The Wreck of the Ten Sail

by Steven Becker

  Blue was as the stealthiest of any man, but I was not sure if he could evaluate armaments and threats. I needed to go with him to better understand our circumstances. The canoe was ready to launch and Mason joined us at the water, awaiting orders. I told them my plan and assigned cannon placements and watches. We would direct all cannon at the water. If a threat came from the bay, Blue and I would be in a position to see it and alert the camp.

  I turned to Mason. “Get the other side repaired quickly. By night if you have to. I have a feeling we may need to make a quick getaway.”

  “We can turn her before nightfall and work by torchlight on the other side. The tar should be cured by then.” He paused.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s a wreck off these waters I’ve heard of,” he said. “Called the Wreck of the Ten Sail. If you can garner any information, I’d appreciate it.”

  I nodded and jumped in the bow of the canoe and waited for the men to push us into the clear water.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We sat in a clump of mangroves near the entrance to the bay, I remained low in the bow of the canoe. Blue and I had pulled into the mosquito-infested trees when we saw the first schooner round the point. Surprisingly, she turned into the clear water. I studied her course. Knowing how to navigate the bay could prove important. We stayed under cover until the ship moved past. Land was visible on all three sides of the estuary, so there was no chance of losing sight of her.

  We paddled around a small island and turned again to the south. The bay was several miles wide. To my right was the backside of the beach the Panther was careened on. To the left I saw only mangroves. Directly ahead was a small town with several ships at anchor. This must be Bodden Town, I thought. We moved closer to shore and could soon see the schooner had dropped anchor and the dory was being rowed to a pier. Staying with the shoreline, we cautiously approached the anchorage and I evaluated the settlement that lay ahead.

  I could see no fortifications, only several clusters of buildings. Cotton grew in a large farm to the right and cattle grazed to the left. The tips of several larger masts became visible over the landmass as we approached. I guessed that the land was narrow, similar to the beach we had landed on but with a better anchorage on the ocean side. We were clearly looking at the backside of the settlement.

  “Stop paddling, Mr. Nick. You make too much noise,” Blue whispered as we slid in and out of the protection of the mangroves.

  I laid the paddle on the gunwale and continued my observation of the town. The houses were mainly wattle and daub, small rectangular buildings crafted from a sand-and-lime mixture. Their roofs were covered with palm fronds and looked in good repair. Toward the center of the town were several wooden buildings with shake roofs. All the buildings were elevated off the ground as a safeguard against the tidal surge that accompanied the frequent storms.

  We continued towards the village where several small boats were anchored. Shirtless men waded in the shallows, bending over, removing something from the bottom and bringing it to the boats. Our boat was a different construction, but it was the same size and I expected it would blend in. Information could only be gained by watching, so I motioned Blue towards a clear area and jumped into the water. I immediately regretted my bare feet. The bottom was covered with jagged rock that cut even my calloused skin. I looked at the other men, who were piling these rocks into their boats, and I bent over to mimic their movements, slowly pulling rocks from the bottom and placing them in the canoe. My hands and feet were cut, but I continued the work, wondering how these men could tolerate it.

  “We should move, Mr. Nick,” Blue said. “Nothing more to be seen.”

  I wasn’t satisfied. I pointed to a small beach that would be concealed by the mangroves. “Pull the canoe to shore over there. I’ll go scout out the town.”

  “That’s a bad idea. I can go,” Blue said.

  “They might take you for a runaway slave. We can’t take that chance. The merchant ships anchored on the ocean side will provide me an excuse if anyone asks. I just hope the men that saw me on the beach remain on their ship.”

  Blue paddled to a small section of beach and I jumped out. “If I’m not back by moonrise, go back to the ship.”

  Without looking back, I walked inland, careful to avoid the sharp rocks buried in the sand and regretting that I’d left my boots at camp. Within a few minutes I found myself on a clear and widening path. I stayed to the side to avoid being seen by the handful of small houses lining the road, their large windows wide open to catch the breeze. The road led to the main pier, where there was enough activity that I felt confident walking freely.

  To my left I passed a small rock building flanked by several large cannons aimed at the anchorage, the first sign of armaments I had seen. I guessed the residents felt safe from an attack from the bay.

  Because of her reefs and fortifications, wise captains gave this small island a wide berth and remained well to sea, only using the island as a landmark on their way around Cuba, where the Gulf Stream would pull them north. There was no fresh water or riches to be gained here anyway. The only mention I had heard of the island was of the turtle trade.

  Several men were gathered on the porch of a larger building I took to be a pub. If there was information to be had, this was the place to gather it. I fingered the small silver coins in my pocket, ready to buy a few glasses of rum. Alcohol didn’t suit me, but no man had ever turned down a free drink, and after a few they were often very receptive to questions.

  I entered and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Even with the breeze coming through the open windows, it was still sweltering inside. Men were gathered in small groups, some around tables and others leaning on the bar. Another group huddled in a corner on their knees playing dice. I moved in the direction of a single man standing at the end of the bar. He had the look of a local; his sunburnt face and greying beard were shadowed by the wide brim of a hat fashioned from palm fronds. We exchanged nods as I settled a few feet from him and waited for the woman working the crowd to reach me.

  “I’ll have a glass and another for my friend here,” I called to her. She looked up, and my jaw dropped. She was stunningly beautiful, an exotic blend of every culture that had passed these shores. Her pale grey eyes surveyed me, and I couldn’t help but want to touch her ivory skin.

  “That’ll be two shillings,” she said with an English accent. I finally blinked, reached into my pocket, and handed her one of the silver coins.

  She fingered the coin and passed it to the man next to me for his opinion.

  He rubbed the coin between his fingers and then balanced it on one to guess its weight. “I’m guessing that’s about right for the drinks,” he said and handed it back to her.

  I knew differently. The coin was worth a keg, at least, but it was the smallest change our treasure contained, and with a fortune on the beach, I let it pass. She set the beers down in front of us and walked towards the group playing dice at the far end of the room.

  The old man nodded. “Where’d you come by that?” he asked.

  “Trading, mostly. Did a little wrecking up in the Keys,” I said.

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Spanish from the look of it. And old. I’d not be far off guessing that came from the Plate Fleet, gone down off the Florida coast in 1715.”

  I was impressed with his knowledge. “You know your wrecks.”

  He sipped his beer again. “Done a little salvage to get by when the turtles are thin.”

  The talk of wrecks made me forget my reason for coming. I thought of Mason’s request back at camp.

  “Then you know the Wreck of the Ten Sail?” I probed.

  A half-cocked gaze answered my question. “Aye. I was on one of those ships that followed the Convert onto the reef. ’Twas about thirty years ago. One of King George’s sons was aboard, you know.”

  “Any salvage to be had from it?”

  “A bit floated onto the beach. We tried to drag the bottom
, but it’s the middle of the reef there. The rest is too deep to get at,” he said and finished his beer.

  “Any rumor of treasure?” I asked.

  “Ah, so there you are, young man. Lookin’ for treasure, are you? Rumor has it you was pirates.”

  I swallowed, and the beer stung in my nostril. If he knew who I was, I had to wonder who else did. I glanced around the room, expecting to be in chains at any second, but the other men were talking amongst themselves or engrossed in their dice game.

  The old man must have sensed my panic. “Your secret’s safe here…if you buy another.” He set his glass on the counter.

  The girl came over and refilled his mug, looking to me for more silver. I took the last coin from my pocket and held it out to her.

  “You could be here a while,” she said, taking the coin before turning to her father. “I’ve seen that look on your face when you starts talking about treasure.”

  “Go away now, girl,” he said to her before he took a sip and turned back to me. “Now where was I?”

  I knew he was toying with me, extending the conversation to get another beer, but I was drawn in now. “You were saying about the wreck.”

  “Aye. There’s ten of ’em laying on the reef. The Ludlow, which I was on, and eight other merchants led to their death by the Convert. We were fifty-eight ships in a convoy from Jamaica, led by that fool of a captain. Wouldn’t expect much to be left of the merchants, but the boy, the one that claimed he was Georgie’s son, was on the Ludlow with me. He couldn’t shut up about the silver in her hold. But like I said, she’s too deep to get at.”

  Before he could continue, a shadow moved across the wall and I turned to see two men in the doorway. One looked directly at me and whispered something to the other. I didn’t recognize them from the beach, but word must have spread.

  The second man left and the first remained by the door, his hand on a pistol stuck in his belt. There were windows on each side of the building and I was about to make a move toward one of them when I felt a tug on my hand. I turned and looked into the eyes of the girl.

  “Hurry.” She pulled me around the bar and into the back room, saying something about the outhouse loud enough for the man at the door to hear.

  She led me out the back door, and before I could ask her anything, she pointed to the brush behind the building. “Best run. They’ll have a force out looking for you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I followed the same path I had taken into the village, running as hard as my injured feet could carry me. Fine crystals of sand ground into my cuts as the small chunks of coral hidden below the surface of the path cut me further. When I heard men behind me, I ran faster. Somewhere between the flashes of pain I realized the futility of my escape. My pursuers had boots and were able to move quickly over the ground, but I was slowing. Even if I could reach Blue and the canoe, we would be easily sighted on the bay and limited to the speed of our two paddles.

  It was better to let Blue remain concealed and retreat alone in the dark. I could hide out and make my way overland on the morrow. In the likely event I was captured, we still had the hostage at camp for a bargaining chip.

  A shot fired and I felt the bullet zip past me. So much for the hostage, I thought. A flintlock pistol or musket wielded by a running man was far from accurate, so I discounted the threat and ran on. The path ended and I found myself staring at a tangle of mangroves. The ground beneath them looked firm, and with no other option, I ran into the overgrowth.

  My foot must have caught on a branch, because the next thing I knew I was face down in the muck. I rolled to the side, hoping to use the cover of the dense growth to conceal myself, when I heard the grunt of the beast. I didn’t need to waste any time getting a better look. I knew that sound. I hauled myself to my feet and took off back the way I had come. It would be safer to run into the men than become dinner for the caiman. I heard it shuffle toward me, but three men appeared in front of me and it took off into the brush.

  “Well, look what we’ve got here,” one of the men said.

  “For a pirate, he doesn’t look much,” the other added, moving closer.

  As they surrounded me and bound my hands, I wondered, was this pirate label never going to wash off of me? Flanked by two men and led by a third, we walked back towards the settlement. I could only hope my men on the beach still held the hostage. Without his life to trade for mine, I could be hanging from a rope by dark.

  “Your governor wants to talk to me,” I said.

  The lead man spat and turned back to me. “That he will, boy. That he will.”

  My feet were badly hurt and I looked back at the bloody trail I was leaving. Surely Blue would pick up the scent and find me. We reached the settlement and the men took me to the small stone building flanked by the cannon I had seen earlier. The heavy door creaked on its hinges as the lead man pulled it open. I was unceremoniously shoved in and the door closed behind me. I went to the single window, open to the elements but covered with iron bars, and stared out as the men locked the door and walked down the path.

  The building was dark, but cool, and it had a bunk built into the back wall. I sat down on the cold stone, knowing my destiny would reveal itself soon enough. I suspected the capture of a pirate would be big news in this sleepy town.

  I reviewed my options. My crew was too small to take the village. They might try to break me out, but they would be badly outnumbered and I had no way of knowing if the ship had been made seaworthy. I was limited to trading myself for the hostage or bartering for my freedom.

  I crossed one leg over my knee to examine my foot. Several jagged cuts stared back at me. I could have used Lucy’s medicine to stave off the infection, but, for the time being, I tore strips from my shirt and fashioned slippers that would at least protect me from further damage. Just as I tied the last strip, I heard men outside the door.

  ***

  “Don’t look like no pirate,” the governor said.

  I stood in front of the governor, less nervous than I expected I would be. I didn’t think my looks were going to save me, but one could always hope. My father had been a merchant before our capture by Gasparilla and I had attended many of his meetings. He had taught me to read and write as well as basic mathematics. If I was a pirate, I was an educated one. The more humble I could appear and sound, the less threatening and pirate-like I would be.

  William Bodden (I had been informed of his name on the walk over), on the other hand, looked more like a pirate than I did. He was middle-aged, with a muscular build. A beard hid his face and a large pipe extended from his mouth. It was his hair that gave him the look of an outlaw, black with streaks of grey through it, let loose and hanging to his shoulders.

  “Let’s have it, then, boy. Who are you? Who’s your captain and where have you come from? I heard your lot has taken my man hostage. That’s not going to go well for ya.” He spat out the questions.

  I debated whether or not to tell him I was the captain. It could save me or kill me. So I was careful not to overplay my hand. “My name is Nick, sir,” I said, knowing a surplus of sirs never hurt anyone. “I am the captain of the vessel careened on the beach. We are merchants making emergency repairs, sir. Hardly pirates.”

  “Hmm, merchants, you say. Why take the hostage, then? I don’t know any merchants to behave like that.”

  “We’ve had a hard go of it, sir.”

  “Or maybe you’ve something to hide,” he said and turned to the sideboard, where he poured two fingers of an amber liquid into a tumbler, then glanced at me, asking without a word if I would join him.

  I nodded back. Not because I wanted the drink, but I knew better than to rebuff his courtesy. Gasparilla had taught me as much. Never turn down an offer of hospitality if it’s going to prevent a sword through your heart or a bullet in your head. I took the offered glass and waited for the governor to sit. He extended his glass and I copied his gesture. We both drank, him deeply, me just a sip. The fiery liquid was ac
tually quite good; a tinge of honey took the bite out of the rum.

  “It seems to me you’d been questioning my authority.” He got up and walked to a window. “The king don’t take kind to pirates. I could have you in the hold of that ship out there and on your way across the pond. The executioner in the Tower of London would be more than happy to meet you.”

  There was something about the way he said it that was not sincere. I took another sip of rum and called his bluff. “But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

  He turned and looked at me. “No, I’m not. At least not on that ship.” He pointed out the window to a frigate anchored just offshore. “There’s one that passes by here every week or so, though, so you ought to mind your manners. I’d be the judge and jury here. A bit of a forsaken outpost, this rock is, but I make the best of things.”

  His last sentence aroused both curiosity and fear. It seemed he was going to offer some kind of deal. I sipped again, forgetting myself for a moment and enjoying the spirit.

  He stared at me and finished his drink. “Maybe you’re a pirate, maybe you ain’t. In these waters, you can be a pirate one day and the next you’re a privateer.”

  So that’s where he was going. A letter of marque would give us legitimacy. We could sail out of here, wander around the Caribbean for a month or so, and return with the treasure. The governor must have thought of this. It would have to be split with him, surely. But our share would be legal.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “For me to offer you something so valuable, I would need an act of good faith.”

  “And what would that be?” I asked.

  “The release of my man, of course. Then bring your ship here into the harbor and be my guest. Show a bit of trust for your new benefactor.”

  I didn’t have much trust for him, but we were in a bit of a spot. With a letter of marque, the entire British Caribbean would be open to us. I’d grown up Dutch, with no love for the British, but the last I had heard, England controlled most of the islands from the Bahamas to South America. The territory we would be welcome in was vast.