Lowe: Because many legends cluster about you, sir, not all of them flattering.
Blackbeard: Legends such as?
Lowe: You’re the Devil. You spit upon the cross at sunset, and feast upon the flesh and the marrow of infants.
Blackbeard: Here’s my creed. I suspect that God is a clockmaker. He wound creation up, and now he sits back and watches it unwind. Whether to his pleasure or otherwise is any man’s guess.
Lowe: That’s a cold theology. And is there any room for the devil in it?
Blackbeard: Of course. The devil is an Englishman.
Lowe: Are you not an Englishman, then?
Blackbeard: No longer.
Lowe: Then what?
Blackbeard: A fellow with no wish to be governed, inspected, indoctrinated, preached at, taxed, stamped, measured, judged, condemned, hanged, or shot. I’m not the devil Mr. Lowe. I have cast out the devil, that depraved distinction between rich and poor, great and small, master and valet, governor and governed.
Lowe: But are you not this island’s king?
Blackboard: The island has no king nor wants one. I serve at the pleasure of my people until it’s no longer their pleasure.
Say the name!