On the southern tip of Florida stands a beautiful lighthouse. It and its grounds have been perfectly preserved. On the grounds is a painting that depicts a dense fog upon the water. If you look closely, you can see the Queen Anne's Revenge within it.
I am read up on the many, ghostly visits of both Teach and the Anne. Now that they have found the great, fighting ship, I thought it fitting that Teach just might not like it. So . . . just what would he do???
Set in modern times at Beaufort Inlet, North Carolina, a young reporter soon gets more of a story than he bargained for. Using the real names of his last crew, those who brought Blackbeard back to the sea, and the ones who finally brought him to his end, I wrote 'The Ghost of Queen Anne's Revenge'.
ISBN # 13: 978-1-937035-65-5
The Ghost of Queen Anne’s Revenge (excerpt)
M. R. Williamson
Around and around there came the sound
of sails popping in the wind.
The Queen Anne she swayed, on her right side she laid,
and swung around us again.
The reaction of those, who stood without prose
could be read on each and every brow.
For Teach they knew well, so as far as they could tell,
not one could save them now. . .
In the wee hours of the morning, Lester Magness lay in his motel room fast asleep. Outside, Beaufort was just waking up. The North Carolina city had just recently gained national notoriety because of a discovery which had lay dormant for over two hundred and fifty years on the bottom of Beaufort Inlet. Now, divers based in Fort Fisher were planning to bring up artifacts from the most famous pirate ship that ever sailed salty waters—The Queen Anne’s Revenge. Lester, getting word of the North Carolina Underwater Archaeological endeavor, had planned to be there when the first artifact from the Queen Anne’s was brought up. Now, all but comatose in his warm, hotel bed in Beaufort, the young writer for Life Magazine was disturbed by an echoing, ships bell.
*Much too early to get up.*
Lester rolled toward the window, but the bright lights of the hotel walkway were no help at all. Rolling back toward the center of the room, the echoing sound came again—this time it seemed much closer. Pushing up to his right elbow, he looked at the radio clock on the night stand. It glowed 4:00 A M.
*Got to have more than six hours.*
Flopping back to his pillow, he pulled the covers over his head.
“Come, laddie. Mornin’s waistin’.” The strange voice sounded as if it was spoken right into his left ear.
“What!” Lester swung his left hand out toward the intruder, freeing himself of the cover at the same time. But he didn’t feel or see anything at all.
Back on his elbow, he looked about the room again. Everything was as quiet as a grave, and just about as dark. Lester reached behind him and tugged at the curtains. Now, a bit brighter, he looked about the room once more, but saw not a thing. He was just about to lay back down when his eyes focused on the far corner. The heavy, padded chair that was there when he went to bed was gone, or at least it was so dark in that part of the room he couldn’t see it.
“That’s right, laddie. You’re not imaginin’ things,” the voice spoke again. It was a bit gruff, and the tone of it sounded as if it came from one not used to being ignored.
Like a child, Lester snatched the covers to his chest and looked into the darkness where the chair should be. “Who are you?” he managed weakly.
“Let me ship be, laddie. You tell ‘em ta let me ship be.”
“Who are you?” shouted Lester, hoping someone outside, or at least next door, would hear him.
“All in good time, laddie. I’ll be sendin’ my man, Caesar to fetch you. Meanwhile, you go and tell ‘em to let me ship be or I’ll throw ‘em to the fishies.”
“Throw who?” asked Lester, equally as loud.
A low, maniacal laughter and the scent of nutmeg were as discomforting as the vision now presenting itself in the corner of the room. A face at first, but it was all but hidden by a four-part, platted black beard. Floating in the darkness with a brown, wide-eyed stare, it looked both stern, yet curiously interested. As the apparition turned from him, the vision lightened that corner of the room. Lester could hear the hardwood heels of his boots pound the wooden wharf as he walked away. Dressed in a long, heavy-looking brown coat, his baggy, brown pants were stuffed into the tops of his calf-high, black boots. Lester leaned a bit forward, not only noticing his three-cornered hat, but also the huge sword which was swung low just below his left hip. The vision then faded, leaving the padded chair in the corner where it should have been all the time.
With a deep breath, Lester all but tackled the lamp on the nightstand and finally found the on button. Quickly checking the bathroom and closet, he found himself, once again, all alone.