was actively engaged in the making of American history in his small way.

He first appeared off the bar of Charleston Harbor, to the no small
excitement of the worthy town of that ilk, and there he lay for five
or six days, blockading the port, and stopping incoming and outgoing
vessels at his pleasure, so that, for the time, the commerce of the
province was entirely paralyzed. All the vessels so stopped he held as
prizes, and all the crews and passengers (among the latter of whom was
more than one provincial worthy of the day) he retained as though they
were prisoners of war.

And it was a mightily awkward thing for the good folk of Charleston to
behold day after day a black flag with its white skull and crossbones
fluttering at the fore of the pirate captain's craft, over across the
level stretch of green salt marshes; and it was mightily unpleasant,
too, to know that this or that prominent citizen was crowded down with
the other prisoners under the hatches.

One morning Captain Blackbeard finds that his stock of medicine is low.
"Tut!" says he, "we'll turn no hair gray for that." So up he calls the
bold Captain Richards, the commander of his consort the Revenge sloop,
and bids him take Mr. Marks (one of his prisoners), and go up to
Charleston and get the medicine. There was no task that suited our
Captain Richards better than that. Up to the town he rowed, as bold as
brass. "Look ye," says he to the governor, rolling his quid of tobacco
from one cheek to another--"look ye, we're after this and that, and if
we don't get it, why, I'll tell you plain, we'll burn them bloody crafts
of yours that we've took over yonder, and cut the weasand of every
clodpoll aboard of 'em."