered, "It bees clearly laid-out in dem Articles dot every mon signed and under which we all sails, dot once a mon bees given Quarter, dot mon got rights protecting ’im from abuse from all hands. In your favor, he added, cording ta de company’s Articles — drawn up originally by Captain Lukas his own self — it bees clearly stated dot no harm gonna come ’ta enney mon, woman or child wot’s been taken prisoner and survives for twenty-four hours, and after dot amount of time passes dey bees automatically granted Quarter." He explained to the Melville’s attentive skipper how the ship’s company had reasoned among themselves that by not killing his captives within the critical twenty-four hours, Captain Lukas had lost his chance, and thus had intentionally or not, granted Quarter to them all, including the Portuguese lad.

There was one exception in the articles agreed upon by the entire company, Mr. Dancy explained. If any prisoner given quarter, and bees knowingly surly or disrespectful ta an officer, he could be dealt with at anytime as that offended officer felt justified, "wif’out a vote from de company. Mister Dancy grinned at Peter and whispered, And Mister Carpenter, dot could include any’ting a’tall, mon, from cutting out de tongue of de offending prisoner, ta de taking of de mon’s life. He looked around him in the dark hold and dropping his voice so that only Peter could hear him, Me tinks dot ye especially, had best stay outta sight as much as ya can, mon. And above all else, he added, keep a courtly tongue in ya head. Dot is iffen ye wants ta keep dot head."

Later that evening, when the old brigantine was riding at anchor and most of the pirate crew was swinging in their hammocks asleep, Peter called a hushed meeting of the four other prisoners in the hold. In the creaking darkness he told them what Doc McFarland had said about Billy being sent ashore, and of the dire warning issued later by the pirate, Mister Dancy. They discussed the pirates’ code of honor set down in their Articles. In spite of Ned Lukas’s manic wishes, they realized they had been forgotten down in the dark hold for that crucial twenty-four hour period, and now were protected from death at the hands of their vicious capturers according to the pirates’ own Articles.

Peter pointed out that Billy’s injuries made him useless to the pirate company, how Doc had said Billy’s likely release could be good news for them all. Billy might be able to make his way south to Marblehead, and inform everyone what had happened to the Melville and her crew. Hopefully, this information would somehow reach the hands of the British naval forces and the Captains of naval vessels actively on patrol against pirates. If such ships had their names onboard as unwilling prisoners of the pirate Ned Lukas, there may be a chance that this information could serve in their behalf if they were someday captured.

As he looked about in the dim light at the gaunt, drawn faces of his friends, Peter thought his news might not seem like much. However, it was all they had and he hoped it might possibly offer them a sliver of hope. Maybe it would help take their minds off their painful injuries and from their miserable situation as helpless prisoners of a bloodthirsty pirate.

5

En route to West Africa

For well over a month, the crew of the fishing schooner Melville and the young Portuguese boy had been confined below deck in the Rebeckah’s dark hold. What food they received and the daily removal of their waste buckets was the duty of the old Scotsman and his aide. The prisoners, recovering from their savage beatings, were anxious to get topside where — unlike the thick foul stuff they were forced to breathe below — the air would be fresh and clean. There would be the twin joys of bright sunshine occasionally mixed with a cool refreshing rain. Bound for the West African coast, the pirate ships were sailing south into the torrid equatorial tropics. Adding to the prisoners’ misery, the intense heat in the brigantine’s hold increased daily.

Since leaving Nova Scotia, four ships had fallen prey to Captain Lukas and his pirates. Lukas had burned three of them, murdering most of the captives and making prisoners of the rest. The fourth ship, a leaky sloop named Margaret, had been spared. Lukas intended to use her as a prison ship for those captives he had not slaughtered outright and for one reason or another, had not become members of his pirate company. Should a British Man-of-War appear, Lucas planned to use the slower prison ship as a decoy while the remainder of his fleet scattered and fled. Should this happen, there existed standing orders that they should all attempt to rendezvous at the uninhabited island of Roatán in the Bay of Honduras — the same island where Lukas’ career as a pirate began. All this hinged on the other vessels finding their way, as not one man could navigate other than Lucas himself.

The planned release of the prisoners did not materialize. An argument that started in Newfoundland resulted in tension between Captain Lukas and the chief gunner John Russell — now quartermaster since Farrington’s promotion to captain of the brigantine. Consequently, the unstable Captain Lukas forgot about his plans to release the prisoners.

John Russell, considered by many of the pirate crew to be even more unpredictable and hot tempered than Captain Lukas, had led a four-man raiding party ashore to a settlement on one of the isolated rocky and treeless islands. His goal was to acquire as many casks or barrels and buckets as he could find that could hold fresh water.

On shore Russell had become furious with the village cooper — an elderly man with a withered and useless arm — when the old man refused to help Russell confiscate all the village’s containers and load them into the pirates’ longboat. Enraged, Russell ordered the village cooper held down on the rough cobbled beach by two of his landing party, while with his cutlass he chopped off the screaming man’s remaining good hand.

God done taken one o’ your dom hands, ha, and Jack Russell done took t’other! The quartermaster laughed, and then going berserk and on a rampage, ordered the burning of every house and shed and the destruction of all cisterns on the island. He then towed the villagers’ only boat well offshore where he himself furiously chopped her full of holes until she sank.

Ha! he said with a dark frown as his men rowed the longboat back to the pirate ships. Let’s see how long dem bosturds gonna manage de coming winter wif neither water nor shelter o’anykind and wif no way ta get off dot goddom stinking island. Why, mon, dey won’t last a month wif nerry a stick o’ wood left ta keep ’em warm dot ain’t already been burnt. Dey’ll be eating each other! Russell laughed again, spat overboard and looking back at the island added, In a fortnight or two, snows gonna be covering all dem goddom rocks.

That evening, in the hold of the old brigantine, the day’s sad events had been related to the prisoners in a hushed voice by Tim McFarland. His young patients looked forward to his daily visits. They called the old man, as did the members of the pirate crew, ‘Doc’. He was the only person on board who treated them with any measure of humanity, except for Mister Dancy, who now and then seemed to go out of his way to appear concerned for their welfare. Yet somehow, Peter felt that the pirate’s kind behavior hid something sinister, so he cautioned the others to be careful what they said when Mister Dancy paid one of his unexpected visits.

It was on a hot morning in late August, right after landfall at the Cape Verde Islands, some 320 miles off the West African coast, when Mister Dancy made such a visit. Appearing in the muggy oven-like hold with two armed men carrying leg irons and chains, he grinned at the now thin and deplorable-looking young captives. Sitting himself on a coil of manila line, he announced that he had arranged for them to be allowed on deck while Captain Lukas and Farrington went ashore to pay a ‘surprise visit’ to the Portuguese Commandant of the islands.

Earlier, at the island of São Miguel in the Azores, the pirates had captured two Portuguese vessels and burned them both after looting them of flour and other food stuffs. Lukas seemed to forget his mysterious hatred for all things Portuguese and allowed the crews to take to their small boats and set off for the safety of the nearby islands. The Portuguese cook however, was not so lucky. Russell had made the comment, Dat fat cook looks like he’d make a nice, hot fire. He’d fry all de way ta’ hell in all dot fat. Laughing, Captain Lukas had agreed, and ordered the hapless cook stripped naked and tied to the ship’s mast. Combustibles were stacked around the frightened cook who was pleading for his life, praying to the saints as Lukas had a young pirate pour lamp oil on the debris stacked against the man. Then Captain Lukas, holding a burning cannon-match above his head and twisting it for all his howling men to see, slowly and dramatically bent over and set the man afire.

Once the horrible screams from the burning man could no longer be heard, and the small ship had burned almost to the waterline, Lukas ordered her sunk by cannon fire. He then formally announced what was already known to all, that he had declared himself ‘Commodore’, and made the schooner Fancy his growing fleet’s new flagship. He earlier had promoted Mister Farrington to be the new master of the brigantine Rebeckah. Consequently it was Captain Farrington who had granted Mister Dancy permission to allow the five prisoners — still onboard the old brigantine and all but forgotten by Captain Lukas — to come topside for fresh air and exercise. In an expansive mood, Captain Farrington further suggested that Dancy find them suitable clothing to replace their smelly tattered rags. However, shaking a thick finger in Dancy’s face Farrington warned, "On th’ price o’ your goddom head, mon, are ya ta allow any prisoners ashore."

Given the huge man’s often-demonstrated fondness for decapitation, the warning had not been lost on Mister Dancy who, as a precaution, had the captives shackled in pairs with leg irons while still in the ship’s hold. Being five prisoners in all, Dancy paired himself off with Peter, having the latter’s leg irons shackled to a lighter chain secured around the pirate’s waist.

Th’ better ta keep up wif ya, me young friend, Dancy had said, giving a sharp tug on the chain, causing the iron shackle to bite painfully into Peter’s bare ankle.

The fresh air was wonderful. Each man, smiling and stretching, breathed as deeply as he could. Chained together they awkwardly shambled along the now motionless deck of the anchored ship. The bright morning light hurt their eyes; the warm tropical sun made their pale skin tingle. Their first time in the tropics, they laughed and looked about at the sparkling sea and the island’s lush green flora that tumbled down to the white sand beach.

Two pirate longboats were pulled up on shore with a man with a musket left as guard while the others had fanned out and were cautiously moving inland. Captain Lukas and Captain Farrington were in the lead, pistols drawn, cutlasses in hand, taking a finger-coral footpath that led from the beach toward a small cluster of red roofs barely visible above tangled green bush.

On board the brigantine, Mister Dancy gave the order to bring up the slop chests, where extra clothing and other articles were kept available for needy members of the ship’s company. The men assigned the task loudly protested that it would be easier for the prisoners to be taken down where the clothing was stored than it would be to carry the heavy iron-bound chests up on deck. Dancy put his hand on the brass hilt of one of the twin pistols in the sash around his waist. Flashing his usual grin, while directing his reply toward the most vocal of the scruffy protestors, he announced that the disgruntled seamen were to consider his ‘request’ as if it were a direct order from Captain Farrington himself. That was all it took to encourage the grumbling men to descend into the torrid and fetid bowels of the old ship for the chests.

Two large heavy brass-bound chests were brought on deck by four panting sweat-drenched seamen. Their bodies glistened in the morning sun as they lowered the chests to the wooden deck where Mr. Dancy had ordered a piece of canvas rigged for shade. The pirate quickly unlocked both chests with keys from a large brass ring. He had long ago abandoned the green coat he had been wearing when Peter first saw him leap over the railing of their schooner in Nova Scotia. With the tip of his cutlass, he fished around in the chests; lifting a bright yellow blouse, he held it up for inspection. Seemingly pleased, he then draped the colorful garment over his left arm and continued his search through the various odds and ends of clothing until he found a pair of knee-length white trousers with eyelets and laces at the knees. After a bit more rummaging about, he found a length of cotton sash for a belt. This he held up with the tip his cutlass, twisted it about, grinned and then draped it over his arm as well.

With an exaggerated and flamboyant flick of his cutlass, Mister Dancy stepped back and indicated that it was Peter’s turn at the chest. One by one, after Peter had found a suitable pair of trousers and a singlet, each of the dirty and emaciated prisoners selected a shirt or blouse and a pair of trousers. It took awhile for the young boy to find something that would fit him, but with the patient help of Mr. Dancy, he eventually did. The pirate ordered the prisoners to strip. With a bit of green soap — while several seamen poured buckets of salt water over their heads — the prisoners washed themselves under the both amused and horrified gaze of the pirate crew.

Afterwards, when Peter had thought about this, he considered it strange that Mr. Dancy had ordered them to bathe, especially since so many of the pirates on board the old brigantine were themselves filthy and in rags. In spite of fleeting questions that flashed through his mind of the dangers to one’s health from bathing however, Peter, like the other captives, was grateful to Mister Dancy. Indeed, in their present state of helplessness, the pirate seemed to them to be both benevolent and all-powerful.

6

Cape Verde Islands

The prisoners, washed and dressed in the garments selected from the slop chests, wandered about the deck enjoying their new freedom until, in their weakened conditions, they were exhausted. Pair by pair, they returned back to where the chests were on the deck and sat down in the shade. A short distance away, and out of earshot of the others, Peter was pulled aside by Mister Dancy.

Me tinks it best dot we talks a bit before Captain Farrington and de others return, Dancy said to the young man tethered to him by the half-fathom of chain, and added, Dere bees a lot ye needs ta know ’bout ya situation, mon, dere bees a lot we needs ta discuss.

Peter looked at the pirate. He didn’t trust Mister Dancy, and felt revulsion at being chained so close to the man, but he was curious. Why are you being so kind to us? You’re the only important person aboard this ship with any concern for our welfare. Why? What do you hope to gain?

Dancy grinned. He looked back over his shoulder at the rest of the Melville’s crew and, tugging at the chain, urged Peter a few feet farther along the rail. Ye needs not worry ’bout your friends, Dancy said. "De word bees dot Captain Lukas plans ta cut de