The Wreck of the Ten Sail

by Steven Becker

  Once done, we changed course to the south—back to the Caymans.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Mason had the pump rigged as a wash station and was hosing the stench of the slaver off our new crewmen. We had to ration our food and water for the time being, but the freed men seemed satisfied. After they ate, Blue organized them to help work the ship.

  The crew and I had discussed what to do with our new cargo. The men, from what we could tell, were stolen from Cuba and spoke mainly Spanish, with a little French mixed in. To a man, we decided they should be freed, but, in the interim, we could surely use the manpower to raise the treasure.

  Twilight faded to night and I took the first watch. The ship was quiet now, the men scattered on the deck and throughout the hold. The adrenaline had finally left me and I relaxed at the wheel, enjoying the feel of the Panther as she cut through the small waves, throwing schools of flying fish off her bow wake. Shayla came on deck and put her arm around my waist, and for the moment I felt the thrill of victory.

  I wanted to indulge in the moment and revel in the moment, but reality set in and I remembered Rory: was she a hostage, or the governor’s ally? I started to move away from Shayla but her grasp was firm, and, at that moment, my mind and body were at odds with each other. My body won. We remained together at the helm for the rest of my watch, talking little, both needing time to process the day’s events.

  It was an easy sail on a beam reach, the wind steady and the seas calm. After a hard-won battle and with a woman by my side, I was lured into a sense of euphoria and I decided not to resist.

  ***

  The next morning, I left Shayla, feeling a bit less bulletproof than I had the night before. I exchanged looks with the crew and sensed their approval as I walked the deck, inspecting their work. My tour took me to the hold, where brilliant white teeth smiled at me from the men sitting by the pumps. The patch had held and they now only had to work intermittently to keep the sea out. We would need to make a more permanent repair of the hull, but it could wait.

  I went over to inspect our stores of powder and ammunition, wondering if I should post a guard. We were outnumbered badly, and though I had a good feeling about the freed slaves, I couldn’t be sure if they were friend or foe. But after a quick look at the men on deck, I decided they had neither the energy nor the strength for an uprising. I would seek out Blue and see what he thought.

  I met with Rhames and Mason at the helm to change the watch and decide what was to be done with the men. Our course would remain southerly, with a turn to the southwest before sunset. We would reef the sails overnight and make landfall the next morning.

  “What of the men?” I asked.

  We talked back and forth about the problem. It was decided that taking them back to Cuba was not an option. We might be branded slavers, a more dubious label than pirate, and the men might revolt, knowing they were returning to servitude. There were forty of them to our nine. They could overpower us by sheer numbers. A few might die in the attempt, but, as I had seen firsthand, men fighting for their freedom were willing to risk anything.

  “What if we take them on?” I asked. After watching them work the pumps, I thought they might be a help. Besides, no one knew how hard it would be to recover the silver from the wreck.

  “Have to bring in Red and Swift and see on their share,” Rhames said before walking away.

  Pirates had no aversion to slaves. Their crews often contained at least a handful of runaways.

  “What about you?” I asked Mason, now that we were alone.

  “I’m outvoted before we start as long as the pirates stay together, but I have no objection,” he said. “Fact is, if any are good in the water, it might be a help.”

  Rhames was back with the other two men and we stood in an uncomfortable silence. The first order of business in settling shares and authority on a ship was to elect a captain. My heart stood in my throat as I waited for someone to speak.

  “Reckon we ought to keep Nick as captain,” Rhames said.

  I breathed again. All present agreed and I took over the meeting. “Rhames ought to be quartermaster, and Mason, master of sail.”

  “Aye, but what of us?” Swift said, looking at Red.

  “How about gunners at a share and a half?” I proposed.

  “So we gets this straight. You get two and a half, and these two,” he said, referring to Rhames and Mason, “they’ll get two shares?”

  “That’s right. And the men that agree to swear an oath will get full shares,” I said.

  “Aye, but we’re counting on you to make them big shares,” Swift said.

  “We’ve already lost a bloody fortune to the seas and the governor,” Red added.

  I was surprised they had elected me captain without first pressing this point. “I aim to get that back as well.”

  “We’re agreed, then?” Rhames asked.

  “There’s one more. Phillip. I’d offer a share to start, but if he’s useful, we can make it a share and a quarter,” I said.

  “If he’s useful… meaning if we find the treasure in the wreck,” Rhames stated. “Then we’ll all be better off. I agree.”

  “How do you reckon to explain to the freed men how we run things?” Mason asked.

  “I’ve got some Spanish, and Blue seems to be able to talk to them. Between us, I figure we can get the point across. If they see we’re not going to put them in shackles and take them back to Cuba, I expect they’ll agree to anything.”

  An hour later the full company gathered on deck. Mason, Rhames, and I stood on quarterdeck with Red, Swift, Phillip, Blue, and the women in front of us. I started in halting Spanish, fighting for each word until one of the men started laughing.

  “Forgive me, sir,” said the oldest of the lot, “but perhaps I could help.” Something about the old man’s bearing and the meat on his bones suggested he was more than a common slave.

  “Your name, man?” I asked.

  “They call me William, sir,” he said in perfect English.

  “And you can speak Spanish as well?”

  “I can. I was in the service of a trader.”

  “Very well, then.” I could only hope his translation was accurate.

  “Please tell the men that they are free and we are willing to enlist their help in our enterprise.”

  He translated my words and a cheer came from the group. Before they got too excited, I decided to tell them the dangers they faced, and relayed this to William. His discourse was answered by smiles and nods. I assumed whatever unknown they were about to face was better than their previous lives. I explained our ship’s chain of command, our plan to take the treasure, and how we intended to divide the spoils. The last bit was answered with a louder cheer. I stepped back to allow Rhames to assign the men their new duties and help them elect a leader for every ten men, someone who could receive and relay orders.

  We finished and the assembly broke up. The men either went to their assigned duties or below to sleep.

  “There’s still one matter to be settled,” Rhames said as I was about to go.

  I was surprised it had taken him this long. “The girl.”

  “Aye, the girl.”

  “She’ll be my responsibility,” I said flatly.

  I had my own suspicions about Rory and her betrayal, but that was none of Rhames’s concern. For the time being, we had a more important problem to solve—how to raise the treasure.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  As we approached the island, Phillip was by the helm giving direction to Mason and pointing to the breaking white water. It was just past dawn and the reef looked ominous. It was so clearly marked, I wondered how ten ships could have been lulled into its embrace.

  About a half mile from shore, a placid bay lay between the reef and the coast. It was still too dark to see the depth of the water in the sound, but Phillip had promised a narrow but deep pass to good anchorage. The shore looked inhospitable. It was easy to see from the bent trees that it was th
e weather side of the island. Their tops faced inland and their trunks were deformed from the relentless southeast wind.

  “That’s a dangerous bit to navigate,” Mason said as he steered off the wind to gain sea room.

  Phillip nodded and again assured us he knew these waters. We followed the southerly line of the reef, having to tack several times before we saw the island turn toward the west. Here the barrier extended even further out to sea.

  “There.” Phillip pointed to a gap in the breaking waves.

  It was less than a hundred feet wide, but clearly gave access to the calmer water beyond. Mason tacked again to gain a better angle. Anything but a straight entry could wreck us on the adjacent reef. On a broad reach, we sailed through the gap in the coral and found ourselves in calm, clear water.

  “Four fathoms.” Swift called out the latest sounding from the bow.

  Plenty of depth. I looked over at Mason. We nodded a silent agreement. This was as far as we dared venture without further exploration.

  Mason called the order to drop anchor and, just as the iron hit the water, a school of spinner dolphins surfaced and swam next to us. I took this for a good sign, but remained cautious. I had Swift throw the wax lead all around the boat. He reported that it was shallow off our stern, but that the tallow in the bottom of the weight showed sandy bottom all around.

  “Rig a cask and mark our position.” I expected that we would be back and forth through here many times and didn’t care to search for a new anchorage each time.

  The ship settled back against the chain with the bow facing windward. I turned to shore and lined up several landmarks: a cluster of windblown trees to the south and a bluff to the right. I memorized the orientation of each to give quick reference if I suspected we were drifting. The men furled the sails and organized the sheets and rigging while Mason, Rhames, and I talked about how to proceed.

  As we talked, I took up the spyglass to check the bluff to see if we had drifted. That’s when I saw it. A silent puff of smoke, followed by the loud report of a canon and a ball slashing the water fifty yards to our stern. So much for the safety of the bay.

  “Man the skiff,” Rhames called.

  I brought the glass back to my eye and studied the bluff. Several figures were running back and forth between two guns. It was too late to pull the anchor and escape. If we were within their range, we would know it in seconds. Another blast landed a bit closer and I ordered the men to add more chain to the anchor line. They did, and the ship crept towards the inlet, but remained anchored. The extra hundred feet gave us a bit of insurance. Again we waited.

  Another shot fired and landed short. From what I could see through the glass, there were no more than four or five men manning the guns. Any more and they would have fired much faster. I signaled to Rhames, in the skiff. He tipped his hat and, with a dozen armed men, rowed hard toward the beach. The bluff might have been in range of our carronades, but we were left with only ballast stones and a bit of chain to shoot, not the gauged balls that would make the distance. Rhames and his men would land south of the gun placements and take the guns.

  I ordered Red to take several men and rig a cable to pivot the ship on the anchor should we need to defend ourselves. Once the cable was rigged, I drilled two teams in how to use the device to take in or release line to move our guns to any angle an approaching ship could take.

  As the men practiced with the cable, I heard a single pistol shot from the bluff. I grabbed the glass and went aft. This was our signal and I needed to see if the flag had been raised. Through the glass, I saw the small red pennant swinging in the breeze and relaxed, knowing that, at least for now, we had control of the guns. I would send two men back to the governor with a message that we were here, and that this was no act of piracy or war.

  Once Rhames returned with the skiff, we commenced ferrying men to the beach to form hunting parties and take whatever water was at the battery on the bluff. With this many men, water was becoming an issue.

  Only a skeleton crew remained onboard and Mason and I took the opportunity to lay out the gear we had purchased in Havana. The pump had already seen use and would have to be cleaned with fresh water. Blue and Lucy appeared surprisingly more interested in the equipment than hunting. They declined to go ashore and came over to help. Phillip worked with us as well, but there was no sign of Shayla.

  I looked on as Mason laid the glass near the center of the oiled leather and cut a hole a few inches smaller than the square pane. We had searched the market for a round piece but had been forced to settle for square, but its quality was evident. With the glass placed over the canvas, he worked a piece of pliable metal to follow its contours, then rolled the excess material back over and used the hardware we had bought to clamp it in place.

  “Fetch a keg of water,” he called. “Seawater will do.”

  Phillip and I found an empty half-keg, attached a rope to it, and flung it into the bay. Once filled, we hauled it aboard and wrestled it over to Mason. He took the material and placed it over his head with the glass in front of his face, then plunged his head into the keg. A minute later he pulled back and removed the material, breathing in deeply.

  “That was all I had for breath, but she didn’t leak. That’s the first test anyway. Now we need a core.”

  He grabbed a bucket from the deck, placed it over his head to see that it was the right fit, then smashed it on the deck. He took the bottom and two copper hoops from the debris and placed them inside the leather, then gave Lucy instructions to sew the lot together. “Just need a tie to keep the water out,” he explained.

  “A noose to keep the water out, you mean.” I was amazed at what he appeared to be making.

  He ignored the barb. “Let’s see about rigging the air, then.”

  I followed him to the pump and watched while he adjusted the airflow before handing me the hose. “Now put this in your mouth and see how you can breathe.”

  I was reluctant, but there was little risk on deck. With the hose in my mouth, I gave him hand signals until I could easily breathe. It was easier than I expected once I got used to it. We had just finished calibrating the pump when Lucy came back with the helmet.

  “When I get it on,” Mason instructed, “stuff the hose under and place this loop around my neck. Pull her tight until I say.” He took the helmet and placed it over his head, adjusting the glass piece until it was in front of his face.

  He signaled and I pushed the hose underneath and tightened the loop. Phillip started to work the pump and I watched as Mason breathed. Several minutes later he gave me another signal and I removed the loop and helped him remove the gear.

  “So it’ll work just like that underwater?” I asked.

  “Let’s hope so. There’ll be some things to be worked out, to be sure, but we can test it off the beach.”

  I felt ready to go right then, but the skiff was still gone. Our test would have to wait until morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I rose before dawn, excited about our test. The skiff had returned after dark and our men’s time ashore had not been wasted. Our stores were now full of turtle meat, and several casks of fresh water had been liberated from the battlement on the bluff.

  Lucy had worked on the head cover through the night, and on inspection, it was much improved from the one we had quickly devised the day before. The seams were double-stitched and reinforced, helping to keep the metal bands in place. Two grommets allowed the hoses to be inserted directly. Mason said there would be leaks, but the pressure supplied by the pump would remove any water along with the spent air.

  Mason, Lucy, Blue, and I piled the hoses, pump, and helmet aboard the skiff and rowed toward land. In the clear water, the bottom appeared much closer than it actually was, and it took three tries before we could anchor in head-deep water. Blue had volunteered to test the gear, allowing Mason and me to work the pump and observe from above.

  Alas, the helmet was too big for him, so the plan changed before we had b
egun and I placed the leather garb over my head. Mason briefed me on how he expected the apparatus to work, but until we were in the water it was all just words. With the tie in place, closing off the leather hood at my neck, I waited while he started to pump. After a few seconds the bellows pushed fresh air into the helmet and I began to breathe. Mason adjusted the pressure and, once I began to inhale easily, I gave him the prearranged thumbs-up sign.

  Now it was time to get into the water. I climbed over the gunwale and landed feet first on the sandy bottom. The top of the headgear was just under the surface of the water and after a brief moment of panic, I raised a hand to signal that I was ready. Soon, fresh air surrounded me. I relaxed, took a deep breath, and submerged to my knees.

  I was stunned by the clear view through the glass plate. Every contour of the bottom was as visible as if I was standing on terra firma. For a moment, I felt myself struggling to breathe, and I was about to shoot for the surface when I realized I was holding my breath. So I tentatively released the air in my lungs and inhaled the piped-in air. It tasted of leather, but I was breathing underwater.

  Soon small fish darted past me. Entranced, I kneeled on the surface watching them. There were scores of them, but every movement was synchronized. I watched, mesmerized by the reflection of light off their silvery bodies as they swam. With my free hand I reached out to try and touch them, but, as one, they reversed course and shot away. A stingray appeared by my knees and I flinched when it turned its barbed tail toward me.

  Mason must have thought something wrong when my other hand, the one we agreed should stay above water to signal, disappeared below the surface. I heard a muffled voice through the empty hose and yelled back that all was well. He must have misunderstood. I felt two pairs of hands grab hold of me and pull my head above the water.