Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

  “I want the boat whole. Red and Swift might still be alive.”

  He nodded and called for another reef in the sails.

  “Right, then.” I turned toward the companionway and nearly bumped into Shayla as she approached the mast. “Not today.”

  “Bugger that. I’m sure-footed as any man.”

  “But__”

  My protest fell on deaf ears. Ignoring my order, she walked past me and started to climb. After a mumbled prayer for her and the baby’s safety, I knew that as long as we continued this dangerous lifestyle it didn’t matter if she was above or below.

  Continuing with my mission, I entered the companionway and found Rhames on the gun deck. “What do you have for shot?”

  “Hoping a keg of nails’ll do the bastards in.”

  I was grateful our interests were aligned. As much as we all wanted revenge, rescuing our men and taking the ship were our priorities.

  “Right, then.” I started to walk away when he called me back.

  “What about this old bucket?”

  I hadn’t thought about the disposition of our present ship. We certainly couldn’t leave it with Harp. My intention was to strand him and his crew on the island and head southwest out of these snake-infested waters.

  “Load two cannon with six-pounders. Fire what you like for range, no hits, but I want them to feel the splash when the balls hit,” I said.

  Rhames’s smile was back. “Aye. Scare the piss out of the bastards first, then.”

  “Right, then.” I left him with his orders and went back on deck. The crew had assumed their battle stations. An eerie quiet settled over the ship as we waited. Everything was prepared; we just needed to close the gap. Surveying the deck, the grappling hooks were set at intervals of ten feet, each laid on a neatly coiled rope. Boarding the schooner was something few of us besides Rhames had experience with, though the two Scots looked like seasoned veterans. It would be the most dangerous part of the operation.

  “How long?” I asked Mason. He stood stoically at the wheel making minor adjustments as we went.

  “Should be a minute or two till we make the turn. Which side do you want to shoot from?”

  A vessel of our class could only shoot light guns forward or aft. We would need to align ourselves beam to the schooner. The wind had remained steady to the north, making a port-side attack the better choice for a fast escape if things went badly. Turning to starboard would put the two islands in our path. I called down to Rhames to prepare his six-pounders for their range shots. An uneasy quiet fell over the deck as each man prepared himself settling in for the wait that was generally worse than the outcome.

  “They’ve spotted us!” came Shayla’s voice from above.

  I reached for the glass, but before I could bring it to my eye, I saw the schooner hoist the main, in itself a deadly mistake against a lee shore. It was an attempt to escape, but the sizable sail put an enormous strain on the schooner’s anchor. It was an act of desperation. Their hope was that the boat would swing before the anchor pulled, allowing them to come about. But if the anchor pulled prematurely they would be driven onto the beach.

  “Full speed ahead. Damn the bastards!” I called to Mason, and ran to the companionway, where I called for Rhames to fire. Seconds later, the ship rocked back as the two test shots flew from the barrels of our guns. Bringing the glass to my eye, I watched them land: One to port and the other just beyond the stern. With the schooner moving forward to retrieve her anchor, I hoped the six-pounders would have the desired effect. The closer to shore the schooner got the less chance she had for an escape. I could only hope there was no coral lurking in the shallow water to break out her bottom.

  “Two degrees of elevation and fire another round.” I called out the order and went forward to the bowsprit to see the results. Mason knew our plan and cut the wheel hard to starboard, turning the port side to the schooner. Two loud booms followed by a cloud of smoke left us momentarily disoriented. Then the wind cleared the deck, but we had to wait a long minute for the cloud, hanging between us and the schooner, to disperse.

  Our ship rolled over the swells and crashed down into the troughs as we sped toward the schooner. Finally, when barely a hundred yards separated the two ships, I could see again. Looking through the glass once more, I watched Harp’s crew scurrying around the deck in disarray. He might at one time have been a competent officer, but that no longer applied. In his current state I doubted he could find the head when he needed it.

  Pushed forward by our cannon fire, the schooner was up over her anchor. We were close enough I could see the sweat flying off the brows of the crew as they worked the rode around the capstan.

  “Get the hooks ready. Fire the next round, Rhames.” I called as loud as I could in case to ensure Harp’s crew heard. Mason turned to starboard again, and our port cannon unleashed several rounds of nails at the schooner. Once again we had to wait for the smoke to clear before we could see the result.

  Whether it was having their backs against the lee shore, the kegs of nails blasted across their decks, or a combination of both, the crew was abandoning ship fast and swimming for shore. Several men were still aboard—one being Harp. Rhames had seen the result of his work and was waiting with a boarding party for my signal.

  From the look of her, there would be no resistance. “Find our men. I want Harp alive, and take some of the freedmen to sail her.”

  I swear Rhames winked at me before climbing over the rail to the waiting skiff. With Harp’s crew abandoning ship I decided against the grappling hooks, which would have put us in the same position as the schooner. Trying to save both ships from the entanglement was a fool’s errand. Both skiffs were loaded with men, leaving us with a skeleton crew. Knowing we were now exposed to the same kind of attack that we had just executed, I took a nervous look over my shoulder, but saw only water. Though Mason had dropped all our sail, the momentum of the ship carried us toward the schooner and just beyond it, the shore. This business couldn’t be over soon enough.

  Rhames’s skiff had just reached the schooner when I realized that even without sail we were still moving forward at a good rate of speed. The ship was caught in the surf and was itself acting as a sail. Mason noticed it as well, and pulled the wheel hard to starboard, executing our planned exit strategy. We might have won the battle, but were damned close to losing the war if both ships grounded.

  A cheer came up from the schooner just as we made our turn. Mason called for the foresails to give him steerage. We had coasted away from the schooner seeking the safety of deeper water when I heard a gunshot. I feared the worst and, glancing at the growing expanse of water between the ships, I knew I had to act now. Hauling my shirt off, I climbed onto the stern rail and dove into the water.

  Stroking hard, I found myself going nowhere. Our ship was moving away, but the schooner was no closer. The strong current had ahold of me and it was all I could do to stay in place. It was a dangerous situation, for if I failed, I would be pulled into the depths. The shore to my right was my best chance to escape the deadly current and I devoted all my energy to reaching the shallower water, where the pull would lessen dramatically.

  Looking back at the ship, I saw Mason come about, but he likely had no idea of my situation. Once you took your eye off a man overboard, he was forever lost to the sea. Struggling and nearing exhaustion, I noticed the water had lightened and I could see the sandy bottom below. With safety in reach, I stroked harder, finally reaching the depth were the current was insignificant. Recalling the gunshot, there was no time to rest, but without the resistance of the current I quickly reached the schooner and climbed aboard.

  Water pooled around me as I stood breathless on deck. Scanning the ship for the cause of the shot, I saw my crew huddled around a figure on the deck. At first I suspected it was Harp, but saw him bound against the mast.

  Looking back to the group, I saw who it was.

  Chapter 35

  After checking that the demented
captain was secured, I called for the Scots to guard him and moved quickly toward the group huddled around the downed man. One of the freedmen moved aside, allowing me to look at Rhames. Though it wasn’t always easy, over the years we had grown close. His pirate blood and need to flex his muscles often caused friction and had at one point led him down the path of a mutiny. Our experiences had tempered the bond between us and with all that behind us I trusted him as a brother—a pirate brother.

  Blood poured from his shoulder. Remembering how Blue had treated my own gunshot wound, I eased next to him. Clearly in pain, I could see the look of recognition in his eyes, as he tried to speak.

  “Make sure that bastard hangs.” His eyes went to Harp at the mast.

  “Did he shoot you?”

  “Bastard surprised me, but we got the ship.”

  “The men?”

  His eyes drifted out of focus as he shook his head. Not sure if it was the pain or the confirmation of the loss of Red and Swift, I grabbed his shoulders to bring him to the present. A brief survey had been done, and I saw men glance at the pile of bones on deck. This wasn’t the time for grief. We would mourn them later.

  “Right, then. That was a good piece of work there.” Turning to one of the freedmen I asked him to find some rum. Rhames deserved it.

  I moved closer, but before I could evaluate the wound a thump jarred us. The keel had hit the bottom. I looked up. We were within a hundred feet of the beach. Between boarding the ship and Rhames’s injury, the ship, still powered by the mainsail, had crept beyond her anchor and was in dire straits.

  There was no telling how well the hook was set, but I had to assume if the ship had run past it, the hold was precarious. This was evidenced by another thump as the bow brushed against the sand. We needed to get the ship underway. Rhames’s injury would have to wait until we had water beneath our keel. Then I would send for Blue and Lucy to take care of him.

  “Drop that sail,” I ordered, jarring the freedmen into action. The freedmen assumed their assigned posts and the sail was quickly furled, but, as it had done with our ship, the wind continued to push the schooner forward. Racking my mind for a solution, I quickly considered our options. If we had more water beneath us I would drop a drogue to slow our progress, but it was too late for that. The answer came to me as the opposite of what we should do and, as such, I took a minute to think it through and make sure it would work.

  Moving back to the helm, I explained my plan to the freedman at the wheel. His expression betrayed his suspicions, but he did as I asked and called for the foresails. The only way out of this mess was to make enough headway to come about. With our bow already brushing bottom that meant we would have to pull her back on her anchor and kedge her backwards. I could only hope as I led the rest of the crew to the capstan that the anchor would hold.

  The wheel seemed frozen as the anchor rode fought the forward progress of the ship. I knew once the anchor broke free we would have enough speed to come about, but a ship this size needed room to turn, and the slim piece of water between us and the beach looked narrower by the second. Finally, between gusts, the wheel moved. Driving with my legs, I pushed hard against the capstan while encouraging the others to do the same. Chain started to come in and at first we seemed to be treading water, but I soon noticed the shore was just a bit farther away.

  As we gained momentum the rode came up with less effort and we were soon above the anchor. It was time to see if the gamble would pay off.

  “Ready at the helm!” I yelled toward the steersman. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, I urged the men for one final push around the capstan. The resistance seemed like it would never end, but finally the anchor broke free, landing us in a pile on the deck. As I ran to the helm I again yelled to the men to finish retrieving the anchor. With the mechanical advantage provided by the capstan it was easy work and I could hear the chain rattling around the block as I moved to the wheel.

  The steersman had felt it too and spun the wheel hard to starboard. The foresails dumped the wind as we turned, leaving our only power the forward momentum we had built. At first I thought it wasn’t going to be enough, but the bow kept turning and soon faced open water. Glancing back at the beach I saw we had cleared it by less than fifty feet.

  A cheer went up as we swung the ninety degrees necessary to complete the maneuver. Before the sails filled the men knew the maneuver was successful. Slowly we started moving away from the island. Glancing back at Rhames, I saw the old bugger leaning against a barrel with a bottle in his hand and a twisted grimace on his face. He would live.

  Next we had to rendezvous with our ship, and scanning the horizon I found her about a quarter-mile out. The freedman adjusted our course, and I went to Rhames and assured him that help was on the way, then crossed the deck and stood over Harp.

  There were few men I had come across against whom I held a grudge —few that still lived—and the mutinous British captain was one of them. Kicking his leg, I glared down at him.

  “It’ll be the gallows for you.”

  He turned to look at me and I could see the evidence of the beating my men had given him after he’d shot Rhames. Ordinarily I would have punished them for it, but in this case, it was well-deserved.

  Spitting out blood, he tried to say something. A tooth came out as he spat again and I backed away slightly.

  “You think it’s that easy, do you? I’m a British officer.”

  “Was.”

  “What do you intend?”

  “We’ll let the governor on Grand Cayman decide your fate.”

  He lowered his head in what looked like defeat, but knowing the man I was sure he wasn’t finished. As if to signal our victory, sunlight broke through and I realized I hadn’t noticed the storm clear out. With the wind down the two ships were soon rafted side-by-side, and I climbed over the rail to our old ship, sending Lucy and Blue to help Rhames the moment my feet landed on deck. Once they had passed over, I walked to the binnacle, where Mason stood in the same stoic position where I had left him several hours earlier.

  “Well, you’ve got yourself a new ship,” I greeted him.

  “She ought to do once we wipe Harp’s stink from her.” He paused. “We don’t have the men to sail both ships.”

  As for what was now our old ship, I agreed. We could easily leave it here with enough provisions for the British crew to sail to a friendly port. They shouldn’t have much trouble pleading their innocence with Harp in irons.

  “Right, then. Strip her of weapons and we’ll leave it for Harp’s crew. They’ll not suffer by my hand for their captain’s madness.”

  Mason nodded and called one of the freedmen over. He allowed the larger guns to be left in place, but the smaller cannonades, shot, and powder would all be removed. The man nodded and left us.

  “What about him?” Mason asked, jerking his head in the direction of Harp, who was being escorted across a plank set between the two ships.

  “We’ll drop him by Grand Cayman and let the governor deal with him. I was hoping that by showing a little good faith, we might be allowed to spend some of our gold.”

  “Let’s hope we get a friendlier welcome than last time.”

  “There might be a new man now. Without Pott, the old one had no chance. ” Pott had been the governor’s aid when we were here last. Assigned to us to keep track of the treasure recovered, he had ended up wanting to stay aboard, then found a home in Great Inagua, where we had installed him in place of the magistrate there.

  “You might want to send a few men to find out for sure before you get all bold and set foot on British soil.”

  It was a good idea, but Mason was the only one I trusted to go ashore without causing an incident. The freedmen were just that. They would have access to some areas in the city, but not others. Sending Rhames or the Scots would surely result in trouble.

  “Right, then. You and Shayla will go ashore. I promised she could see her father and she knows the island. Have two freedmen you can t
rust row you over and let them see what they can find out as well.”

  We would wait out the night offshore of Little Cayman and cross the sixty-odd miles of open water to Grand Cayman in the morning. With the exception of the east end, where we had salvaged the Ten Sail, most of the large island had deep water right up to her beaches. We would find a quiet anchorage in the lee of one and see what the next day brought.

  Chapter 36

  Watching Shayla being rowed toward shore brought a sense of urgency to the situation. Though she had grown up here, there was no telling what the political climate was and her life could well be in danger. Mason with his level head could avoid trouble and would do what he could to protect her, but he was not a fighter.

  Turning away, knowing there was nothing I could do until she returned, I decided to inventory the schooner. After a discussion last night, we had decided to flaunt the sea gods’ wrath and change the ship’s name from Baracouta to Dorado. Superstition said it was bad luck to change a ship’s name, but in this case, we felt it warranted.

  The Dorado was newer than any ship I had been on, and it showed in the fitting. Rather than pace the deck I decided to check the rigging. Finding myself on the top spar I chanced another glance at shore. There was no sign of the skiff. It must have passed the low headland that blocked our view of the harbor, and also served to obscure us from their watchmen. Turning my attention back to the sails and rigging, I inspected all three masts before moving down to the deck. Everything appeared to be in order, in what the Brits called “Bristol fashion.” Harp might have lost his mind and turned to piracy, but the ship, except for the clutter on deck, didn’t reflect it. With our small group gathered, we said a prayer for Red and Swift, following which the cook pot had been dumped into the water.

  The holds showed no surprises. We would indeed need to provision, but I estimated there was a week’s worth of rations and fresh water aboard. Add to that the fish that Blue and Lucy were sure to catch enroute, and we had enough to make it across to Central America. If relations with the government here proved fruitful, I had no problem leaving some gold behind for the security of a full larder. From here we would be moving into uncharted waters and after our past encounters with natives and pirates, a fully provisioned ship would be to our advantage.