Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

  “I need to speak to Rhames,” I whispered to Blue.

  “I’ll get the bastard for you.”

  His imitation of the pirate brought a smile to my face. “You do that,” I said, and reaching for his arm I brought him close to my face. “Spread the word that I’m working on a plan.”

  When he smiled his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. By all signs his cure was working. Despite his diminutive size the Spaniards treated him with a guarded respect that I suspected was fueled by superstition. I had seen Blue and Lucy’s “magic” and understood its roots, though I would never reveal their secrets.

  Blue left, and Rhames appeared a few minutes later.

  “Lookin’ a bit better then, Captain.” The old pirate fingered the leather thong around his neck that held the key to the armory.

  At first, I thought this might be the break we needed, but then realized that without the key our captors would have broken the lock and replaced it with one of their own. The old key was nothing more than a talisman now.

  “Right, then.” I moved to stand.

  “Sure you’re up to it?” Rhames asked, grabbing my arm as I got to my feet.

  “We need to talk, and I need to see if this leg still works.” Using his shoulder for support, I added weight to the wounded leg. Surprisingly it held, and I continued to test it until my weight was balanced almost normally. I felt sturdy, but weak.

  “Give me a hand and we’ll see what the foredeck has to offer.”

  The guards watched as we walked toward the bow. With one arm around Rhames and the other clutching the rail, I moved forward. Watching an injured man on the deck of a ship is light duty, and the guards seemed happy to stay where they were as long as we remained in sight.

  “Any ideas?” I asked Rhames when we were out of earshot.

  “Not unless we can get the key to the hold and unlock the men. We’ve got equal numbers, but the chains are a disadvantage.”

  “I’ve an idea.” I explained my thoughts to him. ”I can’t dive, though. You’ll have to explain what we need.”

  “Aye, I’ll tell the boys, then it’d be up to them,” he replied.

  I felt surprisingly good as we walked back to the hatch cover that had been converted to my temporary bed. Adding some yelps of pain and various moans and groans for the benefit of the guards, I lay back down. The spot was perfect for observing the comings and goings of the ship, and was within earshot of the binnacle. I feigned pain, hoping I wouldn’t be returned to the hold.

  Blue, Mason, and Rhames took turns through the night to be by my side, and on each visit, we walked back to the foredeck where I could explain my plan. Adding their input, by morning we had something that might work, but it relied on the wreck that we had yet to find.

  As suddenly as it had departed with the night, the wind returned in the morning, bringing clear skies with it. I listened intently as the helmsman gave his report to the captain. It took a minute to translate the numbers for our longitude and latitude from Spanish to English, but once I had them, I plotted our location in my head. If the wind held, I expected we would be on site in a few hours.

  Concluding his business at the helm, I was the first mate’s next stop.

  “We’ll be nearing the site soon.”

  “Right, then. Have you ever found a wreck before?” I asked.

  “Not from the depths.”

  That put me in a better position. “There should be an extra hundred feet of anchor rode aboard.”

  “What would you have me do with it?”

  “It’s a simple enough matter. Anchor close to my man’s mark. Then send two skiffs to drag the chain between them. When it snags on something, one of the divers will investigate. It’ll be a tedious process with all the reefs running through the area, but we’ll find it.”

  He thought for a second and nodded his head at the simple plan. I had no problem helping him find the wreck and even diving on it, for while we recovered the riches from the ocean floor, we’d be stockpiling the weapons for our escape.

  Chapter 21

  The sound of the bell woke me from a fitful sleep. I heard my name being called and sat up, only to find myself covered in sweat. My leg continued to pound, but it was a different kind of pain, more dull than sharp, and one I had experienced before. Still, after seeing the red lines emanating from the wound last night, I was hesitant to peek under the weeds.

  The swelling had subsided, and I leaned forward to remove the dried seaweed. The redness had receded to a small area, making me hopeful I would be keeping my appendage. Blue arrived a minute later to confirm my opinion.

  “Help me up?” I asked.

  Last night in my weakness, my weight would have pulled him back towards me, but my strength had returned enough that I needed little assistance to rise. Testing the leg again, I was relieved, and though it was painful, I was able to walk unassisted.

  “Have you got any more of that magic tree bark?” I asked, as I heard my name called from the binnacle

  He reached into his bag and handed me a piece.

  Placing it in my mouth and chewing like it was a piece of dried fish, I hobbled to the binnacle. The first mate and navigator were huddled over the chart. “If you bring Mason up, he’ll guide you through.”

  I could tell both men were torn between taking their chances with the coral structures lurking only a few feet below the keel, and turning over control of the ship to a prisoner. After a quick discussion, one of the men was dispatched to get Mason.

  “I’ll need the divers as well. It takes some time to prepare.”

  “Let’s find the bloody thing first,” the mate said.

  There was no reason to push him now and I relented. Mason appeared with the man and walked toward the binnacle as if it were his—which it was.

  I moved closer and watched as he dragged a finger across the worn paper, tracing a line that would be the best approach. The navigator handed him a pencil, but he refused, instead stepping to the wheel. The man on duty looked back at the first mate, who nodded his consent. The look of satisfaction on Mason’s face as he took command of the ship was priceless, and in that moment, I renewed my vow to find Harp and take the schooner. That coming right after we escaped from this predicament, made it back to Havana to rescue Lucy and Shayla, and had our oft-postponed wedding.

  “From the masthead your lookouts should be able to see the two outcroppings. Anchoring will depend on the current, but we’ll want the stern in the gap between them.” I had a picture in my head of the area just past the Tongue. It would be difficult to leave behind the gold-filled diving bell we had used to anchor the boom that had taken out Lafitte’s ships, but if the Spanish didn’t know it was there, I had no intention of telling them.

  With the aid of the lookouts, Mason wound the ship past the Tongue and called for the anchor. The chain rattled as the hook fell the thirty feet to the bottom, and we waited until the ship settled back, ending up about a dozen feet from where I had expected to find the wreck.

  “We’ll need to deploy the skiffs. Your choice if we drag a chain or just dive.”

  The first mate considered this for a minute. “If you’re confident of the location, let’s get the divers in the water. See how good you really are.”

  “I’ll manage them from here. This leg’s going to keep me above the surface.”

  He snorted in disgust.

  “The men are trained and know what to do.” I explained the shifts that had worked for us in Cozumel to prevent the diving sickness.

  “You’ll have your way with it, but results had better be forthcoming—and quickly,” he said. Walking toward the bow he entered the companionway. I expected he would be giving the captain a full report.

  Because of my injury I now had freedom aboard. Hoping that between Rhames, Mason, and Blue the word had gotten out that I had a plan, I walked, or rather stumbled, into the hold. Greetings came from the men, and looking from face to face, although they were in chains their spirits were hi
gh. They’d had water, and been fed. Hopefully the word that we had a plan had circulated.

  “Right, then. Shouldn’t be long now, men. We’re above the wreck. In an hour we’ll start diving and see if we can’t bring up some treasure.”

  “You mean to split it with these bastards?” Rhames piped up.

  I had seen him wink at the crew, and then me, before his bit of stagecraft. The captain would be a fool to have no spies and Rhames was a master at misinformation.

  “We want our freedom?” I called to the crew.

  The men nodded in agreement.

  “We’ll have to trust them for the time being. Our focus, unless we want another, longer, stay in the Havana jail is to recover as much treasure as we can.”

  They muttered in agreement. For my plan to be successful, we needed to cooperate with our captors—until we were ready. “Divers, I need you on deck. The rest of you will work in the skiffs supporting them.”

  They understood that this meant they were at least going to get out of the hold. I called up to the guard, asking him to release the divers. As they reached the deck, the six men I had trained in Cozumel squinted from the sun as their eyes adjusted to the daylight. When they had acclimated, I reviewed my plan and picked the team leaders.

  We’d come a long way in our underwater endeavors. A good deal depended on training and experience, but it turned out there was also some science to the business. Diving came with a variety of mild maladies: nausea, headaches, aching joints, and loss of feeling in their limbs. These less-severe symptoms usually cleared in a day or so if the man was kept out of the water. More acute symptoms could result in permanent injury or death.

  I’d come upon a rotation of sorts, mostly due to our equipment limitations. Working the men in teams allowed for rest periods between their efforts. As incentive to the men, I kept a ledger to track their dives, which increased their share. In the process, though it had taken some time, I noticed a pattern. The more rest the divers got, the less likely they were to suffer from the sickness.

  Taking the team leaders aside, we found a quiet spot by the rail, where I reviewed our plan. They had all worked with the equipment, and I told them about my discovery that spitting on the glass might help keep it from fogging. After the schedule was sorted, I brought them closer.

  “We need treasure to keep the Spanish happy, but more than that, we need to stockpile whatever weapons you can. First though, we need to salvage small pieces of metal to use to pick the locks on our restraints. Have the men hide those in their clothing and we’ll try them tonight. Everything else stays in piles by the wreck. But remember, we need enough gold to keep the Spanish happy.”

  They nodded their understanding and each man returned to his team. While the first group brought the equipment to the stern, I found the guard and had the other men brought on deck. Rhames and Mason led the half-dozen freedmen who would be responsible for the pumps and hoses feeding air to the diver. They would also handle the lines and rigging of the block and tackle, should anything of value be discovered.

  We were all ready, but first we needed to find the wreck. Anchored over the Tongue, I would have liked to climb the rigging for a better look at the bottom, but didn’t trust my leg. In my place, I sent Blue. He returned a few minutes later and described the formations guarding the narrow channel.

  If we had been searching on a clear piece of sandy bottom, using the skiffs and dragging a chain between them might have been the answer, but in this maze of coral I feared the chain would constantly snag. We were close enough to the reef, and I had a good idea where the ship had gone down, making diving the better alternative.

  The skiffs were made ready. Our teams consisted of three divers each. One would use the headgear, and the other two would free dive in support. The first man was ready, and I watched from the stern rail of the ship. He slid into the water, followed by the freedivers. There was nothing I could do except wait.

  Chapter 22

  Each team had dived twice without success. Unable to do anything besides watch, I became restless as the divers worked. It felt better to walk than sit, and I paced the deck.

  “How’s the leg holding up?” Mason asked as I passed the binnacle.

  He was hunched over the old chart, talking to the Spanish navigator. Moving toward them, I grew curious as to how they were communicating. Mason had no Spanish, and I didn’t think the navigator had English. There is a common bond between men in their position who often cross lines to share information that could save them in the hopes another navigator might someday return the favor. Standing right behind them, I could see they were using the symbols, standard to charts regardless of their origin, to communicate. It looked like Mason was showing the navigator the approaches to our location. As he drew in the hazards we had encountered on our previous trip, I had an idea.

  “Can you draw the route Lafitte’s ship took? From where they closed the gap to her striking the boom.” I turned to the navigator. “If I can have a look at the logbook, I can see what the state of the tide was when she wrecked.” He seemed to understand what I was after and the help it might be in finding the treasure. Holding up a finger, he signaled he would be right back and disappeared into the companionway.

  “What are you up to?” Mason asked.

  “If we can plot the ship’s course prior to striking the boom, then apply the tides and currents recorded in the log to her bearing, we might be able to pinpoint her location. The divers have each had two attempts. They’ve seen nothing but coral.”

  “Aye,” he said, folding the chart over. Taking a pencil, he drew the underwater landmarks we knew: The Tongue and the coral formations lining the channel where we had led Lafitte’s ships.

  He stopped and closed his eyes, as if he was trying to remember the details. “Right here is where we dropped the bell.” He made a small “X” on the map. “Then we moved off to about here.” Another “X” marked the ship’s location. He drew a dotted line between them to illustrate the chain. Looking back, then forward, he tried to recall the course Lafitte’s ship had taken.

  I took the pencil and drew a faint line from memory. Mason had been looking forward, intent on getting our ship through the narrow channel. I had been the one checking on Lafitte’s ships as they followed us into the trap.

  “Could be about right,” he said.

  Just as we had plotted the course, the navigator appeared carrying the logbook. Setting it on the binnacle, I opened it to the last page and scanned backwards until I reached the fateful day. Now we needed to apply the tide and currents that had been recorded in Mason’s hand. In retrospect, we were lucky it had been low tide; had it been high, our ruse might have failed. Mason’s notations were clear: low tide and an easterly current of about two knots.

  “Current would have pushed her hard toward the reef,” I said, trying to picture what the conditions would do to a ship on the way to her grave.

  “Considering the water’s only thirty feet, maybe got a hundred feet or so of push.”

  Looking back over the rail at the location of the skiffs, they were at least a hundred feet off the mark. With Mason in tow, I limped to the stern and directed them to where we suspected the wreck lay. Now that we had a better idea of the ship’s resting place, I wished that I could be the one diving on her, or at least aboard the skiff, where I could get firsthand information.

  Mason and I were fairly certain the men were diving on the right spot now, but the hours ticked by and the divers changed crews twice more before one of the men yelled back to the ship that they had found something. That could still mean nothing. A wreck didn’t usually cooperate and drop intact to the sea bottom—especially after her bottom was torn out by a chain boom. The wreck and her contents could be scattered across a large expanse of bottom. The only thing in our favor was that it was recent. At least there had been no major storms to further dismember her since she sank.

  The first skiff was anchored on top of the divers and, not wanting to in
terrupt their operations, I called the other boat over. While they rowed toward the rope ladder hanging from the stern, I tested my wounded leg by increasing the weight I placed on it, finding that though it was painful, standing on it was bearable. If I could do that, there was no reason I couldn’t climb down the ladder and get closer to the action.

  Adding in the sway of the ship and the awkward nature of the ladder, it was harder than I expected, especially the last few feet. Waiting on the lowest rung for the movement of the ladder and the skiff to coincide, I finally dropped to the deck. Pain shot through my leg, but I ignored it as the men rowed us toward the newer boat the Spanish had provided to replace our burnt one.

  There was a general air of excitement aboard the skiff. After testing my leg on the rope ladder, I felt there would be no harm in checking the wreck myself. Seeing it firsthand, if only for a minute, would allow me to direct the salvage operation.

  “I’m going to have a look,” I called across to the skiff with the divers aboard.

  “Diver should be up in another minute. It was the freediver that reported on the sighting.”

  With the skiffs rafted together, I carefully climbed over the gunwales and, careful to stay out of the hoses and lines, took the middle seat on the diver’s skiff. Resisting the urge to lean toward starboard, where a flurry of bubbles broke the surface, so as not to tip the skiff, I watched as the diver’s head, or rather the headgear, broke the surface.

  As soon as the helmet was lifted off the diver’s head the questions started. I sat back and listened, knowing soon enough, I would see it firsthand.

  “Right, then. While we’ve still got some daylight.” The men readied the equipment for me.

  Minutes later, I spat on my hands, rubbed the saliva on the face mask, and slid into the water. Hanging onto the side of the skiff, the men placed the heavy lead-weighted helmet over my head and gave me the signal that all was ready. A second later fresh air started to pour into the chamber and I released my grip and dropped into the water. Two men accompanied me to the bottom, then kicked back to the surface to renew their air supply.