The Delirium Passage

by Georges Carrack

  “I had thought of farming on Eleuthera,” said Daniel, “but it’s not far off, and someone might find me. So, Jamaica will do.”

  “We’re agreed? Tomorrow night or the next? I’ve seen naught in the harbor today, other than Mister Thompson’s pinnace, and we shan’t take that.”

  The men looked at each other, realizing their dream of becoming free of their pirate life had leapt to real life… and it involved danger. Neville knew what they were thinking as they paused to answer, as he felt the same. This, however, might be the key to my greater escape problem, though It may very well carry me into some near-death situation that sends me home. “Well?” he asked.

  “Aye,” they answered, one after the other.

  “We are agreed, then, to find a boat which will do for eight men, and Charles will contact his man who knows the western passage. We must keep this as quiet as ever we can, or the captains will make an example of us. We’ll speak to no one else about this beyond the two others we ought have. Does anyone else have names?”

  “Aye,” Roose said, “I’ve been working on this for some time. I spoke with two others who were undecided. Maybe if I tell them it’s now or never they’ll make up their minds.”

  “And nobody else, agreed?”

  All nodded their heads. “And we keep in touch here, through Mister Roose, yea?” Neville finalized.

  Neville spent some time the next day packing his things for the move to Adventure, but he didn’t move. His baggage was considerably more now than he’d had when he’d arrived. In addition to his meager clothes and toiletries, he kept his doctoring chest. He didn’t plan to ask Hornigold for permission on the latter. He also had fifteen or more books that had been pirated in his honor. For his excuse not to move, he found a place at one of the town’s small bars overlooking the harbor. There he sat, with his tankard of ale, keeping an eye on the water and reading his book.

  At the end of chapter three, he looked up to see the perfect small cutter entering the harbor. Here we go. How do I find out if they will be leaving the boat tonight? He leaned over to a man at the next table, “Who’s that out there, mate? You know ‘em?”

  The man looked at him, and then to the harbor. “No… Oh, wait, Aye. It’s Poor Patrick Pelton. He plays at being the great pirate, but he never gets much. They’ll be in here soon, moping and winging about how they all got away.”

  Neville continued to watch the nine men disembarking from the boat after it had anchored and furled sails. He stood, paid for his ale and left, ambling casually off to Roose’s hut.

  Roose was there asleep. Neville woke him. “Have you looked about the harbor today, Mister Roose?”

  “No, why?”

  “How do you expect we find a boat without looking?”

  “Ahhh…”

  “Well, I suggest you go look. Do you know Poor Patrick Pelton?”

  “Not personally; heard of ‘im. Why?”

  “He’s come in. Looks like the perfect boat to me; a small cutter. Nine men got off, and they looked ready to spend time at the tavern, if you know what I mean. Maybe Mister Pelton’s had some luck this time out. If they’re all drunk and stay in town, we’ll have their boat tonight. If you agree, I mean. Go take a look. It’s the one with a silly black spot on each side of the bow – toward the west, which is good for us. If you agree, pass word to meet here, ready to go, at three bells of the First Watch, right? There’s no moon until almost dawn.”

  “I’ll be here... awake.”

  Neville spent the afternoon making an appearance of following the plan. He carried some of his things to Adventure and had a couple ambitious young boys carry his trunk over. I’m glad I don’t plan to stay. This cabin is even smaller than my closet on Ranger.

  After the move, he put his share of prize money in a small barrel he’d found to use for shipping and set off for Thompson’s house. There, Thompson agreed to finish the packing of it and ship it to Norfolk – for about one third of the money. They both knew Neville had no choice. They both also trusted the shipment to arrive as intended, because Thompson knew Neville would return if it didn’t.

  Neville returned to Roose’s hut at three bells. By then, the outskirts of town were quite dark. Some starlight shone through patches of light cloud. A few drunks wandered about, but the town remained considerably quieter than Neville had seen it in several days.

  “Mister Roose?” he queried into the dark hole that was Roose’s hut.

  “Aye. Come ahead,” a nervous voice whispered from inside.

  Neville stepped in, where he was greeted by two men’s faces shining in the light of a feeble tallow glim. “Are we ready, Mister Roose? Are the others not come?”

  “Four went down to the water, leaving us three. This is John. He knows the shallow waters to the west. One of those other two I told you about has gone with Charles. T’other ain’t coming.”

  “Let’s go.”

  For once, Neville appreciated the lack of cobbled streets, or any other such things that make noise in the night. He became aware of the occasional clinking sound of money. The others were carrying their heavy sacks of prize money, as well as cutlasses or short swords. He had only his dirk and a small bag of food. They all assumed the boat had water aboard, even if it might be foul.

  “There they are,” Roose said. The four sat on a log, looking seaward.

  “How do we get out there?” Neville asked.

  “I thought you’d have a plan,” Roose answered.

  Neville’s response sounded like a growling wolf.

  The new man, John, spoke up. “Naught to worry,” he said. “The boat’s jolly should be ‘round here somewhere. If it ain’t, there’s usually a few fishing things pulled on the strand. Let’s go look. C’mon, James.”

  They weren’t gone ten minutes, when Roose returned. “This way,” he said. “I’ve found one.” Neville’s worry grew, but he reminded himself these men were all experienced fighters. In another ten minutes they were all aboard and paddling for the cutter.

  “I can’t hardly tell one from the other here in the dark,” said Charles. “Is it her, there?”

  “No,” Neville said. “No spots. The one off to port, there?” The sound of paddles continued.

  As they got closer, a voice called, “Hey, you thar. What’re you doing? Get away, you lubbers!”

  Neville answered with his most drunken drawl, “We’re lookin’ fer rum! You got rum?”

  “Get away, or I’ll get the blunderbuss. I might, anyway.”

  They steered the boat a couple points to larboard. Another hull glimmered in the starlight after another two minutes of paddling. “This is it,” said Daniel. “It’s got spots.”

  “Quiet as mice, men. They may have left a guard. Only two of you paddle,” commanded Neville.

  The little boat slid soundlessly forward, until it bumped softly against the larger boat’s hull. Daniel stuck his head over the gunwale but jerked it down quickly. “There’s a man by the tiller, mates, but I think he’s asleep. What do we do with ‘im?”

  “Can’t throw him overboard,” Neville said, “or he’d warn anyone sees him floating. Knock him on the head, tie him up, stuff a rag in his mouth, and carry him with us. No yelling, now. Let’s go!”

  Neville jumped first, followed by Daniel. He grabbed a loose belaying pin and dropped into the cockpit. The man by the tiller awoke, but only just, and had scarcely moved to more than sitting when Neville thumped him hard on the head. The sound of wood and bone echoed through the harbor. “Everyone sit quiet a few minutes,” ordered Neville.

  “I thought he was a doctor,” said John. “He acts more like Blackbeard himself. And where’s your bag o’ money?” he asked Neville.

  “I’ve done this before,” Neville said. “Before I went to doctoring – in the Navy, like most of you probably did – Frigate Experiment out of Jamaica.”

  “Never heard of her,” said John.

  Charles, the oldest of the men, said, “I have. Captain Burton. S
ort of local navy hero … fair to his men. He died in the Port Royal earthquake some twenty years ago, though.”

  “Thankee, Charles. I think we can go, now. You know the water, John; where’s your choice – on the bow, or at the helm?”

  “Bow,” said John. “Can’t see much from the back end.”

  “Right-o. Prepare anchor. Who will take the helm?”

  “You, I think, Captain Doctor Elliot.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” Neville said.

  “Anchor straight up and down,” said John.

  “Weigh anchor,” ordered Neville. “Raise sails.”

  Raising the sails only solidified the anxiety building inside Neville. A sailboat needs wind to sail, and they had almost none. There had been little breeze ashore – barely enough to build tiny wavelets during their row out. If no wind came, they would be sitting like fools in the harbor when morning came. The sails rustled but did not fill and propel little Peregrine more than a knot or so. Neville felt the mainsail. The heavy material would serve well in a hard blow and for a sail to Jamaica, but probably also explained why Poor Patrick Pelton rarely caught anyone.

  “What now, Captain Doctor?” John asked.

  “We row and pray for wind. Quietly now, Quietly.”

  Considerable clunking ensued while they found and passed out the long oars, but they did it in less than five minutes, and they began to row, starting a gurgle of water behind the rudder. They had movement. Would it be enough?

  The tied man had woken. He struggled and grunted. Daniel leaned over to him and said, “You’d best just rest, mate, or we’ll have to make you quiet again.” He relaxed.

  For half an hour they rowed hard. The sails filled loosely, finally flapping to the larboard side and tightening the sheets. It wasn’t enough to tighten the wrinkles out of the sails yet, but they were drawing, and finally enough to overtake the rowing.

  “Thank the Lord,” Roose said. “I’m about knackered.”

  “Me, too,” said two others in unison.

  Neville’s stomach growled, but he felt less anxious. The wrinkles were flattening in the sails, given more pressure from a breeze. The sheets were correspondingly harder, and the sound of water along the hull became unmistakable. Even if no stronger wind came, they should be on the other side of the island by sunup, and far enough away so they couldn’t be seen from shore, by the time any search party motivated itself to follow. He reminded himself they might have a rich catch – carrying seven shares of a rich prize.

  11: Marooned

  “We’re making good time, Doctor,” Roose said. “I’d say we’ve pulled it off.”

  “I doubt they can find us,” John said. “They have no idea which way we went.”

  “There aren’t many choices, though,” Neville said. “Nor’-west, but it’s against the wind going north of Bahama, nor’east over Eleuthera, straight east for Eleuthera, like we’re doing, or run straight south for Jamaica. Or maybe they don’t bother to chase us at all. It should take them some time to determine who is gone – other than me – and who cares, really, other than Poor Patrick Pelton.”

  By the end of the first day, they had still seen no sail behind. They were all relaxing and beginning to tell tales. Their talk became lighter – more joyful. The night passed easily, with neither calm nor storm.

  “Always nice to see the morning light, ain’t it Doctor?” Charles asked. “Where do you estimate we are. I saw you take a sight an hour ago.”

  “On the same latitude. We are sailing due west. I found only one poor chart below of this part of the world. I think it’s time we change course to sou’-east, in hopes we meet the coast near Freetown, and not get caught in the bight to the north. We should easily be able to find Cat Cay from there.”

  “Land,” called Charles, “three points to larboard. I’m sure of it.”

  “We’ll change course a slight bit towards it,” Neville said.

  For an hour their eyes were all glued to the eastern horizon. “I’m sure of it, too,” announced John, “That must be Freeport, there… see the sail?”

  “Aye, there’s a sail coming out. Not to worry; she’s unlikely to chase us,” Neville said. “And we’ll sail right by.”

  “Sail aft,” shouted John. “There’s a sail aft! We’ve been looking forward this last hour – not behind us! Good Lord; she looks like Adventure to me.”

  “Calm down, John,” Roose said. “We don’t know it is. You can only see a topsail. How could she have found us?”

  “Edmond is how, or maybe Daniel,” said Charles. “No offense, mates. I don’t think you talked about this escape. It’s only you was always talking about farming on Eleuthera and friends on Cat Island, and the like. It woulda been my best guess once I learnt who went missing.”

  “And me,” Neville said. “They knew I was sailing for Jamaica when they took me, and it makes sense we can’t sail straight south without much in provisions. Look ‘round for more sail.”

  Roose went below. He reappeared in a few minutes, shaking his head. “Naught below,” he said.

  “No wonder Pelton is poor. You can’t catch a ship without sail,” Neville said. “I’ll tell you now, men, if it is Adventure behind us, and this wind continues to drop, Blackbeard will have us. These heavy sails will do us poorly in a light breeze.

  The wind did become lighter all afternoon, and the sail behind became larger and larger. Adventure, indeed.

  “Once we pass Eleuthera, we can tack nor’-west for Cat Island. We might be able to escape in the open water between the two islands – but only if the wind holds. The only other plan we might try is to run this ship aground and run for it.”

  But none of it came to be. The wind died to a whisper, and the weighty sails of Poor Patrick Pelton’s little ship hung heavy and useless. Adventure approached, albeit slowly, while the now-despondent men sat doing nothing, fearing for their lives.

  Eventually, Adventure’s hull thumped against the side of Peregrine, with a grapple fore and aft for good measure.

  Peregrine’s temporary crew were hauled aboard and made to sit in the center of deck. Adventure’s company circled around them, some taunting and jeering.

  “You’re thieves, you are,” yelled one. “You stole my ship. Stealing from one another is against our creed. You’re lucky she’s in right good condition.”

  “That’s Patrick Pelton, no question,” said Charles.

  “So, who’s your ringleader?” asked Blackbeard. “We’ll torment you all, one way or another, Ha, Ha, until you give him up. The men are looking forward to it.”

  The Adventure’s men shouted in agreement.

  Neville tried to stand, but someone hit him in the legs with an oar, and he fell backwards to the deck.

  “Something to say, Doctor?” asked Blackbeard.

  “Aye. T’was me. You know I’m not here of my free will.”

  “I did hear volunteering to save someone is how you got into this? All right, that’s how you’ll get out… to save your mates. Put him in irons, men. We’ll find him his own special little island, won’t we? Ha, ha, ha.

  “As to the rest o’ you, it will be back to work... except I declare Peregrine my prize, so we’ll take all your share bags.” He looked ‘round at Pelton, “And we’ll take anything we find aboard that we want, as well, but your share of the prize is your wee little boat, Captain Pelton.”

  “Not fair. I helped you catch them. I have me prize booty below.”

  “No, no, Captain… my prize booty. You may now take your men and go. You are free to sail away. Step lively, now.”

  Wet from head to toe, Neville crawled ashore onto a wide beach of white sand. The pirates did not even bother to beach their boat – just threw him over the side when the water shoaled. Neville saw no sign of life, other than a stand of palm trees in the center of the tiny island somewhere west of Eleuthera. Little wavelets lapped quietly at the beach. The sun rose, and with it the temperature. This day had blue sky from one horizon to the next,
without even a cloud. Those trees should provide some shade, at least.

  Neville rose to standing, and finding his appendages all functioning, walked into the palms, rubbing his wrists where the irons had been chafing. I can see the other side of this little island, only about a cable away. I see no sign of animals, not even a bird. I think I can forget my hope of finding a wild boar, but I see some coconuts here.

  It did not take long for Neville to explore the small island. By his best estimate, the island was only about a mile long and two cables wide in the center. He found no source of water. The small stand of palm trees in the center decreased in width toward the two ends. A white sand beach surrounded the island; no rocks broke up the shoreline, except in a small bay on the north side. I’ll need these rocks. I can think of no other way to open coconuts. I’ll do that first – see if I can get a drink of water. After, I’ll set about trying to make a fire using the fine coconut hair as kindling. There are plenty of palm fronds to increase the size of the fire to signal… Who am I kidding? If there is no source of water here, no ship will come. And there are no other islands within my vision.

  A day passed, and another. Neville managed to open a few coconuts for water but he wasn’t able to start a fire. He became quite conscious of his weakness, and the heat in the windless afternoon became unbearable. With the idea of cooling himself by taking a dip in the ocean, Neville wandered toward the water. The strand looked unusually wide today. As he reached the water, he became aware of his sluggish movement, and that he had not even removed his jacket. After tearing it off, he waded into the water and sat. He had expected luxurious cooling, but he found the water surprisingly warm. After splashing some on his face, he stood to begin his walk back to the shade. The simple act of standing caused his head to spin, and he fell forward onto his knees. He remained there a few minutes trying to understand his situation, but no reason showed itself. He fell forward, prone on the hot sand.