Some claim dead men don’t tell tales. Well I be tied, tried, and died and have a yarn to spin. Pull up a barrel and listen well, for I’ll only tell this once. The Angel of Death comes and with his sickle he stole me soul.
Tied, Tried, and Died
Captain Edward Lowe be me name. Scourge of the seas and former thief of pockets, purses, and when not looking, kisses from young lasses. I tell this tidal tale not to boast—though boastin’ be a thing I do well, if I do say so—and I just did.
Nay, I speak to warn the ignorant, the ingrates, the ingrafted Gentile heathen wandering about like dunderheads destined for the gallows. Ingrafted, I say, because grace be given to every’ man and woman and mercy offered so that ye escape the torment in the Lake of Fire.
Free these gifts be. Without rules or religious rituals. Simply salvation for ye soul without cost. And yet… most ‘ill read me words with scorn and derision, scoffing at the need for a way out of Hell. “There be no Hell,” me mates claim. And yet by their very words and actions they prove otherwise. Cursed they be and cursed they ‘ill go to endless sufferin’ if they discount me words.
So with generosity and a bit of rum to grease me tongue (smuggled in by Jack Sorrow, me cell mate) I pass along this warning. Maybe in hearin’ me tale, your spine’ll stiffen, your heart’ll soften, and ye ‘ill avoid me fate—a slow, boiling death that never ends.
Born to Trouble
Born in Boston, trouble found me an easy target. Snatchin’ coins, boots, and looks from naive lasses who should have avoided me gaze, I grew quick with me hands and—when caught—quicker with me excuses. I had no father to fear and nor mother to mind. Living mostly on the streets and among wicked lads such as me self, I learned to divert blame to others. Smooth talk and a bribe ‘ill go a long way to keeping a lad out of jail, but such lies leave a wake that soon roils a soul.
I took to strong drink and women of weak morals. I knew what be right—had a sense of it in me gut of the difference between good and evil and found wicked ways of greater value and fun. “Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we may die!” were me cheer and chant it often I did while runnin’ wild along the wharf. But such a course led me to being tied, tried, and died for me actions.
Mercy and Grace be Hanged
No man gets out of life alive, ye may lay to that. Some be born rich, others so poor they can’t pay attention. But the Angel of Death will come for ye soul and when he does, all yer protesting of innocence will be vain words before an all-mighty judge. Before the Judge, ever’ knee ‘ill bow but for them who have no relations with Him, no friendship and no favor, pleading for mercy ‘ill come too late.
I see that I should have made peace with the Judge sooner. Knew it all along, I suppose, but ne’er paid enough attention to the small voice inside that whispered, “Get right with yer maker while ye still have breath in yer body.” Had I trusted in goodness of the Judge sooner, made friends with Him, me life might have been more profitable than that of a petty pirate.
Broke, convicted, and sentenced to swing, me fate were sealed. Tied, tried, and died, I call to you now from the grave.
Pressed into Piracy
I didn’t seek to become a pirate. Pirating’ sought me. Or, rather, the Devil sought to turn me into the likeness of him: a lying, stealing, murdering rascal.
Born in Westminster, London, England I became a pickpocket, thief, and woodcutter. At fourteen I stabbed a man in the neck over a gambling dispute. Soon after I emigrated to Boston, Massachusetts where I worked as a ship rigger and sailor. I married a local woman, but she died in childbirth. With me heart unmoored and restless I took to the sea, hauling logwood.
While loading wood onto a ship near the Bay of Honduras, the captain refused to wait for me small boat to return. Up anchor, he did, and departed, leaving me and some mates stranded. Without means and a plan, we stole a small sloop, and turned to pirating. We threw out lot in with Captain George Lowther and I quickly rose in stature. Me skills in stealin’ , pilferin’, and coaxing young lasses aboard and into berths made me a valuable asset aboard ship.
Poor, orphaned, ignorant and unbridled, I were an easy mark for the Devil. This be how piracy takes most men—not through dreams of adventure and riches, but through desperation. The Devil seeks to take the young, lonely, and those with few options.
When Captain Lowther went missing—I dare not explain how or why—I took command of the Fancy and became one of the most feared pirates in the western Atlantic. But as I say, me boastin’ be of no value, now. Nay, I count me deeds but rubbish.
Known for extreme cruelty, I tortured prisoners and sometimes mutilated or murdered captives even after they had surrendered. But me pirating career lasted only about two years. Due to me wicked ways, me mutinied. Captured by the French, the crew handed me over to save their own necks. On the docks of Martinique I met the Angle of Death beneath the gallows.
Jesus Was Also Tied, Tried, and Died
As a wee little tot I heard of Jesus. Mocked Him, I did, as others do. Scoffers and reprobates laugh at the notion that God’s Son came to save us, but I tell you, it be the Devil who smiles with glee as we sink into eternal waters of torment. I see that now.
Grave Consequences
Only one Man went into a grave and walked out alive and that man be Jesus.
“Preposterous!” you say. “We live. We die and that’s it,” you say.
All nature declares otherwise. Everything that dies gives life of a some fashion. And if life comes from death, decay, destroyed, then how much more shall a man who perishes find life of a sort after death. Though our bodies perish our soul ‘ill go on and on and on… forever.
Jesus died alone. He went into the grave alone. He came out alone. Think on that a wee bit. Though dead, He sat up, removed his grave clothing, and walked out alive. What sort of man does this? Only the One who is God’s Son.
The Gallows Dance
From me cell I heard the hangman’s work—the hammering of the gallows. I have been tied, tried, and died. Though with breath sill in me longs, me life be over. When me legs went to kickin’ and twitchin’ I recalled all the times I laughed while cannon balls tore into our ship. Raised me fist, while musket balls whistled past me head. Then I were no more. In darkness I scream but hear nothing. In pain I plead for relief but none comes.
God’s Wrath
Every man ‘ill have to give an answer for the life he led. God cannot be mocked. We reap what we sow. This I know now. None of my excuses—me background, me circumstances, me pleas for mercy—carry weight with the Judge.
I saw the power of the sea, the wind, and the glorious beauty of a night sky filled with stars. The heavens and all creation testify to the goodness of God. I knew this in me heart all along, but ne’er wished to speak it aloud. Knew, and refused to call out to the Judge, “Save me! Spare me!”
I turned my back on the truth and the Judge gave me over to the desires of me heart.
I could say more, but me date with the gallows hath come. By the time ye read this, I’ll be in Hell.
I testify that me words be true, for the Angel of Death hath given me a vision of now and what be to come. And the terror that awaits, is, and will be forever, be worse torture than any I ever inflicted upon a man.
For this I express sorrow. May God have mercy on my soul.