A Spirited Gift

I located an old book Gramps had given me when I was a teenager. It was titled Pirates of the Outer Banks. The pages were well worn from my leafing through it.

There was enough information about the infamous scourge of our area to tantalize but not really to answer questions. There was a grisly wood carving of Rafe hanging from a tree. There were illustrations of his ship and drawings of him. There were paragraphs describing the terrible things he’d done.

But there was no magistrate mentioned. The book referred only to “the law” or “the people,” never to any specific person or officeholder in charge of administering that law. Whoever the magistrate was, he’d had the power to have Rafe arrested and hanged. There weren’t a lot of people like that in those days. The Outer Banks was a lawless area—the governor of Virginia had to send troops to kill Blackbeard.

I wrote down a few names to check out the next day when I could go to the museum. I had to find Mark to see what he knew. His words at the museum about Rafe’s death were tantalizing, but I needed more information.

I tried calling Rafe a few times but got no response. I wanted him to hear the names I’d found in the book and see if any of them sounded familiar. Of course, since I wanted him to come, he didn’t show up.

After midnight, I closed the book and tried not to think about anything else. I needed some sleep. Tomorrow would look better if I was well rested. I finally drifted off and found myself on an old ship that was flying the Jolly Roger. I was dressed in pants and a loose shirt. My boots were full of sand and had slits up the sides. I couldn’t see my face to know whether I looked like myself or some poor mate who was unfortunate enough to be on a pirate ship.

“Look alive there, boy.” Rafe answered my question. “I’ll not have any of my crew lollygagging on deck while we look for a place to hide my treasure.”

“Aye, sir!” my dream persona said, saluting smartly. “How will we know where the treasure will be safe, Cap’n?”

“I’ll know when we get there. Enough questions. Get to work trimming those sails.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what to do. The sails I’d been raised around were nothing like these billowing monsters. Gramps had a boat—the Eleanore, named for my grandmother—but it had a motor. He never trusted sails.

But while I didn’t know what to do, the boy whose body I was currently inhabiting did. He climbed the mast like a monkey until he was high above the deck.

“Sails, Cap’n!” he called out. “British frigates!”

He looked across the gray water toward the horizon. Two ships were heading toward us, sails unfurled. Their colors proclaimed them as British. He yelled down another warning. It wouldn’t do to hide treasure when they had to get away from the authorities.

But Rafe wouldn’t be deterred, telling the men his ship was lighter and faster and could outrun the frigates. They’d have plenty of time to escape. “You there—load the chest into a longboat. We’ll row to the island. The rest of them can get away and come back for us.”

Two burly men, the cabin boy (me) and Rafe left the pirate ship with the treasure chest stashed in the stern of the longboat.