 Sometimes They’re Really Dead Wilmington, colony of North Carolina July 1776 The pirate’s head had disappeared. William heard the speculations from a group of idlers on the quay nearby, wondering whether it would be seen again. “Na, him be gone for good,” said a ragged man of mixed blood, shaking his head. “De ally-gator don’ take him, de water will.” A backwoodsman shifted his tobacco and spat into the water in disagreement. “No, he’s good for another day—two, maybe. Them gristly bits what holds the head on, they dry out in the sun. Tighten up like iron. ... | 
