Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

  I could imagine the grins on the opposing captains’ faces as we brushed against the shoal, but as we had anticipated, they lined up to run our port side. Our fate was in Rhames’s hands.

  Chapter 3

  The one thing we couldn’t afford was to take a broadside from either ship. Pinned against the reef on our starboard side, we had little room to maneuver before the reef sliced through our bottom.

  The freedman on the log-line called out six knots; fast for our ship, but looking at the frigates I could see the gap closing. Looking up at our sails, I called back to Mason. “We need more speed.”

  “We’re flying everything we’ve got. ‘Bout the only thing we’ve got going for us is the reef ain’t in the lee.”

  Sailing a straight course, the frigates were faster, but as a lighter, smaller craft whatever extra speed our ship would give would allow us the maneuverability to evade the frigates and their deadly cannon.

  “Whatever you can get. I’m going down to speak with Rhames.” I didn’t give him a chance to rebut. After a glance at the approaching ships, I estimated we had about ten minutes before they reached us. As I dropped down to the gun deck, the list was a bit less noticeable, but it still felt like one wrong step to port could capsize us. The men must have felt it as well, because they all favored the starboard side.

  Rhames had doubled up the guns, two to a port. After checking the rigging that held them in place, I found him by a keg of powder.

  “We’re going to use whatever speed we have to throw off their aim, but it’ll make it that much harder for you as well,” I told him.

  He smiled and chewed on his unlit cheroot—even our pirate wasn’t crazy enough to smoke by the powder. “Aye, it will.” He peered out the closest port to gauge how much time we had.

  “No worries, Mr. Nick. We’ll blow the bastards out of the water.”

  It was Blue who spoke. Despite the danger we faced, the Pygmy’s imitation of Rhames put a smile on my face. He too had a cheroot in his mouth. Seeing him gave me an idea.

  “Your magic that makes the smoke. Can we use it on our own ship without doing damage?” Blue was a master with his blowgun and I had seen the concoction of his throw up smoke before. We had used it on land as a diversion to throw our enemies into disarray, but fire aboard a ship meant death.

  Rhames immediately saw what I was up to. “If they can’t see us, we can’t see them, either.”

  “But you’ll know where they are before we throw up the smoke screen. They’ll be taken by surprise.” It was all I had. Changing our speed might throw off the aim of the first ship, but not the second.

  “Aye. Give the bastards the slip, then. Me and the boys’ll be ready.”

  With Blue behind me, gingerly leaning to starboard, we walked to the main deck. I nodded to Swift and Red. Along with Rhames, they made up our pirate contingent, and they acknowledged me with big grins. We weren’t going to loot and plunder, but a battle still got their blood up.

  “We’re going to throw up a smoke screen,” I told Mason.

  “I’ll get you a few knots, but there’s not much wind.”

  “Whatever you can, on my signal.” I left the helm to help Blue.

  “You’re sure this isn’t going to blow us up?” I asked him.

  “It’d be better to bring the skiff alongside and use it,” Blue suggested.

  That was a good idea. Calling to two of the freedmen, I gave the order to lower the skiff. They went to work while Blue and Lucy mixed up his magic powder. I tried to glance at the ingredients, but he was being secretive, and I left him to it.

  There was nothing to do but wait, and I walked the deck, giving my best smile to the men. Looking up, I saw men crawling throughout the rigging and, as I expected, Shayla was up there as well. Many gunners aim for the mast hoping for a lucky shot that would take it down, crippling the boat without scuttling it. Even if the mast remained intact, the shot would surely damage the rigging. I wanted to call her down, but they were just as likely to aim for the waterline. There was no safe place aboard.

  With less than a quarter of a mile of water separating us from the Spanish frigates, Blue loaded the skiff with several sacks and pushed it away from the ship. Crewmen, using lines tied to the bow and stern of the skiff, guided it to the port side. With a smile on his face, Blue nodded that he was ready.

  With both sides braced for a broadside, there would be no premature volleys to test the range of the guns. When the first ship was a hundred yards away, I signaled Blue and banged on the deck to let Rhames know we were ready. Blue and Lucy each tossed a flaming torch onto the skiff, and seconds later we were engulfed in a cloud of black smoke. I hadn’t thought about the wind, but it proved to be our ally. As well as concealing us, the cloud blew across the void, engulfing the other ship.

  Not knowing what to expect, I heard the panic on their decks and orders being called out. Set free by the currents and with the small blaze aboard, the skiff would have to be abandoned.. As the first ship pulled even with us I heard Rhames call out the order to fire. Seconds later half our cannon loosed their projectiles. Across the void I could hear wood splinter and men scream, but before I could assess the damage, I heard their captain call the order to fire. We were passed the first ship now, and their volley flew into the gap between us.

  The second ship was coming up fast and I called to Mason. The men in the rigging were ready and I heard the additional sails snap like a gunshot as they grabbed the wind. The ship jumped forward, picking up speed.

  “Drop the painter,” I called to the men holding the skiff alongside.

  “Rhames, ready?”

  The additional sails had given us a few knots. I could only hope the other captain didn’t anticipate our increased speed as we came abreast of them. The skiff, no longer of use, fell behind us, and I could see the Spanish men’s faces when I looked across at them.

  “Mason, whatever you’ve got we’ll be needin’ it now!”

  He called out an order and the ship lurched forward again. Just as it did, Rhames fired the remaining guns. The blast shook the ship, causing us to heel badly to port and the wind to spill from our sails. Fighting to stay upright and on deck, the freedmen and I were more concerned about ourselves than if the shots had struck their targets.

  After a long pause the ship righted herself, and caught the wind again. Struggling against the uneven equilibrium of the deck, I fought my way to the port rail. Several of the freedmen were already there, and I could tell from the smiles on their faces that we were in the clear. The second Spanish ship was dead in the water a quarter mile off our stern and shrouded in black smoke. It had been unintentional, but the skiff had collided with it.

  “All we’ve got,” I called to Mason, who furrowed his brow, answering me with his expression that he already had every scrap of sailcloth we carried flying.

  Our ship was a brigantine, designed to carry goods. She had been in a sorry state when we had taken her, but after making what repairs we could at sea, we had careened her on a beach in Cuba and spent two weeks arming and refurbishing. Our efforts had paid off, as she cut a nice line through the seas, leaving the two Spanish ships in her wake.

  Chapter 4

  With the threat mitigated we navigated through the center of the channel, avoiding the dangerous Banco San Antonio. Open water was ahead, but the channel had us sailing within easy sight of land. This close to shore I would have preferred to run dark until we were over the horizon, but with all our cannon still on the port side, we needed to balance the ship for both speed and in case we ran into another threat. Moving the thousand-pound guns was dangerous enough at anchor in broad daylight. At night, and at sea, the lanterns were essential to prevent injury to either crew or ship.

  Rhames had the operation well in hand, and after checking with Mason I decided to inspect the ship. There had been no apparent damage, but I needed to ensure the ship had not suffered from the twenty projectiles shot our way. As usual, I started in the bilge. Fin
ding it dry was a relief, and after moving a few of the stones, I saw the faint glint of gold in the light from the lantern. Relieved that our ship was seaworthy, at least below the waterline, and that our wealth remained intact, I climbed the ladder to the cargo hold.

  The first thing I noticed was a thin layer of water coating the deck of the near-empty hold and the chill of a breeze on my damp skin. Little air generally flowed through the hold, which, as it was designed to carry cargo, was built to be weatherproof. Holding the lantern ahead of me, I started forward. Inspecting each board as I went, I found nothing amiss with the forward bulkhead. Moving to the port side, where damage was most likely, I soon found a two foot in diameter hole blown through the ship. Avoiding the jagged splinters around the opening, I stuck the lantern, and then my head, out of the hole to inspect the damage.

  The shot had hit a good three feet above the waterline, leaving us in no immediate danger, but it would need to be repaired. The seas were less than two feet now, but if they increased, we would take on water. Before heading up to assign a work party to make the repairs, I checked the starboard side, already suspecting I would find a similar exit hole.

  Before I reached the bulkhead I saw the source of the water coating the deck of the hold. The shot had shattered our freshwater casks. After smashing through the inches-thick oak cladding of the hull, the projectile had lost momentum, and with it elevation, causing it to smash the dozen casks. Searching the rest of the hold I found the iron ball in the corner. The foot-around ball had put us in worse danger than had it holed us below the waterline.

  After completing my inspection, I climbed back on deck. Mason stood by the wheel, instructing one of the freedmen to his course, and calling orders to trim the sails.

  “We’ve got a problem,” I said softly.

  Mason slid closer to hear me. I detailed the damage and asked for a few men to make the repair. Though I was the captain, at sea Mason was in charge. He called three men over, and together we went below, where we spent the next few hours cutting boards, fixing them over the holes, and caulking the gaps. Without a real carpenter, the patch was rudimentary, but serviceable at least for now. It would have to be repaired properly, but our immediate concern was fresh water.

  Back on deck, the ship felt balanced again, the gun deck secure and quiet. I could tell by the sound of the wind as it passed through the rigging that we were sailing well. I glanced back for the first time since we had left the two ships behind, and saw no sign of them. Trying to put myself in their captains’ heads, and assuming they had sustained at least as much damage as we had, they would have abandoned the chase and headed to port.

  Drinking water was our immediate concern. With hundreds of miles of sea between us and our next destination—be it the smaller Cayman Islands or the coast of Central America—the half-full cask of fresh water by the main mast was all we had.

  I explained my thoughts to Mason, and we stood staring at the chart. Cuba was too dangerous, forcing us to broaden our search. The next-closest area was Mexico, several hundred miles away. If we were becalmed or ran into one of Lafitte’s patrols we would be in dire straits. The Caymans were three hundred miles to our south, and the coast of Nicaragua was over four hundred miles to the southwest—both too far for a ship without water.

  Isla de los Pinos lay barely fifty miles away. It was part of Cuba, but far from Havana and the busier ports. Although almost connected to the mainland, the shallow bay between the landmasses made transit by anything other than a canoe or skiff impossible. Because it was difficult to reach, the island had the reputation as a refuge for pirates and smugglers. We both agreed it was our best bet. Neither of us knew the dangerous waters surrounding it, so we agreed to heave to for the night and come up on the island at dawn.

  Mason called out the command and in short order, the square sails were lowered and lashed to their spars. The gaff sails on the aft mast and jibs were backed, slowing the ship to a crawl, maintaining just enough momentum to allow for steerage. After seeing the tired faces of the crewmen as they climbed down from the rigging I was happy with the plan. There was a good chance we would run into another ship in the morning. I wanted an alert crew.

  I relieved Mason as well. He would have stood at the helm all night, but there was no need. I knew sleep was far from taking me, and with Shayla beside me, we took the first watch.

  “That’s a bit of a chance, don’t you think?” she asked, when I told her our plan.

  As usual, even our best option was bad. “It’s all we’ve got. The crew did well today.”

  “Hard to admit, but you were right about Rhames. Once he got that bug out of his butt that he could command, he’s worked out well.”

  “Mason too. We’ve got a good crew.”

  I almost pressed her about the part where she said I was right, but I agreed with her appraisal, and left it at that. With nothing but open water ahead, I lashed the wheel and we both went forward. Sitting on the bowsprit, with our legs dangling in the air and catching the spray from the waves, I relaxed for the first time since we left the Tortugas.

  We crept southeast through the night, knowing we would have to backtrack to the Isla de los Pinos. My plan was to approach from the east, using the sun rising behind us to blind any lookouts. They would see a ship coming, but not be able to identify her, or her flag. Before we were close enough for an observer to identify us, I planned on running.

  Shayla and I kept watch through the night, and I woke the crew about an hour before dawn. I could see the tired look of men who had just fought for their lives, and knew they didn’t have another fight in them. I silently made the decision that if we spotted a mast we would turn for the Caymans and take our chances at sea.

  Once Mason took over command, I climbed the rigging. Even without the aid of the glass I could see a dark shadow between us and the fading stars on the horizon. It was a low line that I expected would soon become Isla de los Piños. I called down to Mason the direction the landmass lay, and climbed back down leaving Shayla with the glass.

  “She’s a good ten miles off.” I stood next to Mason at the binnacle.

  He traced a line on the chart with his finger. “This reef looks uninviting. Best if we come at her from the south. This cove in the Gulf of Batabano looks like our best bet.”

  He had picked a good, protected anchorage. The only problem was that anyone else seeking shelter, or laying low for nefarious reason, would chose the same spot.

  “Good enough. Keep the sun at our back as long as you can.”

  “Aye.” Mason turned away to give the new course to the freedman at the helm.

  “Thinking we ought to prime the guns,” Rhames said, coming up behind me.

  “I’ll run before we fight.”

  “That’d be wise, but better to be ready.”

  He stood looking at me for a long minute before it registered that he needed the key to the armory. Remembering what Shayla had said last night, I took the leather thong from around my neck and handed it to him. “It’ll be in your care now. I expect you won’t lose it.”

  A smile crossed his face as he took the key.

  “Right, then,” I said, not wanting to linger in the moment. “Sun’ll be up in half an hour. Best get all hands ready.”

  Chapter 5

  Illuminated by the rising sun, the eastern and southern coasts of the island looked deserted, but that wasn’t where I expected to find trouble. Once we rounded the western point and got a clear look into the bay, three masts stood above the rolling landscape. From the configuration, it was a schooner, and faster than our brigantine.

  Moving to the mast I called up to Shayla, “Is she flying colors?”

  Spain’s fleet, having fallen on hard times, was comprised of mostly brigs and frigates. There was a chance one of Lafitte’s crews had captured this ship, but if it was his, I doubted he would anchor such a prize so close to his enemies. After seeking shelter in the rebel province of Campeche, the old pirate was persona non gr
ata in these waters.

  “Don’t see a thing. A few men on deck is all,” she called down.

  “Guns?”

  “I count ten ports and a half-dozen cannonades on deck.”

  Not only were we too slow to run, but we were also outgunned. Rhames sensed the same and joined me at the binnacle. With my focus on the masts ahead, I explained our predicament. “If you haven’t heard, we took a single shot that destroyed the freshwater casks.”

  “Bastards. It’s not just water we’ll be needin’ then. We need casks.”

  I hadn’t considered that we had no vessels to hold any water, and though the island was covered with pine trees, we had no cooper. Making barrels ourselves was a fool’s task. Our best bet appeared to be to try and purchase some. If not, we’d have to pirate them.

  This was not a decision to be made lightly, or alone. I asked Rhames to gather the original crew members. They, along with a representative from the freedmen, would have a say. I’d learned the pirate version of democracy from Gasparilla, and seen its strengths and flaws. Having tried it in our own endeavors, I found it lacking. Ours was not a pirate enterprise, where the votes were often cast to displace the captain. After Rhames had tried his version of mutiny, I was firmly in charge, and seizing on his failure I had come up with our own version of the Articles of Agreement. Using the Dutch West India Company’s format, I governed the ship by a “board of directors.”

  Rhames returned with the two other pirates, Swift and Red, along with Shayla, Lucy, Blue, and the freedman. The group, including Mason and I, would decide our fate.