The Real Men Behind the Myths.

What followed was effortless capture of ship after unsuspecting ship, as each sailed into the harbor at Sierra Leone, not knowing that the fort was now under pirate control. Levasseur took a new ship for himself, while Howel and Cocklyn careened and cleaned theirs. They captured thirteen ships over two months.

Those were a dark two months, as little by little Levasseur and Cocklyn revealed themselves to be the savage brutes I feared they were, and Howel Davis found himself virtually alone, trying to protect the captives of the prizes they caught.  Read more...

I gasped. “Sam! Holy shit! Sam!” I tried to stand, but the rocking of the boat knocked me back onto my rear.

Sam laughed. “Stay seated, silly woman,” he said. “Lest you end up as a meal for the sharks.”

Sam. My last image of him was on Barbados as he was led, naked and shackled, by his new master off the wharf and into an open cart with the other slaves, bound for some sugar cane plantation. Despite his injuries at the hands of the slavers, he’d been straight-backed and fearless, bringing tears to my eyes as I’d prayed for him silently. Now he stood before me, a free man, or as free as an African could be in the white man’s world, dressed in a calico shirt, petticoat breeches, a kerchief about his neck, and a brace of pistols slung across his chest. I felt myself choke up.  Read more...

I could hear the laughter of the four pirates manning the cannon aboard the King James as they prepared to fire it again, swabbing out the muzzle and packing in a charge of gunpowder. The ship and fort, now under pirate control, were taking turns firing salutes to each other as the loot was brought aboard the vessel.  Read more...

I was so nervous I thought I might faint as I watched the men load the bottles of wine and rum onto the dinghy. Then it was time to climb into the boat, and Howel hopped deftly from the waist, looking up at me and holding his hand out to me solemnly. In the twilight, Howel’s face was dark and his eyes bright, framed by a serious brow. As I struggled to get down in my skirts, he lifted me easily and set me down in the boat, against him. “Let’s be off,” he said, indicating stiffly that I should sit.  Read more...

James Island, where the fort was located, was spotted by a lookout well after Howel had put his plan into motion. The King James was once again a harmless English trader, flying all the appropriate flags and the majority of the pirates below deck. Several plainly-dressed hands manned the deck, and Howel, Walter and Thomas stood at the guard rail on the quarterdeck, dressed as gentlemen, visible to anyone looking through a spyglass at the ship. Howel had made it clear he preferred that I make myself scarce during the approach, and I had grudgingly taken to the cabin and peered from the stern windows as the King James slowly cruised near the fort, which the pirates called Gambia Castle.  Read more...

*Ah! Bene, Debafield, Katem — you guys rock! For you guys, a day early…*

I covered my face, wondering what sort of fate awaited the Loyal Merchant’s first mate at Howel Davis’s hands. To my surprise, Howel did nothing more than force the man to join his crew.

With brisk efficiency, he ordered that his new ship be “fitted for the piratical account.” He and his men knocked down most bulkheads, or partitions, and cut additional gun ports into the hull of the ship, so that more guns and men could be accommodated in the lower deck. He said to Walter, “We’ll not flush her fore and aft, because then she’ll look too much like a warship and not enough like a merchantman.” He smiled. “We must continue the ruse.”  Read more...

So I am having a bit of writer’s block. It’s not that I don’t know where my story is going, it’s that I am having trouble finding the right words to tell it. If writers these days still used typewriters, I would have a waste basket overflowing with crumpled paper. And I would be a haggard mess, cradling my head in my hands and muttering expletives. Wait — the last bit is true anyhow. *Sheepish grin.*

Anyways, I need some encouragement. Just a bit of ass-kissing.

Thanks, guys. I love you.

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It was time to go.

“Me men are getting soft,” Howel said to me, chuckling to himself after a final audience with Governor Agostinho. “I must remind them of what they are, lest they get too used to this easy life.”

The Buck set sail, despite its loss of five men, who had fallen in love with the island — as well as its women — and chosen to settle there. With some fifty men crammed into his fast little sloop, Howel set his sights on Maio, also among the Cape Verde Islands. “We ain’t pretending to be gentlemen this time around, Sabrina,” he told me. “Dress in your boy’s clothes and keep to the cabin.”  Read more...

*Bene — for you. And in honor of the Saints’ win. *

And tarry away we did — for a few weeks, in fact. Governor Agostinho lavished Howel and his crew with everything they could want, mainly wine, women, and good food. The crew of the Buck was welcome into the town, and the merchants happily traded their goods for the French cargo Howel had, unbeknownst to them, plundered in the Caribbean. Perhaps a few of the savvy among them wondered at Captain Charles Reed’s true identity — he and his men were quite the band of revelers — but said nothing, for the cargo he bore was valuable to them, and they paid in gold and silver.  Read more...

My eyes fluttered open, and I watched, my vision still hazy with sleep, as a naked Howel Davis picked up his clothes from the floor, his hair in tangles about his face. God, but he was well-made. So many men I’d known in my time who went to the gym every day, relentlessly, and never achieved a body like his. Something to be said for spending most your life as a sailor — and a pirate — in the days when life aboard a ship was difficult, dangerous.  Read more...