1
The Graveyard of the Atlantic
October 1996
“A strong, salty breeze rippled through the sails of the “Adventure. Some of Blackbeard’s crew thought it was a bad omen, as the sea was otherwise calm.” I pretend to read from an old, worn leather journal that belonged to my grandfather, Cornelius Franklin Dare, the famous treasure hunter. Well, famous, at least, to my family.
We’re all gathered on and around a sandy picnic table under a big live oak near the campground. Several families are still visiting our village on Ocracoke Island, North Carolina, even though the vacation season is just about over, and we decided to practice some ghost stories on the kids. Everyone’s eyes focus on me, “Savvy” Savannah Mae, as I talk. “The pirates had always been fortunate, but now some feared the worst. Evil was lurking.”
My older sister, Frankie, who at thirteen, still thinks she’s the boss of me, pulls the book down from my face. “Savannah,” she says, “it’s getting late. Could you get to the point?”
“Shhh!” I lift the book back up and keep pretending to read. “Despite the omen, everyone on board was more interested in having a party. They didn’t really think anything bad could ever happen to them. Edward Teach, least of all. He was the captain of the Adventure and the most feared pirate of all. In fact, he was the captain of some of the most famous pirates in the Graveyard of the Atlantic and beyond! He was Blackbeard, himself.”
One of the boys, with a very dirty face, raises his hand. “Why is there a graveyard in the Atlantic?”
My little sister, Jolene, stands up and wiggles her fingers. “It’s because there are so many sailor ghosts haunting the sea, me hearties!” She tries to sound scary, but she’s only six and too cute to be very scary. Even with the pirate eye patch she’s wearing, she still looks like a tiny angel with corn silk hair.
Several grown-ups—all tourists—ride by on bikes, waving as they pass. The sand crunches under their tires. One lady says, “Alex, one hour, and then we’re heading over to the lighthouse before sunset.”
The boy with the dirty face, Alex, ducks his head a little bit. “Okay, Mom.”
Frankie stands up and starts to dust the sand off herself and Jolene. “The truth is, all along the coast of North Carolina there have been thousands of shipwrecks. So it’s called the Graveyard,” Frankie explains.
“It’s because the water is so shallow,” my cousin Peter adds. He leans against a walking stick our grandpa carved a long time ago. “Lots of ships hit bottom or got caught in storms over the centuries.” The other kids nod with interest. We’ve totally got them hook, line, and sinker. As long as Frankie doesn’t stop me while I’m on a roll. She has a habit of interrupting.
Right on cue, my best friend, Kate, asks, “Savvy? What does your grandfather’s journal say about Blackbeard’s death?” She sounds a little fake, but I don’t think anyone else notices her bad acting.
I scan the page, pretending to search it for answers. In reality, the book is only Grandpa’s sailing log from 1960 to 1965. It looks old and official, but it doesn’t actually say anything about Blackbeard, or pirates at all. Like my pirate costume, I’m using the book as a prop for effect. But the story I’m telling is mostly true, so it’s not lying. Not exactly. Embellishing, Mom would say. Adding details to a true story to make it more exciting. She says that Grandpa did it all the time but that I probably should be careful when I embellish, especially in my homework.
The page in Grandpa’s book actually says: “Cape Lookout Port. Docked 11:34am.” But I point to it and say, “Oh! It says here … Blackbeard was murdered!”
All the kids around me gasp, including Kate, who said she’d help freak out everyone else, and she’s great at the gasping part. Only Frankie and Jolene and Peter are quiet, because they already know this whole story. I look up into the eyes of nine other kids I never knew before today, all enraptured with the best version of Blackbeard’s story I could create.
I charged them only a dollar apiece. We’re waiting for our home—which Grandpa named the Queen Mary after our grandma, as if it were a ship—to be approved in the historical registry. This will make our house a historical site that no one can take from us, like the scallywag Dunmore Throop tried last month. Dad said every little bit could help, so I intend to do my part and donate our profit to the bills. Eventually, I plan to start my own ghost story business for kids, complete with tours around our small village.
I turn the page. “Yes, it says here he was pardoned by the government for his crime of robbery, but Robert Maynard killed him anyway. So it was murder.”
“How did he do it?” Kate whispers, hitting her next cue perfectly.
“Well”—I lower my voice and walk around the circle of kids—“first they had an epic sword fight on the deck of the Adventure. And then Blackbeard was shot twenty times and unable to defend himself any longer. Maynard cut off his head and threw his body into the ocean.” Then I whisper and lean in like I’m telling them the biggest secret they will ever hear in their entire lives. “Then Blackbeard’s body circled the boat nine times before it finally sank. It was never found again. And”—I pause for extra effect—“it might still be out there.”
One little boy shivers.
Frankie mumbles, “That’s a great story, Savvy. Now the whole campground will have nightmares.” She’s been a little unenthusiastic about the plan from the beginning, mostly because she wanted to hang out with her boyfriend, Ryan, but at least she’s helped.
“Now,” I say, “how about we try to contact Blackbeard’s ghost?”
There’s an enthusiastic yes, please from my adoring fans, so I pull the Star Board out of my bag and set it up on the table. “Everyone stand around in a circle. Frankie, please make the circle tighter.”
“What is that?” Alex asks. He reaches out to touch the board, but I pull it back.
“This is a Star Board. My grandfather made it. It helps us communicate with friendly ghosts, like a Ouija board, only with stars and a special code. We’re pretty sure we can talk to Blackbeard himself. You’ll see. Now I need three volunteers.”
Everyone raises their hands, as expected. I choose Peter, Kate, and Jolene, as planned. The four of us place our fingers on the paddle. “Who has the first question?”
A little girl raises her hand. She’s probably Jolene’s age. “Let’s ask Blackbeard where his treasure is!”
“Why would he tell us that?” Peter asks. “He haunts this island to scare people away from it.” I give Peter a small smile. He’s gotten much better at embellishing the truth.
The little girl crosses her arms. “But that’s the only exciting question. What else would we ask him if not about treasure?”
She’s a kid after my own heart.
“What if we ask him where his body floated off to?” an older boy asks.
“Ew!” Jolene squeals, and shoves her hands into her pockets. “No way!”
“All right, enough.” Frankie claps her hands and stands back. She starts shooing everyone away from the table. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. Next show is at three.”
“But you said the price included a séance!” protested the boy who was curious about the location of Blackbeard’s body. “You can’t go back on your word or we get our money back.”
“Frankie,” I shout, “you’re not in charge.” I don’t mean to sound so bossy, but we’re getting nine bucks out of this. Nine bucks that I plan on giving to Mom and Dad to help with bills. We can’t refund their money. “Everyone, calm down. I know what we can ask that has nothing to do with treasure or missing bodies.”
Frankie returns to the circle and I clear my throat. “Edward, tell us where your ship, the Queen Anne’s Revenge, is located.” This is the question we’ve been trying to find the answer to for days. For real.
The same boy challenges me again. “You said his ship was called the Adventure.” He just doesn’t stop.
“He had two ships during his career,” I explain. “The Adventure was taken here at Ocracoke when he died, but his first ship, the Queen Anne, sank and was never found.”
“What’s so important about that one?” the boy asks.
“What’s your name?” I ask him.
“Darren.”
“Well, Darren, let me explain something to you. No treasure was found on the Adventure. So if Blackbeard had any, and there’s no proof that he did, but if he did, it likely went down with the Queen Anne.”
“But how will you get to an entire ship at the bottom of the ocean?” the little girl asks.
Kate saves me. “Let’s just ask the question,” she says.
We all refocus on the paddle and I repeat the question. “Edward, sir, can you please tell us where the Queen Anne went down?”
The paddle begins to move. But not in the direction I was planning on moving it. I look at Peter, silently questioning him, but he shrugs and shakes his head. Jolene writes down each constellation the paddle visits and begins transcribing the message just as I taught her. When she’s all done, it’s not a location.
It’s more like a warning.
A S T O R M B R E W S
Text copyright © 2021 Jess Rinker
