When we’d finished, what remained was a scroll of papers tied by a scruffy leather cord. Wrinkled and frayed, the documents had definitely seen better days.
“Hell-o!” Hi pointed.
The strange little cross decorated the very first page.
“Booyah!” Shelton unwound the cord.
“Don’t get too excited,” Hi cautioned. “Bonny’s treasure map is well known. A clever counterfeiter might’ve copied that symbol to dupe people like us.”
“True,” I said. “Let’s not lose our scientific objectivity.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Shelton moved aside for Hi, considered by all to have the best “science” hands.
“Which one of you is my assistant?” Hi raised both forearms, fingers splayed.
Ben shoved him a box of latex gloves. Properly garbed, Hi lifted the top sheet of parchment.
“It’s the first page of a letter,” Hi said.
I scanned the first few lines. “Addressed to Anne Bonny! Find out who wrote it.”
Hi checked the next sheet. I noted that both pages contained the strange cross.
The letter signed off with a bold set of initials.
“Somebody named M. R.” Shelton said. “Who could that be?”
“Mary Read.” I couldn’t believe it. “The letter is from Mary Read to Anne Bonny!”
“I kissed a girl, and I liked it!” Hi sang.
Shelton chuckled. “There’s no proof they had that kind of relationship.”
But even I laughed. Whatever. If the documents were genuine, we’d hit the jackpot. That letter alone could be worth thousands.
Moving gingerly, Hi leafed through the remaining pages.
“Three letters,” he said. “Two from Read to Bonny, and one back from Bonny to Read. All dated early 1721.”
“How did Bates get letters going both ways?” Ben asked. No one could answer.
“When was Revenge captured?” I asked.
“Calico Jack was hanged in 1720,” Shelton replied. “So these were written after they’d been caught.”
“While in prison,” I said. “But why write each other letters? Weren’t their cells in the same jail?”
“How about we read and find out?” Hi said.
Good point.
Back to page 1. We studied the document in silence.
The language was antiquated, the script faded and hard to decipher. Still, it was English. Eventually the odd prose started making sense.
“There!” My finger shot toward the page. “Read says that she’s ‘bored to tears’ now that Bonny ‘has gone so far away.’”
“Gone?” Shelton ear-tugged. “Where’d she go?”
“Shhh!” Ben hissed. “Some of us don’t read as fast.”
We waited.
“Next.” Ben glanced my way. “And no spoilers this time.”
Hi flipped the page. My greedy eyes devoured the archaic text.
Wow!
I waited, hands clasped in impatience. Finally they saw it.
“Holy smokes!” Hi.
“My God!” Shelton.
Ben looked up, eyebrows high on his forehead.
“Congrats guys,” I breathed. “We just discovered what really happened to Anne Bonny. The truth.”
Hi read aloud. “‘Thank goodness your worthy father saw fit to claim you home.’”
“Worthy father?” Ben asked. “Like God? She died?”
“No! No! Her father. William Cormac! He did ransom her!” Shelton clapped his hands once. “Bonny went back to Charles Town.”
“You sure?” Ben sounded unconvinced.
“Yes.” My lips spread into a dopey grin. “She wasn’t hanged.”
“Letter two,” Hi said with a flourish.
We crowded together again.
“This one’s from Bonny to Read,” Hi said. “A month later, in February 1721.”
“Not dead,” Shelton noted. Ben shrugged in agreement.
The handwriting was stronger, the language more sophisticated, reflecting a better education. The correspondence consisted of two pages, the second largely covered by an enormous signature.
Anne Bonny. Clear as daylight.
Even better, Bonny had sketched the bent cross in the corner of both pages. “That symbol must mean something,” Hi said.
“Decorative?” Shelton mused. “Like handmade stationary?”
“I’m thinking something practical,” I said. “Like a calling card.”
“Watermark.” Ben stated it as fact.
I looked a question at him.
“It’s a security feature.” He pointed to the image. “Not a typical cross, but one that’s slightly flawed, so the reader knows exactly who drew it.”
“Of course!” I said. “Read and Bonny both sketched the symbol on every page, like an authentication: I really wrote this.”
“Let’s read the bloody thing,” Hi suggested again. “Sound good?”
He set the pages side by side so we could see the whole letter.
I read both pages quickly.
“Oh!” My disappointment was obvious.
“I see.” Ben frowned.
“Ah.” Shelton ear-tugged.
“That blows!” Hi crossed chubby arms. “They didn’t let her go?”
“Not according to this.” Shelton reread the passage. “Bonny wrote that colonial authorities only transferred her to Charles Town to face more piracy charges.”
“What is Half-Moon Battery?” Hi asked. “That’s where she said she was being held.”
No one knew.
My heart sank. Bonny had still faced execution. And given her notoriety in the Carolinas, her chances might’ve actually been worse.
“This is exciting!” Shelton wasn’t feeling my empathy. “We may rewrite the history books!”
I considered the new facts in Bonny’s letter. “Bonny was transferred to Half-Moon Battery at Charles Town. Subsequently, her father’s petition for release failed.”
“Scheduled to be hanged,” Shelton added. “They were really gonna do it.”
“Last correspondence,” Hi said. “Read to Bonny. March 1721.”
This letter was longer, stretching five pages. When we’d finished, everyone spoke at once.
“She’s talking about the treasure map!” Shelton squealed.
“Escape attempt?” Hi began to pace. “Wow!”
“We were right,” Ben said. “It’s all about the docks!”
“Hold on!” I raised two palms. “Organize. What do we know?”
Shelton pointed to the second page. “Mary wrote, ‘the sketch is safe, as is the subject.’ She must be talking about the treasure map. And the treasure! What else?”
“Could be,” I allowed. “Or she could be talking about someone’s portrait.”
Shelton looked at me as though I’d lost my mind.
“I’m only saying it’s not certain,” I said. “I tend to agree with you.”
“‘Keep faith and wits about ye.’” Hi read aloud. “‘Even the darkest holes may be breached, the stoutest locks tickled.’” He slapped a thigh. “Tell me she’s not hinting at escape!”
“Again, I agree. But we should avoid unfounded assumptions.”
Ben tapped the second-to-last page. “Read mentions a place called Merchant’s Wharf, and describes it as ‘thy favorite landing.’”
“We know Bonny used the East Bay docks,” I said. “Merchant’s Wharf must’ve been one of them.”
“I still can’t believe she’d tie up in the center of town,” Shelton chortled. “That’s beast!”
When Ben cleared his throat, we all went quiet.
“Bonny wrote she was being held at Half-Moon Battery. Then, in this last letter, Read said the dungeon was close to ‘both favored wharf and recent earthen works, a happy chance of fortune.’”