Uncharted Waters
Page 11
Even before the silt caused by my landing had cleared, I could see the stern of the ship. She lay just as Mason and I had plotted her, though it was clear the hull had been split by the boom. Walking toward the ship, I was surprised to feel no pain in my leg. I knew the pressures at depth differed than those on the surface. As we had observed, the helmet was awkward and heavy above, but needed to be weighted underwater. The same applied to my body, which benefited from the increased buoyancy.
In the few minutes I had been down, it had started to darken and I suspected the sun was just about to set. Taking bigger strides, I made it to within a few feet of the hull before the hose drew tight. There was no time to surface and reset the skiff. I briefly thought about removing the gear and swimming around the wreck. It took two men to remove the helmet at the surface. I knew I could free myself, but worried about putting it back on. Taking in as many details as I could, I studied the ship.
I was so engrossed in my observations that I flinched when a shadow crossed in front of me. My first thought was that it was a shark, but it turned out to be one of the freedivers sent to recall me to the surface. I gave him the thumbs-up signal and lifted my arms to allow him to place a line around me. Once it was set, he tugged twice, and I braced myself for the ascent.
Breaking the surface, I waited patiently while the men removed the gear and helped me climb aboard. Once I was sorted out, I answered the question on everyone’s lips.
“She’s there alright, and more or less intact.”
Chapter 23
The captain made a brief appearance on deck when we returned to the ship. After seeing his condition last night I hadn’t expected to see him at all. He appeared to be in pain, and I couldn’t help but notice a limp as he walked. A smile broke through his grimace and I could tell by his expression that he had heard of our success. With the wreck ensconced in thirty feet of water, I felt secure in our position and was not concerned about showing a little emotion. We were now a necessity. I had heard rumors about others experimenting with dive gear, but these stories mostly came from across the Atlantic. To my knowledge, there was no one else in the Caribbean capable of an efficient salvage effort at depth.
Exhausted from even my limited efforts, but well enough that the captain judged me fit to be put back in the hold, I tried to get comfortable. After two nights aboard, each man had developed his own position for sleeping within the limits of their shackles. After only a few hours it made me wonder how another human could survive the journey from Africa to the Americas.
I finally fell into a restless sleep, only to be awakened by the man next to me trying to get comfortable. As I lay awake in the hold, I pictured Shayla in my mind, vowing somehow, we would get back to Havana and rescue her. After a time, the image of the wreck replaced her and I eased myself into a sitting position while I made a mental plan of how to attack the wreck.
As cumbersome and dangerous as it was to work underwater, it was crucial to salvage the wreck as efficiently as possible. We’d done this on several wrecks over the last few years, including our own Panther. Each had their own peculiarities. Some stood erect, as if they had just stopped and sunk. Others were scattered over large expanses of the ocean floor.
Lafitte’s ship was not intact, but neither was it totally demolished. From my quick survey, the ship had split in two. I’d never been aboard, but the design of the ship was similar to many I had been on. If it was consistent with the other boats of its style, we should be able to easily locate the holds.
Unless one of my own crew was a spy, the captain had no way of knowing what we were up to down there. I had to assume my men were loyal, but it didn’t matter. We needed to produce something for our efforts to meet the terms of the agreement I had made with the warden back in Havana. With one set of gear it would be difficult to do any exploration outside our given task—to bring up gold.
Finally, my mind shut down and I fell asleep.
The morning brought a gentle swell, probably generated by a far-off storm. Locally though, the conditions were good. A light breeze cooled the sweat on our bodies and the lazy, puffy clouds brought intermittent but welcome relief from the sun. Before the first team hit the water we developed a plan. Assuming that the wreck hadn’t caved in on itself as it struck the bottom, the treasure should still be in one of the holds.
The diver for the first team would enter the wreck from the gash amidships and search toward the stern. I had asked for some paper to diagram the ship, and to my surprise had my logbook returned. Before we boarded the skiffs, I made a sketch, drawing the wreck as I remembered it, and placed arrows at what I hoped to be clear points of entry.
The first diver would penetrate the wreck from the starboard side; the second diver, the port side. I could only hope there was enough space and light available. The option was to dismember the ship from the top, a long and exhausting process. While the diver with the headgear worked, one of the freedivers was assigned to stay with him while the other was tasked with collecting metal scraps that might work to pick the locks on our restraints.
Any dive that everyone returns from is a good dive. And that was the only satisfaction we got as we worked through the morning. I could tell without having to look over at the ship that we were being watched—and our captors were probably not happy with the divers returning empty-handed. With each diver having been down twice, I called the noon-time break, which was generally a couple of hours, something that helped to fight off the diving sickness.
Leaving the skiff’s anchor attached to a buoy, we returned to the ship hoping to get out of the sun for a few hours. Moving past the grim expressions of the Spanish, I wasn’t sure what they had been expecting, but from the looks on their faces, it had probably been gold. Their expressions told me that their patience was already wearing thin.
Seeking out the captain to give him an update, I was told he was unavailable, and that the first mate would see me. I explained that we had found the wreck, but were having trouble getting to the hold. His attitude was less forgiving than the captain’s had been, and he dismissed me with a not-so-veiled warning that we needed to show something for our efforts.
With the first mate’s threat hanging over my head, I called an early end to our break. We boarded the skiffs, grateful to be away from the Spanish. If we weren’t able to get to the hold by the end of the day a decision would have to be made. The proper way to salvage her would be to start taking it apart. It was not the best or easiest way to reach the treasure, but the activity would keep them happy—and that was the first step to our freedom.
That evening, after a nonproductive afternoon, I was called to the captain’s cabin. The invitation came as a surprise; I knew exactly how small my old cabin was. The reason for the visit became evident when I saw his swollen foot set on a pillow.
“The gout,” he said, between sips from a large mug.
“Sorry about that.” I had no reason for a conflict and after my own recent injuries, I empathized with the man. “One of my men has a tree bark that helps with the pain.”
“I’d be grateful,” he said, draining his mug. He banged on the bulkhead and a minute later a man knocked, then entered to refill the mug from a pitcher on the table. The captain looked my way and I nodded, more for wanting to know what he was drinking than actually to drink it. If the captain was incapacitated it might change things topside as we plotted our escape. Excepting his condition, I doubted the captain was a dimwit or inferior officer, but the mate was both eager and overdue. The first mate was on the rise, and in a weakening navy, this could be his chance for promotion.
“Heard you found her.” He toasted me with his mug.
“We did, though we’re having some trouble getting inside.” I saw the questioning look on his face and continued. “She split amidships, causing the decks to cave in on themselves. There’s barely room for a man to get inside, let alone light enough to see.”
“What are our options?” he sighed, and drank again.
“Piece by piece?”
“Right, then. There’s no other way.” I watched him, knowing he was calculating time and provisions. Returning to Havana empty-handed was not an option. He raised his brow, and I had an answer ready.
“Shouldn’t be more than a week, maybe two on the outside.” I didn’t want to scare him, but he needed to know the truth or it would come back and haunt me later.
“I noticed that contraption you made. Does it work?”
“Actually, quite well.”
“The carpenter is handy. I can have him make another if you think it’d speed up the work.”
If the carpenter was the same man as the doctor, I hoped he was better with a hammer and nails than with a bone saw. I explained to the captain how the women had made the hoses from sailcloth and we had fashioned the headgear from a bucket and a porthole. “We’ll be needing lard and pitch to seal it all.”
“There’s an island not far off that is covered with pines. We can get you sap for your pitch there. As for the lard, our stores should be enough,” he said.
I thanked him, wishing him luck with the gout. On my way out the door he asked if I could send my African in with some of his bark. I confirmed I would, and leaving the cabin I had a smile on my face, thinking that at least until he needed to be my enemy that I had an ally. That would be important—especially after I stepped up on the companionway stairs and ran straight into the first mate.
Chapter 24
“You and the captain have a nice chat?” he asked, pushing a finger into my chest.
Instead of reacting, which would have given him cause to strike me, I turned sideways to slide by him. Two steps up the ladder I felt a hand grip my shoulder.
“I’d like a word.”
“Right, then.” I turned back to him.
“Captain’s gout has him taking to the drink. I’m not sayin’ he’s not fit for command, but I’ll be watching you carefully.”
I nodded, understanding both the threat and the hint of mutiny. He released me, and as I walked back to the hold, I thought about this information. A mutiny aboard would be the worst possible outcome. One that would keep me well away from Havana and Shayla. Whatever I could do to help the captain until we were back in port, I would.
My request to allow the crew to spend the night unfettered had fallen on deaf ears. If the captain wasn’t going to help us, there was no point asking the first mate. With the guard following behind me, I climbed down into the hold and allowed him to lock the wrist and ankle irons. I might have gotten mercy for myself, but I’d always thought I should receive no better treatment than my crew. I regretted that decision as the night wore on and I suffered another night with little sleep.
We split our resources in the morning and with Mason in charge of the divers, I set about making another helmet. After our experience making the first one, and with the help of the surprisingly adept carpenter, it went together quickly, but the first mate and crew wouldn’t be back until tomorrow with the pine pitch. It had been a small source of amusement to see the mate’s unusually foul mood this morning after the captain assigned him the task.
With my work at a standstill and the second skiff and half our men out in search of pine trees to harvest pitch, I called over to the working skiff and asked Mason to pick me up when the divers surfaced. It was crowded without the other skiff for support, but I wanted to be where the action was. Mason was level-headed, and a top-notch navigator, but had little knowledge of dive operations. Rhames was the fighter of the group—not the finder.
“Any luck?” I asked the divers who had just surfaced.
“No, Captain.”
They looked defeated. I’d already laid the groundwork with the captain and first mate for what I suspected would be our next step. They had both seemed resigned to having to dismember the wreck. Having lowered their expectations of a quick reward, with the captain in his quarters, and the first mate off finding our pitch, the afternoon might be the perfect time to gather the supplies we needed for our escape.
Thirty minutes later the second diver surfaced, and gave the same report. Gathering the men around, I told them my plan. The looks of frustration turned to determination and I expected by sundown, we would have what we needed.
If this was to be our chance, I decided on making the next dive myself. As well as giving the divers some extra time on the surface, I knew exactly what I wanted to accomplish. With no room aboard the skiff, the diver equipped with the head gear had remained in the water. Sliding in myself, I swam next to him and waited while the men above removed the helmet from the diver’s head and placed it on mine. Once it was secured I released my grip on the skiff and dropped to the bottom.
This would be my only dive today, allowing me to take my time. Once on the bottom, I bypassed the stern section the men had been trying to penetrate and went to the forward section. I remembered the feeling on deck when Lafitte’s ship had run into the boom. The impact had dragged our ship within feet of capsizing. Now I inspected the damage that had been done to Lafitte’s ship firsthand.
I reached the limit of the hoses and had to wait while one of the freedivers relayed my intentions to the skiff. While I waited, I studied the ship as fish swam in and out of the six-foot-wide gash. Even with the planking askew there was still plenty of room to maneuver into the section. I’d stared across the water at the ship for hours when we were in Cozumel, watching and wondering when Lafitte would make his move against us, and recalled it had two skiffs. They had been hung from davits near midships. One was now directly above me and I studied the hull, determining that there had been no damage to it.
I could feel the slack in the line as the skiff moved over my position and when the freediver came down to let me know they were ready to proceed, I pointed up at the small boat. Weighted as I was, there was no way to ascend without help, but unrestrained, the two freedivers had the mobility to reach it. I had outlined my plan on the surface and each knew what to do.
While they went to work on the skiff, I entered the wreck. The layout was familiar and I quickly found the arms locker. Any firearms would be useless after weeks under water. The steel of the cutlasses and daggers might need an edge, but they would be serviceable.
I had expected the padlock on the armory to be intact. Looking around, I found a pulley, which I used to smash against the rusted metal. The shackle broke into several pieces, which dropped to the deck. Pulling the door was the next challenge, as the saltwater’d had its way with the metal hinges. Prying against it, I finally moved it enough to get half my body inside, and using my body for a lever opened the door all the way.
A school of small fish blew past my facemask as I peered inside. The normally organized weapons were scattered on the deck, but within a few minutes I had shuttled enough to the divers waiting at the skiff to arm our men. Laying them in the sand, I looked up and saw the freedivers struggling with the skiff. Thinking the block and tackle used to raise and lower the boats was frozen as well, I searched for an answer, finally deciding that it would require another dive to free it.
With the plan changed, I had one more goal, and reentered the wreck. Even if I could find the carpenter’s workshop, it would be a dangerous and difficult task to reach it. Crossing through the galley, I grabbed several knives, and proceeded deeper into the bowels of the ship. With the ship’s bow buried in the sand, the open midships allowed light to stream in. Unfortunately, the gash in the hull also allowed sea life to prowl the interior of the wreck.
I had seen this before. From previous dives, I knew that smaller fish loved the protection brought by the tight quarters of the wreck. This was no different. An eel had taken residence already and I could see the antenna of at least a dozen lobsters. With this much forage ava
ilable, larger predators lurked in the larger spaces. Passing them by, I found another set of stairs that led into the depths of the ship. The light was fading with every step, making the search more difficult, but I was determined. Before I reached my goal, the growing darkness forced me to abandon the effort. I was discouraged as I retraced my steps, but I still had the knives and hoped one of the smaller ones would help us pick the locks on our chains.
Moving back toward the light, I saw a school of small fish fly toward me. Generally, they would flee after spotting a larger predator, so when the shadow passed in front of the companionway, I froze. My observation was confirmed when I saw the length of the beast as it passed by the opening. Every bit of eight feet, the shark turned and made another pass, as if sensing there were easy pickings close by.
There was nothing to be done except wait it out and hope the shark found an alternative to me for its meal. Creeping toward the opening, I saw no sign of the freedivers. They had stayed outside the wreck, and, unencumbered by gear, had likely bolted for the safety of the surface and the waiting skiff.
The shark made another turn, and I saw one of its cold dark eyes lock onto me. Flicking its tail, the great grey beast closed the gap between us. I backed into the galley, but was quickly jerked forward. Another jerk on the hoses and lines pulled me closer to the exit. I was still inside and protected by the wreck, but detected the cause just as I was slammed against the bulkhead.
The shark, entangled in the hoses and lines, was no longer interested in me. Thrashing its powerful tail, it zigged and zagged in an effort to free itself from its restraints, but with every attempt, it became more tangled. The beast continued to struggle and with every maneuver I was tossed about like a rag doll.