Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

  The smell of burnt flesh in the confines of the gun deck soon overtook us. It was soon only Shayla, Blue, Lucy, and I attending the old pirate. Finally, his eyes cracked and he forced them open.

  He spat out the belt. “Not as bad as I expected,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Knowing that he was alright, for now, I left him. The smell of the sea was a welcome relief to the carnage, and I drank it in before heading to the helm. Unaware of what was happening below, Mason lightly gripped the spokes of the wheel as he guided the schooner south, wearing a rare smile on his weathered face.

  “She sails well.”

  Coming from Mason, that was a compliment of the highest order. “Learn her secrets.”

  “We’ll be as tight as a nun’s privates before long.” His face tightened and the smile disappeared. “Heard about Rhames.”

  “He’ll be alright, but he’s seen his last fight,” I said.

  “That’ll be the end of him.”

  “He’s strong.” Rhames would need every bit of his constitution to find his place now that his arm would likely be useless. Men did come back from injuries, but Rhames’s position was garnered from his ability to fight.

  Mason knew it, too, and changed the subject. “Not likely we’ll run out of water, but we’ll be needing a destination before long.”

  The Dorado opened up a new world for us. Among the fastest ships in the sea, she was able to sail within a few degrees of the wind, not restricted to only a few points of sail like the older ships. In addition to her maneuverability and speed, she was built for weather. Rounding the Horn, with the area’s notorious wind and seas that could change almost instantly, we would stand a chance—unlike Lafitte’s ship, which would have been gambling with the devil. With several thousand miles ahead of us to get a feel for the schooner, by the time we reached the Cape, we would be ready for the crossing into the Pacific.

  I looked down at the chart to an area that once had been the destination of my family. Seven-hundred-fifty miles to the southeast lay a small group of islands still under Dutch rule. They were the closest chance of a friendly port. Doing a quick calculation, I expected we could make landfall in a week. But the journey would take us to the limit of our provisions.

  “These islands here.” I pointed to the small group off the northern tip of South America.

  “The Netherland Antilles. Hoping they’ll be friendly to us, are you?”

  “Counting on it.” The trade route followed the curve of the Windward Islands further to the east. I expected there would be little traffic in this destitute area of the Caribbean and therefore we would arrive just north of the equator undetected. Once we crossed the line, there was even less of a chance we would be recognized.

  Mason appeared satisfied with my choice and was soon lost in his charts. Taking my leave, I went by to check on Rhames. Propped up against a coil of rope with a bottle in his hand and the piece of bark dangling between his lips, he was sound asleep.

  A strange feeling of complacency came over me. After being on the run for the better part of three years, I finally felt free. The exhaustion I had been carrying with me fell away, and as I crossed into the companionway I felt the first wave of fatigue. Reaching the cabin, I found it empty, and without another thought I collapsed onto our bunk and was quickly asleep.

  When I finally woke, I found myself alone in the bunk. I vaguely recalled Shayla coming to bed sometime in the night and, as the sun was above our porthole, I expected she had already risen. My body seemed to resist movement as I rose, but once on my feet I felt refreshed. Washing from a bucket of tepid water left on the sideboard, I changed into clean clothes and went on deck.

  A ship at sea quickly falls into a routine. Some thrive off it, but for me, boredom quickly sets in. Unless we were in danger, I rarely took a watch, but occupied myself with projects, some that needed doing, and others that were mere whims. Blue was often my accomplice in this, and it was on an inspection of the bilge and pumps that we found the first sign of trouble.

  The bilge was as dry as I had seen aboard a ship, but two of the four pumps were out of service. Fortunately, there were ample spare parts to bring them back into working order, but it showed me that despite the newness of the vessel, every ship has problems. As we continued our inspection I became ever more vigilant, as we found numerous small areas that needed maintenance. By the time we reached the deck several hours later, I had a list that would take several men the better part of the trip to complete.

  We ate a meal of dried biscuits accompanied by weak wine. I had decided to save Harp’s good rum for Rhames, so the rest of us suffered with the crew’s rations. With Blue and Lucy aboard, our table fare was often complemented with fresh fish, and the two of them spent the next afternoon hauling several large dorado and tuna over the rail. That night’s meal, though the wine was the same, was quite a bit more palatable.

  The days passed quickly, and nearing the end of the week, the ship was prepared for whatever faced her. Rhames had recovered enough to take short walks around the deck, and we had a hard talk about his condition. Reducing his rum ration did not go well, but there was still an ample supply of the bark, which kept him happy in the short term. The men treated him like a hero, and for the time being he would be alright. As we approached land I encouraged him to drill his crews and service the weapons. With his cutlass shifted to his left side, he used it as a pointer as he directed the men.

  Shayla and Phillip had spent a few days catching up, but they soon drifted into their own patterns. Shayla, obsessed with anything to do with the baby, was making a variety of clothes, while Phillip took what materials he could find and started to fashion a crib. His skill had caught my attention.

  I found Phillip in the small workshop below, where he was driving dowels into two long pieces of wood. We’d been without a carpenter for months now, and it was evident in some of our makeshift repairs.

  “It’s coming along nicely,” I said, rubbing my hand across the well-sanded wood. “I’m hoping you’re happy to be here. Shayla certainly is.”

  “Seeing as there was little choice, I am.” He looked up and winked. “Truth be told, I’ve missed Shayla and now with the baby and all, I’m grateful to be here.”

  “From the look of things, you could fill in as carpenter, if you’ll have the job.”

  “Got to stay busy. Not much need for a pub-keeper on a ship, is there now?”

  We worked out the terms and his share, and on leaving I was glad to have him, as both the ship’s new carpenter and my future father-in-law.

  I was about to turn back and have a last look at the crib when I heard the call of “Land ho!” from the deck.

  Chapter 39

  The similarities between the island that lay on the horizon and Grand Cayman were so great that if we hadn’t been at sea a week I would have thought we had remained at anchor. As we approached, it appeared more brown than Grand Cayman, but from this distance that could be an illusion. With no local knowledge, Mason had two men dropping wax-bottomed leads from the bowsprit and one man running a log-line from amidships.

  The calls came back “no bottom” until we were within a hundred yards of the beach, when the first lead hit.

  “Sand at five fathoms,” the man called, after checking what material the wax had attracted to the bottom of the weight.

  As we approached what looked like a small inlet, Mason dropped most of our sail, leaving only the foresails. With our speed checked, the calls came back indicating a gradual rise to the bottom. Finally, within a hundred yards of a white-sand beach we dropped anchor. Once the sails were lashed and the deck put into order, the crew clamored at the rail for a chance to go ashore.

  Rhames pushed through the group, his swagger as big as ever. “Out of the way, ya bastards. We’ll have a group scout the beach right quick. Then you can all dip your toes in the sand.”

  Feeling Shayla beside me, I too, fought the urge to walk on land. It had been an easy trip, but afte
r a week aboard of eating fish and dry biscuits, we hoped for at least fresh water and hunting. For my part, I had been practicing my rusty Dutch, hoping to find some compatriots amongst the inhabitants.

  The beach remained quiet and the first party ashore came back with no sightings of either game or people. Evaluating our position, I climbed into the rigging to see if there was a better view to be had. Standing on the top spar, I scanned first the surrounding water, and seeing no ships, turned my attention inland. The island was like nothing I had seen. If I thought Great Inagua a dry island, this was several steps closer to hell. Cactus dotted the landscape. We’d seen the plants before, but they were abundant here. The trees, mere scrubs, were surrounded by every shape of prickly plant you could imagine. Heat waves shimmered from the arid soil, making it seem even drier. What I didn’t see was any sign of man.

  “We’ll need two expeditions in the morning,” I told Rhames and Mason. “One to check out the interior. The other can take the skiff and circumnavigate the island. According to the chart, there’s a settlement of some sort on the other side.” The mood had turned slightly sour after seeing the inhospitable island. While we were accustomed to wild boar, the only game here appeared to be large iguanas.

  “Seems like your countrymen got pushed into a corner here.”

  It appeared so. Something in the way he said it brought back my heritage and with the memory came the name Moses Cohen Henriques. The early days of discovery were a hard time for the Jews on the Iberian Peninsula.

  Faced with the Inquisition in Spain, many Jews had turned into Conversos, at least on the surface, adopting the Christian faith. This ploy was effective until the Spanish monarchs decided to rid their country of Jews altogether. Many migrated to the Americas. The new continents were far enough from the seat of power to no longer care, and the Jews thrived as traders for several decades until the Inquisitors followed them to the New World.

  Henriques was one of those men forced to leave Spain. Many chose to fit in the best they could, but the Sephardi had rebelled, turned pirate, and taken the entire 1628 Plate Fleet. Other pirates were more notorious, but Henriques’s prize was the biggest ever taken. We had found a small cache from it stashed in a cave on Cozumel.

  After taking his prize, Henriques lived on an island off the coast of Brazil, but his notoriety made him a target of the Inquisitors, forcing him to flee. His life and the disposition of the treasure are undocumented after that, except for a close group of Sephardi who passed the secret from generation to generation. Emanuel, the turncoat who had blown up the Panther, was one, and he had told me the pirate’s story. He knew Henriques had stashed a part of his wealth on Cozumel and, unable to find it himself, he had used us, then tried to kill us.

  Knowing our reserves were dwindling after I had paid off the Spanish captain for Shayla and Lucy’s release, I doubted we had enough gold to see us around the Horn and to a new life. Though the island was initially disappointing, I still held out hope. The Dutch had been hospitable to the homeless Jews. Recognizing their ability as traders and merchants, they had been accepted in Amsterdam, where my family hailed from. It was my guess that somewhere in the Antilles, someone knew where the rest of the Henriques’s treasure was.

  The boredom and rest that accompanied with our journey quickly turned to anxiety and restlessness. Knowing I was so close to my own people, but unsure how well I would be accepted, wore heavily on me. Shayla noticed it and tried to calm me, but I had a feeling deep within that if we were not accepted here, we might never find a home.

  Finally the night turned into day, and after seeing the shore party off, I set out in the skiff with three of the freedmen to see if we could find a settlement. Having four of us allowed shifts at the oars, of which I would take my fair share. From the look of the island on the chart, it would be a twenty-mile row around to the city. Not knowing what our reception would be like, we chose to keep the Dorado anchored here, and with strong backs pulling the oars, we left eager to see what lay on the other side. Setting off into the rising sun, we rounded the eastern point, and still finding nothing of interest, continued around. The monotonous shoreline crept by as we rowed, until we came upon what looked to be a deepwater anchorage.

  I saw faint tendrils of smoke rising to the west. We rowed past another point and I saw the source. A town appeared. Still not knowing how well we would be received, I scanned the harbor as if it were an enemy port. Several brigs were anchored close to shore, but there was no military presence. A long, narrow wharf extended a couple of hundred feet spanning an area of brown shallows to the deep-blue water. Pointing it out to the men on the oars, we started for it.

  The water was indeed deep enough to allow a full-sized ship to dock. Though it was empty, we rowed around the end, where I secured the painter to one of the piers and, leaving two of the freedmen to watch the skiff, the other, Luis, disembarked with me. Starting down the dock, I saw several men coming toward me.

  Not wanting to appear threatening, we halted and waited for them to approach. I wiped my sweaty hands on my britches several times before they reached us and was about to do it again when the first man extended his hand in a warm greeting. I bade him good day in Dutch, which made him smile.

  “And to you, sir. Might we ask who you are and whence you came?”

  “Nick Van Doren, at your service,” I said, bowing slightly. I introduced Luis and waited to make their acquaintance.

  “This here’s Hendrik, and I’m Abraham.”

  “We have a ship anchored on the other side of the island. Hoping we could provision here. We’re headed around the Horn.”

  “That’s a fair ways. Your name? I knew a Van Doren in Amsterdam.”

  I started our story, and just as I mentioned being taken by pirates, he stopped me.

  “Your father’s name?”

  “Hans.”

  He bowed his head slightly and without letting me continue, led us down the dock and into a small building that I guessed to be a customs house. After offering weak beer, he asked me to continue. Both men listened attentively as I told the story of being taken by Gasparilla and our subsequent adventures. Deciding to let them draw their own conclusions, I was truthful in all regards, except my omission of the word pirate. When I finished the story, he leaned forward.

  “I think I knew your pa.”

  My heart leapt, but I tried to calm down when Abraham excused himself.

  “Could be another, of course, but not too many Hans Van Doren’s came across in ‘21. We wondered what came of your family. Any idea what happened to them?”

  I told him that I feared the worst and he looked at the floor, shaking this head.

  Finally Henrik spoke. “You and your crew are welcome here. I’ll send word to your men to bring your ship around. You can anchor here and provision.”

  I felt I could trust them, but after all we’d been through, I thought it better that I brought the ship.

  “I certainly appreciate your hospitality, but it’s better if I went back.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Abraham had returned with three armed men. “Send them word. You’ll be fairly treated until they arrive.” He thrust a piece of parchment and quill toward me.

  Chapter 40

  I wasn’t sure if I was under arrest, or a guest, but either way, it was far from the reception I expected. Fortunately, I still remembered enough Dutch to understand what was being said. Abraham remained with me while Hendrik went to assemble what I assumed was their governing council. Gasparilla had educated me in political dealing, and over the last few years I liked to think my diplomatic skills had improved. As it turned out, bloodshed and violence were all-too-key components of negotiation.

  The Spanish were pompous characters who needed to be coddled. The English were all about protocol. I had yet to determine what made the Dutch tick, but as I remembered from my father, it was probably profit. The Dutch East and West India companies had more to do with ruling their colonies than the actual
government did. That led me to believe that my “captivity” had something to do with money. In any case, that was better than the pirate label we often carried. While the men assembled, I did my best to take in snippets of what conversations I could understand.

  After an hour of waiting, six men sat at the table facing me. The Caribbean climate was not suitable for many northern Europeans, and these men were no different. Flushed faces and heavy girths were the norm among the men, who wiped their brows with handkerchiefs as they sat.

  “Van Doren, is it?”

  “Right. Nick Van Doren.”

  “And your father was Hans?”

  “Yes, but there could be more than one.” The looks from the men were dismissive when I suggested it. A brief silence prevailed while they mopped their brows.

  “There is the matter of a debt that Hans Van Doren owes to the Dutch West India Company, who we represent. Seems he was a bit of a speculator.”

  My guess that this was somehow about money was correct. “My father’s debts, if he had any, don’t concern me. I was twelve at the time we were taken by Gasparilla. I know nothing of this speculating.” I said it dismissively, as if it didn’t concern me, but from their expressions, it did.

  “Seems like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, eh. A bit of bad luck, I’d say,” Henrik said. “But, a debt is a debt and now that you are here, we must address it.”

  I had seen no ships capable of pursuing us if we chose to escape, but there was the matter of provisions. “What would be the size of the debt, then?”

  One of the men cleared his throat. “Ten thousand guilders, give or take.”

  “Give or take?” I expected a better accounting if I were to be responsible. “And how was this debt incurred?”

  “Your father was a shrewd man, but he had dreams of finding treasure. Apparently he had a theory and borrowed the money to bring his family to America.”