When we moved to Maine some 30 years ago, there was this great story about the purported first American Pirate and he terrorized coastal New England for about three years and then disappeared completely. The thing that drew my attention was the name everyone gave him. His real name is lost to history, but “The Dread Pirate Dixie Bull,” for a Princess Bride enthusiast like me, it was way over the top. Then we moved to West Bath and there was this weird little road that wasn’t even a mile long that started at Witch Spring Road and angled down until it ended at a public boat launch. The name of the road was Bull Rock Road. Kind of odd for a coastal Maine town. No one seemed to know where the road name came from. (Not the state of Maine because they would probably call it Angle Road.) In my head I put the two together and Jeezley Pirates of West Bath, Maine was born.
Chapter 1
Vengeance Out of the Fog
It wasn’t what was hidden on Duncan’s Island that was surprising; it was the confirmation of a 400-year-old myth.
Late August 1632, the Americas.
The wooden rail was rough under his fingertips, its surface worn down from years of use and exposure to the elements. His large hands gripped the rail tightly, feeling the familiar grainy surface. The wood dug into his skin, leaving ridges and grooves where he crushed his impatience.
“So, close now.”
The sea air carried a sharp and salty tang. He glanced back at the vast expanse of dark water for the first blush of the false dawn.
He pulled his coat tighter around his large frame as the cold, unforgiving breeze began to kiss at his sails. Soon, the sun would rise. His bright eyes turned toward his prey.
“Justice is within my hands.”
Fingers gripped tighter against the rail, his resolve mounting.
“I can rest at last and devote myself to Molly.”
The captain’s gaze was sharp and unforgiving, flicking away from the serene shoreline for a moment before settling back on the peaceful village. With one last scowl, he turned to face his first mate, his expression a mix of determination and weariness.
“Captain, the tide is beginning to turn.”
“Aye. The ocean is calling us. We shouldn’t keep a lady waiting.”
He winked at the first mate.
“Assemble the crew and signal the other ships.”
The rhythmic push of the dark Atlantic waters against the wooden vessels was becoming more persistent. The captain cast a satisfied glance at the ghostly outline of the ships in the sea smoke on either side of him. The lengthy hunt was finally at an end.
The fleet was a silent predator, lurking just beyond the knowledge of its prey, ready to strike at the first signs of light. The captain’s determination was matched only by the restless energy of the sea, as it waited to unleash its power of justice upon the unsuspecting colony. The sounds of the wooden boards groaned and whispered like ghosts, giving warning of an unseen presence creeping up from behind. The captain’s gaze was sharp and unforgiving, flicking away from the still sleeping colony for a moment before settling back to the shoreline. With one last scowl, he turned to face his loyal first mate, his expression a mix of determination and weariness.
Soon.
The sea smoke began to rise along the surface of the water. It curled up the sides of the wooden vessels as they rocked gently in the black waters. The fleet was ready. Carefully shuttered lanterns softly lit the faces of the crew. The captain watched them gather with a growing feeling of pride.
“We will ride the tide into the harbor and send hellfire raining down on them. We will go ashore when the last structure burns. Leave no survivor. When we see the end of these bastards, I will no longer be your Captain.”
“Cap’n?”
“This is my final voyage with you as your captain.” The captain turned to the first mate. “The first mate will be the master of this fine lady. I will no longer be sailing with you, good men, at day’s end. My quest, for good or ill, will end before the sun sets.”
“But Cap’n—”
The big man smiled at his crew.
“You can choose to stay and serve the new captain,” he turned to the first mate, “scurvy dog that he is, or you can collect your share and take your leave.”
He stepped forward and placed a hand on the nearest man.
“Find a wife that will scare the wickedness out of you and raise fat children.”
His heart sang as he thought, “Molly, I’m coming home to you.”
“None will have us,” a crew member said to his crewmate’s jeering.
The captain turned to his grinning first mate.
“I hear the islands far down the coast to the south are warm and pleasing enough. Some are even said to welcome privateers.”
He turned to face the crew.
“The other ships have the same orders. As I said before, there are a few ships anchored here. The man who takes them keeps them. Otherwise, burn everything else.”
A subtle change in the ship’s rocking told the crew the tide was indeed turning.
The captain nodded his head.
“Thank you for sailing with me these few years.”
He glanced back at the shoreline.
“It’s been a long search, but it has finally ended. Let’s go destroy these craven thieves.”
“Aye, Cap’n Bull.”
He walked over, first to one side and then the other, bellowing out the order to the other ships. As one, the small fleet moved forward.
The French trader’s footsteps were light but purposeful as he made his way through the sleeping colony, his mind racing with plans for his newfound wealth of furs, a mischievous grin stretching across his face as he reveled in the thrill of his deceit.
The trader had decided to leave the Pemaquid colony well before first light. He had cheated on a trapper while playing dice the evening before. His victim was too far into his cups to notice. As a result, the French trader had an ample supply of pelts.
The cheat wanted to be gone before the unfortunate man he had swindled woke from his drunken stupor. The trader knew the harbor well. He would make his escape in the dark and sell the ill-gotten pelts down the coast, far away from here.
He had heard the water slapping against the sides of the ships long before he saw the darker shapes through the sea smoke. To his great terror, he found himself caught between two of the giant vessels. He heard the bellowing voice calling orders to the other ships. The sea smoke had obscured the big ships from his view until it was too late. He prayed that the heavy fog would hide him. Quaking with fear, he recognized the fleet of The Dread Pirate Dixie Bull. The trader quickly dropped his small sail, pulled in his oars, and prayed that the larger vessels would not notice him in the fog.
The large ships slid easily toward the weak lights from the colony, pushing aside the fog on the water’s surface. The captain had been pursuing justice [1]for several years. He had not always been a pirate; after today, he would no longer be one. All he really wanted was to get justice against those who had robbed him of his goods and ship three years before. A justice that the English authorities had denied him.
The captain whispered to the ocean, “Justice can be a demanding mistress. Today, I bid her adieu.”
He had been patient as he tracked the thieves to this spot in his everyday merchant persona. The wretched thieves still had his ship. He verified that the thieves had not only found shelter in the colony but were welcome as part of that society. The colony gladly sustained the thieves and profited from them. According to the Captain’s reasoning, they deserved no quarter.
The captain continued working as a merchant after he was robbed, which provided him with excellent cover for his piracy. His merchant-self had established a freehold along the shore of a protected peninsula, built a small home, and married Molly, the love of his life. After he got justice, he would bury the pirate, and only the merchant would remain.
He leaned over the rail with the first hints of sunlight reaching the fleet. “I come, you cowards, I come for you.”
The captain did not notice the trader in the dense fog curling around the waterline of his ship. His attention was entirely focused on the shoreline. If he had seen the wretched trader, he would have destroyed him.
The trader noticed. So did his bladder. He pulled pelts over himself to hide as his small craft tossed around like flotsam. Paralyzed, the trader slipped past unnoticed, escaping with his life. He flinched violently as he heard the fleet’s cannons firing, followed by the smell of the gunpowder mixing with the fog.
He was not going to have to worry about the man he had cheated coming after him any longer.
In late August 1632, with the baleful eye of the sun rising behind the fleet, the people of the Pemaquid colony watched justice sail into their harbor. The overwhelming cannon fire that exploded from the pirate fleet caught them all by surprise and decimated their colony. They never had a chance. After that, the first pirate in America[2], the Dread Pirate Dixie Bull,[3] vanished[4] into the realm of myth.
[1] No Quarter: The story goes that he was an equal opportunity pirate. He robbed everyone: French, English, Indian, and Spanish. Dixie Bull didn’t discriminate until he figured out who robbed him.
[2] Pirates in the Americas: Dixie Bull may be the first American Pirate. At the very least, he was the first named pirate. We don’t know much about him, including his real name. He terrorized the New England coastline for about three years and then disappeared.
[3] The Legend of the Dread Pirate Dixie Bull. The Dread Pirate Dixie Bull did exist and did level the Pemaquid Colony. I wonder if his name was co-opted for the Dread Pirate Roberts in “The Princess Bride?”
[4] The demise of Dixie Bull: We don’t really know what happened to Dixie Bull. The French Trader spread the story that he had dispatched the dread pirate in a sword fight during the Pemaquid attack. Dixie Bull loved to hear this story. Couldn’t get enough of it.
