Stede Bonnet—Adrift Without Jesus

🦴 Message in a Bottle from Stede Bonnet

Penned aboard the sloop that bore me to the gallows, 1718

I was a man of means. Estate, servants, schooling. They called me “gentleman,” and I fancied myself one. I had everything a man could want, except peace, purpose, and the ability to steal a ship. So naturally, I had one fitted out, named it Revenge, and set to the sea. I’d have done better to name her Regret and be done with it, but I was in the habit of losing money honestly—especially with ships.

I fled not from poverty, but from peace from a wife, children, and the insufferable heat of an outpost of hell. My men pitied me at first, for I could neither sail nor lead, but I paid ’em well, and so they called me captain to my face and titles of another kind behind my back. This arrangement worked so long as the Revenge remained on the hard and under construction.

We took prizes. Burned sails. Boarded vessels. Plundered life after life, until mine felt like the very thing I’d stolen: hollow, adrift.

Then came Edward Teach—Blackbeard. He called me “Captain,” which I took as a compliment, until I realized he called every skipper “Captain”—right until the moment he struck them down and stole their vessel.

Oh, he was fire wrapped in flesh. I saw in him the confidence I lacked, the fearlessness I craved. I gave him my ship, crew, trust. He took it all.

Together we roamed the Carolinas and beyond, but Teach taught me nothing of peace. His gospel was blood and brandy. He ruled with terror. I—still grasping for identity—drank it down. I stood by as he blockaded Charleston, threatened innocent lives, and mocked the God I barely believed in. I called it piracy. The Lord called it sin.

I tried to leave it behind—sought a pardon. Governor Eden gave it. I signed the pardon with my real name, then immediately returned to piracy under a false moniker. I did not consider this “moral lapse” worthy of note.

I called myself Captain Thomas then, another false name for a man still lost. But I returned to piracy before long. A dog returns to its vomit.

Then the noose came for me. Not in the form of rope, but in the form of justice. Caught. Tried. Condemned.

Now I sail not for a prize, but a hanging dock in Charleston.

But I have found something—Someone—on this final voyage.

A chaplain came to see me. Told me of a Savior who—though unseen—intercedes for me. I’ve no grog in me now, but still I shake. Not from fear of rope—but from night dreams of the things I’ve done and the judgement that awaits me.

And yet this Savior who—as I say, I’ve never met or heard speak aloud to me—whispers to my soul in the moments before I am jostled awake. Could this be the Spirit of Jesus which the Chaplin mentioned?

The preacher said that in Jesus, I am not a pirate anymore, but a new creation. He says I know this to be true—that my adoption into God’s family is complete—because this new Spirit within me cries out, “Abba! Father, Papa!” (Romans 8:15). And I do cry out in my soul. Again, I say, not for fear of the rope, but with remorse for the things I’ve I done.

Oh, what a wretched man I am. I see this now. If I could go back to that day I abandoned my wife and family, commissioned the building of that cursed ship and set sail, I would rush to that moment now and tell the young man that I was to, “Stop! Drop to your knees, mate, and beg God to have mercy on you. Plead with Him for knowledge, understanding, and wisdom.”

At night when I awake to use the bucket, dark thoughts grip me. The bucket and I grew close. It has heard my prayers and groans—the very words of Isaiah from my lips: “My soul yearns for the Lord in the night; my spirit earnestly seeks you, Lord.” (Isaiah 26:9). I dare say now, the bucket has heard my last meal.

I missed this revelation my whole life. I sought riches in gold, freedom on the sea, belonging in the company of men destined for perdition. But I read now and know it to be true, that truth is a man named Jesus (John 14:6). He is the Word made flesh. He is the very Spirit of God. A man, yes, but only in the flesh. His Spirit was that of God and His works testify to His claim as the Savior of the world.

I worship now—not with songs, nor creeds, but in Spirit and Truth. (John 4:23-24) Spirit, in that each day I awake eager to open His Word and learn more of Him. Spirit, in that He gives me nudges of what to do, to say. Even in chains and confined to this cell in the brig, I find myself eager to share this good news I know with others who, like me, are headed for the gallows.

By thunder I declare to any who read this that I am a freer man now than I have ever been. Sentenced to swing, yes, but liberated by the knowledge of what awaits me on the other side of death.

When I read of how my Jesus—and yes, for me, he is my very own savior—went to his death with boldness… that He went for the joy set before Him, I understand and concur. Better to die free from sin and judgement , than live with the sentence of judgement hanging over your head and eternal torment that awaits.

The truth of His Word sets me apart from other crew and rascals (John 17:17). The truth washes away all my offenses and leaves my conscience clear. I find no guilt no, no shame in my actions—only regret that I did not find Jesus before I took to pirating. Or the meeting of my wife.

The old Stede Bonnet committed wicked offenses. He and I no longer speak. We had a falling out over his failures and lapse in judgment. He refuses to accept blame and I reject the notion that we were ever properly introduced. We share a name, a face, and a history, but I am a new man, a free man in Jesus. I am a man bound for the gallows due to the company I kept with myself.

The Spirit, who is truth (1 John 5:6), washes over me, making me clean, fills me, giving me insight. My tears of gratitude are not enough, but they are received. For He is grace and truth together (John 1:17), and His mercy outruns my sins.

And so, I write to you—reader of this message and implore you to turn to Jesus. Cry out, “Save me!”

Turn now, while you have breath in your body.
Don’t wait till the rope has been measured.
Don’t chase freedom in lawlessness, nor treasure in the riches of this world.
True freedom comes in Christ, you may lay to that. (John 8:32)

You are not too far gone.
Your crimes, offenses, sin… call the source of your shame what you will… pale in comparison to His love and mercy.
Worship Jesus—not in pretense or performance—but in Spirit and in Truth.

Let His Spirit fill you.
Let His Truth anchor you.
Let Jesus save, speak, and guide you—even to death, yes.

I go now to die a criminal, a pirate, a rascal, but that is not who I am. No, I am a son of God and a brother of Jesus, my Savior.
Though I die, I rise in Him… free forever.

Come aboard, mate. Jesus is reaching out to you. Come aboard.

Stede Bonnet
The Gentleman Pirate
Condemned Man. Forgiven Son.