Capt. Sterling Posted June 14, 2007 Posted June 14, 2007 Found this rendition of Blackbeard in one of the school's National Geographic Explorer mags... "I being shot through the left cheek, the bullet striking away great part of my upper jaw, and several teeth which dropt down the deck where I fell... I was forced to write what I would say to prevent the loss of blood, and because of the pain I suffered by speaking."~ Woodes Rogers Crewe of the Archangel http://jcsterlingcptarchang.wix.com/creweofthearchangel# http://creweofthearchangel.wordpress.com/
blackbonie Posted June 14, 2007 Posted June 14, 2007 Found this rendition of Blackbeard in one of the school's National Geographic Explorer mags... intresting pic. did black beard get killed before he gave instructions about his loot? i know he wasnt really expecting to be killed that day.i dont know a great deal about it tho.
BILLY BONES Posted June 15, 2007 Posted June 15, 2007 Other than being much taller than this painting would indicate, it's also interesting that his holsters appear to have flaps to protect the cocks, rather than the standard extended and flared holster. Capt. William Bones Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard. "This is a handy cove," says he, at length; " and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop. Much company, mate?" My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity. "Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me." Proprietor of Flags of Fortune.
BILLY BONES Posted June 15, 2007 Posted June 15, 2007 It's also interesting that all the leatherwork appears to be buff, and that the blanket on the left has a veritable panoply of the fabled stainless steel pirate katana Pat is yearning for. Proof once again, of Pat's uncanny research skills. Capt. William Bones Then he rapped on the door with a bit of stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared, called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him, he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste, and still looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard. "This is a handy cove," says he, at length; " and a pleasant sittyated grog-shop. Much company, mate?" My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity. "Well, then," said he, "this is the berth for me." Proprietor of Flags of Fortune.
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