Moving down to the gun deck, I ran into MacDuggal.
“No wonder they didn’t fight back. Godawful setup they have here,” he said.
“And Rhames?”
“Lucy, God bless her, has him fixed up pretty well. Won’t be worth much with a cutlass for a bit, but his spirit’s still there.”
With the refitting of the deck well in hand, the crew was in the process of dismantling the smaller guns, which would be remounted fore and aft on deck, giving the remaining dozen guns more maneuverability. Men grunted under the strain of the block and tackle required to shift the guns.
“What about shot and powder?”
“Aye. He was low, but with our stores brought aboard, we’ve got enough for a few battles.”
“Small arms?”
“We’ll be getting to them in a bit.”
I asked the Scotsman to update me with a list of supplies, and dropped down to the next level. The primary function of the ship was trade. She had enough armaments to protect her, but she was a built to transport goods. With deep holds, reaching down three levels from the access hatches on deck, she could handle a load and then some. I’d had the hatches removed to provide more light, and the sun caught the golden bars we had moved from our own hold. In the large space the piles of bars looked small. Counting the bars was short work. Our treasure was seriously diminished by the Spanish captain, but we had Shayla and Lucy back, as well as our freedom. To the side of the bars was our dive gear and pumps. The second skiff was also broken down and stored there.
After stripping Lafitte’s ship we had left it at anchor, close enough to the beach for Harp’s crew to escape the island. Light on ballast, short the two pumps we had converted for diving, and stripped of light guns, shot, and powder, she would limp into whatever port her men found.
Leaving the forward hold, I moved aft to inspect the rear hold. It too was almost bare. Harp’s madness had affected his decisions, and his pirate career had been a failure. The pumps and bilge were what I expected for a newer ship. Everything appeared to be in working order and I climbed back to the main deck to check on Rhames.
I found him lying on a coil of rope. With Blue and Lucy hovering over him, he had a piece of Blue’s bark in one hand and a bottle in the other. Normally, alcohol was rationed, something I would have to enforce now that we had found several kegs of rum aboard. I let him be, understanding his pain. The wound from my own gunshot was healing well, but I still felt it, especially at night.
“Ought to have some word from shore pretty soon.”
“Aye.” He took a swig from his bottle, and stuffed the bark back in his mouth. “The Scots have things in hand?”
“Looks to be alright, but if you’re up and about soon, I’d appreciate you having a look.” I wanted to confirm Rhames’s authority.
“Aye, between the rum and this stuff,” he said, pulling the bark from his mouth, “I’m ready for action.”
I was well aware of the medicinal powers of the bark, but wanted to see his condition first hand. Between taking several bullets and the panther attack in the Florida Everglades, I was accustomed to the healing process. Pulling back the cloth covering his shoulder, I checked the wound. It was a mild pink, not bright red or dull green, signs that things were about to turn bad. Just as I replaced the bandage I heard a call from the lookout.
“Skiff!”
Leaving Rhames, I ran to the opposite rail and with my hand to my brow, scanned the water. A boat was indeed coming toward us, but was too far away to make out the occupants. Running to the binnacle, I grabbed the glass and returned to the rail. Focusing on the small boat, I counted heads. Four had left, but five were returning. The figures were still too far away to identify, but a surge of relief swept through me when I saw that one was a woman.
The minutes passed slowly until the skiff reached the ship.
“Phillip!” I called down to the fifth man.
“Nick.”
I was glad to see him. We had gotten on well during our time together; it was the sea that he didn’t get along with. The skiff bumped against the ship and one of the freedmen reached for the rope ladder. Shayla was first up, followed by Phillip, Mason, and the freedmen, the last of whom secured the skiff with a painter.
“Good to see you, old man,” I greeted Phillip warmly.
“By God, you’re still alive. I’m grateful for you taking care of my girl here.” He squeezed Shayla’s shoulders.
If he only knew what his girl had been through over the past few adventures his tone might have changed. A wink from Shayla confirmed that she had told him little.
“Right, then. What’s the state of affairs on the island?”
“You were right. The old governor was recalled just after our incident. The new man’s supposed to be fair,” Shayla said.
Phillip confirmed her statement.
“Any danger in me taking Harp in?”
“I’d think he’d be grateful,” Phillip said.
Mason was shaking his head behind them. The sun was starting to drop toward the horizon. It was too late for another trip to shore, leaving me the night to make a decision. I would talk to Mason privately to see what was bothering him. With a quick glance over her shoulder showing a smile, Shayla took Phillip by the hand and led him to the companionway to show him his cabin. I wasn’t sure if he was with us for the duration or the night, but I wanted him comfortable. Fortunately, the ship had several more private berths than Lafitte’s old ship, giving us plenty of room.
I watched until they disappeared, then moved to the helm to find Mason.
“What did you see?”
“Talked to the men working the pier while Shayla went after her father.”
I had not wanted him to leave her alone, but that water was under the bridge. “And?”
“There wasn’t no talk of Harp or British pirates. I brought up his name in conversation, but got nothing but vacant looks. It’s my feeling they don’t know he’s turned.”
“And if I bring him to the governor, it’s likely to turn on me?”
“That’s what I’m seeing. I’d drop that bastard on the pier and clear out of these waters. The Brits always take care of their own. Without a warrant for him, I wouldn’t expect this to be any different.”
“Right, then. Make ready to sail tonight. I’ll get the Scots to handle this.” The two men had fit right in, but trusting them with Harp was a risk. They’d never met Red or Swift, and as a result, I expected they might be more rational, and I decided to test them. I was past worrying how it would turn out, so long as he was off the ship and we were over the horizon before anyone tried to figure out who was lying. In any event, his disease was sure to progress, taking him from madness to death. The knowledge he would suffer, as Red, Swift, and who knew how many others had, was revenge enough for me. In the grand scheme of things dumping Harp and leaving the island were pretty insignificant. The expressions on the faces of the crew as we gathered along the rail, watching Harp being rowed to shore went from happy to see him go to angry that he hadn’t been dealt justice aboard—in the pirate way.
Chapter 37
“Skiff coming.”
It was Shayla’s voice from the spar that halted the activity on deck. Leaving Mason to complete the preparations for our departure, I scaled the rigging and stood next to her. She handed me the glass, which I focused on the boat coming toward us. From the conspiratorial looks between the Scots and Rhames earlier, I wondered if it had been a mistake to trust the errand to them. Their orders had been to drop off a bound Harp, leaving him at the pier with instructions to alert the magistrate. I now wondered if he had been alive when they left him.
We had made haste for our departure, but apparently something was amiss. The Caribbean generally ran at a slow pace, and it surprised me a reaction had occurred so quickly. Being unexpected, I naturally presumed it was bad news and scanned the deck to see if we could leave before the skiff reached us. The Cayman’s were the western extent of the
British holdings, and I doubted we needed their good will any longer. But after judging the distance and our state of readiness, it appeared we would have at the least a conversation.
Climbing back down, I found the deck awash in activity. Rhames was up and about, his arm in a sling and a piece of Blue’s bark in his mouth. He had seen the skiff as well and sought me out.
“Blow the bastards from the water’s what I’d do.”
He was still upset about being the only casualty on our raid to take the schooner. “I’ll go as far as training a few guns on them—just in case.” That seemed to appease him and I watched as he quickly disappeared through the companionway.
“Might as well be courteous. But small arms are in order,” I told MacDuggal, who was standing in front of the open armory. He handed me a pistol and took another for himself. Checking mine, I was glad when I saw a light sheen of oil keeping the rust at bay. MacDonald handed me several bullets and a kit to load the gun. Shoving the pistol in my belt, I went toward the binnacle where Mason was directing the crew.
“How long?”
“Another fifteen minutes and we’ll be pulling the hook.”
Checking the progress of the approaching skiff, there was no question it would arrive before we were ready. A closer inspection revealed several uniformed men at the oars and an officer giving direction. In the bow, with a scowl etched on his face, was a well-dressed man.
“Ahoy!”
“Come aboard if you wish,” I called back, signaling the two freedmen by me to lower the rope ladder. The men at the oars easily maneuvered the small craft against the side of the schooner and secured her painter. The officer and the other man started to climb the ladder. I’d seen no weapons other than the officer’s sword, which was more decoration than dangerous, and relaxed slightly as he climbed over the rail. The other man followed and we stood staring at each other.
“Nick!” Shayla called down.
I looked up and saw her pointing at the harbor entrance, where the bowsprit of a frigate appeared. It was a warship. I cursed under my breath that we had taken our time departing.
“Nick Van Doren,” I said, extending my hand to the man.
“Governor Beekham.” He took the offered hand.
“Can I offer you anything?”
“No, we’re not here to exchange pleasantries.”
I was about to ask what they were here for when he continued.
“That man you dropped. He is a British officer.”
“He’s nothing but a deranged pirate. Send word to Havana that you have him and you’ll get the story.”
“The Spanish?” He spat on the deck, as if talking to them repulsed him.
I rattled off what I knew of Harp and his exploits. He remained unfazed, not surprising, as the British were notorious for taking care of their own.
“He has a different story.”
“Of course he does.” I was getting frustrated, thinking I should have listened to Rhames and dropped Harp, wrapped in chains, to the ocean floor.
“We left a ship for his men. They should be coming this way before too long. They’ll vouch for me.”
“They’ve already landed on the other coast. They seem to think you have a treasure aboard.”
It always came down to gold. With the frigate quickly approaching, there was little choice but to tell the truth. “We salvage wrecks and such.” I remembered the gold lying undisguised in the hold. “We’ve got some gold from a job in Haiti.”
“Ah, and what flag were you flying at the time?”
He knew more than he should, and I wondered how he got his information. Haiti’s close proximity to the Bahamas had us flying the Union Jack. “We’re independent.” It sounded as hollow as it was.
“Hmm. American by the sound of you.”
“Dutch, actually.” Our conversation was doing little beside letting the frigate close the gap between us, which may have been his intent. Looking at Beekham, I wondered if he was in fact the governor or a decoy. As I studied his face, I saw a hint of fear, as if he was not accustomed to this game. The other officer carried himself like one, but his rank could be exaggerated as well. Now that I had sniffed out their ruse, I had the upper hand.
“You’ll disembark to the frigate and stand trial as pirates.” His voice wavered slightly, confirming my guess.
“And why would we do that?” I moved my right hand behind my back and made a slashing gesture. If Mason or Rhames saw it, they would understand.
They both had, and as I started to negotiate terms, I saw Rhames disappear into the companionway and Mason move to the wheel. A minute later, I felt the schooner shift as the gun ports opened and the starboard-side guns were winched forward to their firing positions. One of the foresails was unfurled at the same time and the ship swung on the anchor.
“What is your intention, Captain?” the officer asked, frantically looking back and forth. He knew what we were up to and was helpless to stop us.
“If I wanted to see my wife tonight, I might drop down to that skiff of yours and clear out, Governor,” the title heavy with sarcasm. The officer stood stoically evaluating the situation, but beads of sweat appeared on both men’s brows.
“Rhames!” I called when the frigate was in easy range. Though she presented a narrow profile with her bow facing toward to us, she was also defenseless until she was able to turn, something I would not allow. The two Brits standing in front of me were clearly sacrificial lambs and the frigate’s captain would shoot regardless of them being aboard.
“Fire!”
The ship rocked back, and within seconds of each other, the cannons let loose their charges. The wind had picked up and the smoke quickly moved downwind, just in time for me to see the two British imposters climb the rail and drop down the rope ladder.
“Weigh anchor,” I called to Mason, and headed to the capstan to help.
Sails snapped as they caught the wind, and with six men on the capstan, the anchor easily broke free. The schooner moved forward and within a few minutes was plowing through the seas. I hadn’t taken the time to see what damage we had inflicted on the frigate. Sinking it was not a priority; escape was. A charge of piracy was enough for a trip to the gallows; I didn’t need a murder charge added to make it easier.
On a beam reach and heading due south, the island quickly dropped behind us. Shayla was still aloft and I called up to ask if she saw pursuit. When her answer came back negative I relaxed slightly. We had burnt another bridge, but were still alive to tell of it. Once again trying to do the right thing had cost us, a lesson that left a bad taste in my mouth. As we moved south the ship quickly settled into her normal routine as the Caymans dropped below the horizon. The best we could do was to put as much water between us and our enemies as we could, and with the Dorado that was easily accomplished.
Shayla dropped to the deck and reached for my hand. “Not the outcome we expected, but I’m glad we stopped.”
“Phillip alright?” We had been too busy to see if he intended to leave his home and travel with us. In any event, his decision had been made for him, and seeing the smile on Shayla’s face I was glad he was aboard.
Before she could answer Blue came running toward me. “Rhames. The bastard’s down.”
Without a word, we followed him to the companionway and down to the gun deck. Rhames was propped up against a post with Lucy and the Scots hovering over him. Moving toward him, there was no sign of our victory on his face—only pain.
Chapter 38
“He needs more powerful medicine than I have,” Lucy said.
I looked down at Rhames. Unable to stay out of the action, he had tried to help the men and opened the wound, which now saturated his blouse with blood.
“Get Shayla and Phillip,” I called to one of the freedmen.
Rhames looked pale, maybe from losing so much blood, maybe from the lead lodged deep in his shoulder.
“Some rum if you would?” he asked.
“You’re lucky we’ve go
t these two and not some sawbones who would have your arm.”
“Don’t I know it. Got hit by the backlash from one of the guns.”
It didn’t surprise me that he was so close to the action. I probably would have done the same. Now, as Lucy pulled the fabric away I knew right away that the wound would need to be cauterized. If it were smaller, it would be a simple matter of sealing it with a red-hot iron, but the open flesh was inches in diameter.
Shayla and Phillip came beside me.
“It’s bad. We’ve got to burn it,” Shayla said.
“I’ll be needin’ that rum now,” Rhames said.
“You’ll be needing more than that.” I’d had red-hot steel put to me before, although to a smaller area. This would be unbearable. Sending a man for the rum, I asked several others to hold him down. Lucy and Shayla had a pile of black powder and a match ready, but Rhames waved them off until his rum arrived. When it did, he drank deeply from the bottle before Shayla grabbed it from him and poured a generous amount into the open wound.
Rhames screamed and bucked the men holding him down, but his strength quickly failed. Lucy wasted no time and packed the wound with black powder.
“Give him something in his mouth,” she said, as she prepared to light the powder.
I yanked my belt free, folded it, and placed it between Rhames’s teeth, but not before he’d had another mouthful of rum. Our eyes met and I saw his pain. There was nothing to do now except get it done. Lucy struck the match and lit the powder. We jumped back as one when it ignited, but the men held firm to Rhames, who appeared to have fainted. I would ask the men to keep that part to themselves in order to preserve his dignity.
Uncharted Waters Page 17