Uncharted Waters
Page 21
The freedmen stood with skeptical looks on their faces. Like me, they had no idea what Blue saw, either. He marked a large X on the ground with his heel and stood back while the men started to dig. It was easy work and a hole about six-feet across and two-feet deep was quickly excavated. Taking a break, the men’s skeptical looks returned.
While they rested, Blue took a pick and attacked the center of the hole. I rose to join him and we soon had another foot of sand and rock removed, but still there was no sign of any treasure. At this point I was starting to wonder, but Blue continued slamming the pointed end of the pick into the dirt until finally we heard a thunk, the sound of metal on wood instead of rock echoing through the alcove. The men jumped up and pushed us away, taking to the task with new life.
Blue never told me why he’d chosen that spot to dig, but a large void opened below the excavation. Inside it were a dozen chests that each took two strong men to lift. The wary expressions on the faces of the men around me told the story. We had been deceived before, any celebration would wait. An hour later the hole was empty and we were faced with the task of moving the heavy chests. The search and digging had consumed our window of opportunity for the day, forcing us to leave the chests in the alcove in order to escape the cave before the tide prevented it.
Back on the ship, our excitement turned to nervous tension, as we knew the treasure sat unprotected. I could see each man eyeing his neighbor and counting heads to make sure no one disappeared. After a long night, dawn broke and we set out to retrieve our find.
Shayla and I had a reserved moment together, but we both knew this wasn’t over until the treasure was secured, and we had moved on to other waters. After what we’d been through, what they held was anyone’s guess, but at least we would be rich again.
The night had given me time to think. Worried about the weight of the chests, I decided to unload them and shuttle the treasure out of the cave with a series of burlap sacks tied to a line. There was a chance that one might snag on a rock and break, but I couldn’t see getting the chests out intact. How Henriques’ men had gotten them in would remain a mystery.
The same men as the day before were tasked with the job of extracting the treasure, and we quickly swam through the chambers, relieved to find the chests sitting as we left them.
Chapter 45
The day’s recovery had gone well, my plan working to perfection, but hampered by the rising tide we only had time to recover half the treasure. Leaving half the cache, even if it was just for the night, was unsettling, especially since we had been in this situation before. All we could do was stare anxiously across the water and think about the wealth we had previously left in our wake. This effort proved different and the following day we recovered the rest. It had been a taxing few days and I went to bed as soon as our newly found riches were stashed in the bilge.
With twice as much treasure as was found in Henriques’s cache in Cozumel, we were all wealthy—again. Now, time was our enemy. Staying another night offshore of Bonaire was the last thing any of us wanted to do. With only the skinny rock protecting our flank, the approaches were wide open. With our newfound wealth aboard, and after having been betrayed several times before, we were worried
That night, without my knowledge Rhames broke out the good rum and shared it with the crew. As you would expect, at first it was a raucous celebration, but with the alcohol flowing it soon turned into a one-sided debate about screwing the Dutch.
It was near midnight when the sound of drunken voices woke me. Quickly I dressed and headed for the deck.
“Right, then. What’s this nonsense about?”
“Why should we give the bastards a share? It was your own father that found it.” Rhames wobbled as he spoke.
The crew cheered behind him. If I didn’t do something quickly the gathering would likely turn into a pirate meeting and no good would come of that. An argument at this point would solve nothing—what I needed was time. Time for the night to end, time for the effects of the alcohol to wear off, and time for sober men to be reasoned with. Glancing seaward, I would have preferred to see a sail on the horizon than to deal with the rabble standing in front of me.
Shayla came to my rescue. Exiting the companionway, she stood beside me and raised her hands for quiet, waiting calmly. I saw Phillip shyly poke his head from the opening and wondered what she was up to.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“They want a party, let’s give them a reason.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“And you’re sure?”
“If we don’t do something they’ll burn down the ship.”
She didn’t wait for my answer. “Gather round, everyone.” She waited until the group formed in front of us. “You all know we are having a baby, and I can’t think of a better time to marry.”
A cheer went up; the Dutch had been forgotten.
“Who’s going to conduct the ceremony?” I asked.
“My father’s done it before.” She called for Phillip, who came to stand between us.
Under the star-speckled sky, with more wealth on board than we could spend in several lifetimes, we were married. Unfortunately, as we were the only sober ones aboard, we took watch directly after the ceremony. The exhausted and inebriated men soon collapsed on deck. Aside from the snoring men, the only sound we could hear was the water lapping against the ship.
The next morning we set sail for Curacao. There was no heated debate, merely a short conversation where the crew agreed to honor the contract with the Dutch. We had burnt enough bridges behind us; it was time to start building them instead. Our arrival in Willemstad was a sober affair. Surprised at both our honesty and the riches we had found, we were treated well and, after provisioning, weighed anchor for the uncharted waters ahead.
Over the next few days we crossed the equator and, just after leaving Trinidad to port, entered the Atlantic. With the Caribbean in our wake, the adversity that had dampened our previous endeavors was broken, and we could only hope our luck would change.
About the Author
Always looking for a new location or adventure to write about, Steven Becker can usually be found on or near the water. He splits his time between Tampa and the Florida Keys - paddling, sailing, diving, fishing or exploring.
Find out more by visiting www.stevenbeckerauthor.com or contact me directly at
booksbybecker@gmail.com.
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Also By Steven Becker
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Backwater Channel
Backwater Cove
Backwater Key
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Wood’s Reef
Wood’s Wall
Wood’s Wreck
Wood’s Harbor
Wood’s Reach
Wood’s Revenge
Wood’s Betrayal
Wood’s Tempest
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Tides of Fortune
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Shifting Sands
Uncharted Waters
Will Service Adventure Thrillers
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Storm Rising
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