“I’m fine,” I yelled through the leather headgear and extended a thumbs-up. I wanted nothing more than to go back underwater, but Mason wouldn’t let me. Despite my objections, he removed the gear.
“Let’s go deeper,” I said.
“Wait just a minute. This ain’t no sightseeing expedition,” he said. “We need to get the gear right. On your knees is one thing, but as soon as you start to go below a few fathoms, there are pressures to be accounted for. You need to take this for the serious business it is,” he scolded.
I agreed, although I didn’t understand what he meant by ‘pressures.’ I would have to trust his experience. Slowly we worked our way back to the ship, stopping several times to test the gear in deeper water along the way. The last test was at two fathoms, and I started to understand what he meant by pressure. At that depth, the quantity of air was inadequate and pushed the leather uncomfortably against my head.
“Air!” I yelled into the headgear, hoping that he would hear me above. By this time we had worked out our signal system to one-word commands. I distrusted using a tube for communication, but he must have understood because, seconds later, I could hear the hissing of the air entering the gear, and the leather expanded again. I breathed cautiously, more worried about my life than the surroundings now. If this is how things felt at twelve feet, I wondered how it would feel in the sixty feet of water the Ludlow rested in.
***
Near noon, we sat in the skiff eating dried turtle meat and watching Blue yell in delight as he hand-lined fish using his share of the meat as bait. Before long, what space was left on the deck was covered in fish. We took the catch back to the ship, gathered a few more supplies, and went out for the last and deepest try of the day.
We were anchored just outside the small channel in thirty feet of water. The sea was different here, the bottom still visible, but where before, in the clear water inside the reef, you could see every grain of sand, only gradations of colors could be perceived here. Had it not been for the weighted line Mason had rigged, I would have panicked the minute the current grabbed hold of me.
The line was held firmly on the bottom by a heavy ballast stone. We had tied knots every five feet to mark the depth and I had just passed the third when I felt the water temperature drop. I swallowed hard and waited for the pressure in my ears to adjust before dropping two more knots.
With every fathom, the bottom became clearer. I was shocked at the color and magnificence of the coral structures. The majestic formations, so deadly to ships, were stunning underwater. And the fish! Thousands of them of all sizes and shapes swam all around me, darting in and out of the coral outcroppings. In my wildest dreams I had never imagined such a sight.
A call down the voice tube snapped me back to my reason for being here. I yelled back that I was all right, then continued making my way to the bottom. As I did, I relayed what information I could through the tube.
Mason wanted me to try and move away from the line to see how buoyant I would be at this depth, so when I was ready, I released my hold. Immediately I started ascending, my speed increased by the ballooning helmet, so I reached out, grabbed the line, and pulled myself back down to the bottom. The pressure was greater here. My ears ached, but the headgear returned to normal.
My heart was beating fast and I gulped for air. Finally I was able to slow my breath and I relaxed again. Off to the side, I saw what looked like a thousand fish moving as one toward the surface. Suddenly a flash of grey shot up from the depths, scattering the school. The beast swung his head side to side when he reached the outliers, scooping up the stunned fish in his open mouth.
The shark swam amidst the school, eating his fill. When he turned again, our eyes locked. A primal chill went up my spine as I stood helpless, watching this six-foot predator that had every advantage. With its head swinging side to side, it swam toward me. I thought to release the rope and shoot to the surface, but I was frozen in place. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the shark turned and swam away.
***
Back on the ship, we worked through the problems we had discovered during the dive. Diving on the wreck would require not only a smooth descent, but also a method to find and retrieve the remains. Not an easy task. For now, though, we put the latter problem aside and focused on the gear. Our most important task was to work on a weight system so the diver was not tethered to the rope line. After some adjustments, the gear was ready and Mason, Phillip, and I stood at the rail staring out to sea.
“She’s over there,” Phillip said, pointing past the reef.
Maybe he knew where the wreck lay, but from where I stood I could only see water. In forty feet, where he figured the deck of the ship to be, we would be hard-pressed to see the bottom unless the seas were dead calm.
“We’re going to have to do better than that,” Mason said, a worried look on his face. “We don’t know if she’s on the sand or the reef. The ship’ll need to be right above her to service the diver.”
“We’ll just have to take our best shot,” I said. “When we’re near the spot, I’ll go down and have a look.” The image of the shark was still fresh in my mind. I wondered if there were even larger creatures further out, where the water was darker and deeper. I had already decided I would need to take some kind of weapon with me and talked to Blue about his thoughts on the matter.
“If it weren’t for the reef, we could drag a chain between the ship and the skiff,” Mason said.
Wreckers searching for a downed ship sometimes attached a length of chain between two craft and dragged it along the bottom until it caught on something. But with the reef visible above the waves, this system would be ineffective.
It was getting dark and I realized how tired I was. Because of my diving responsibilities, I had been taken off the watch schedule and had the entire night to rest. It was a rare luxury.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Before dawn broke the next morning, I was already nervously pacing the deck, waiting for Mason to move the Panther and anchor her over the suspected site of the wreck.
My night had been restless, as my dreams were haunted by sharks and other demons of the sea, and my hours awake were full of thoughts of what could go wrong underwater. My only reprieve was a midnight visit from Shayla. Now, I was thankful for the daylight and the weather was turning out to be ideal for a dive.
It was hotter that day, but the lack of wind had settled the seas to a glassy calm, allowing us to see the bones of the wreck from the deck of the ship. What we didn’t know was if it was the right wreck. When I felt the Panther swing on her anchor, I started to prepare the gear. We loaded it in the skiff, along with a spear Blue had whittled to ward off predators. The ship would offer support, but we had decided to use the skiff as a work platform. The small craft was cramped, but allowed for greater maneuverability and was closer to the water.
The headgear was salt-encrusted and stiff after the previous day’s dive, making it even more uncomfortable when Mason and Red placed it on my head and tied off the neck. It was hot and claustrophobic inside. Sweat poured off my brow, running into my eyes, making it hard to see through the already-cloudy glass. My breath came in gulps and I wondered if the heat would soon choke me. Finally, I felt the whoosh of air, gave the thumbs-up to Mason, and rolled awkwardly off the gunwale and into the water. We had tried several entry methods the day before, with mixed results. To prevent the headgear from slipping from my head, we had finally settled on a side roll.
It was a relief to be back in the water. The headgear lost its stiffness and the faceplate cleared. The cooler temperature settled me and my breathing evened out. I descended along the weighted line, counting the knots as they passed. I went slowly, allowing the pressure to settle in my ears before going lower. The lead had indicated we were in sixty feet of water, but the structure of the wreck was higher than the surrounding reef. Still, it would be deeper than I had gone the day before. If I had learned anything from that dive, it was that the deeper I went, the more things
seemed to go wrong.
I forgot my worries the minute my feet hit the deck of the wreck. I’d imagined shipwrecks before and even seen some shallow ones from above, but until that moment, I never knew the life they attracted.
Thirty years of sea growth covered the ship, clinging to anything it could. Multicolored fish darted in and out of the open cavities while others pecked at the coral. I left the weighted line and started walking along the deck towards the hold. The weights Mason had hung from my belt held me to the bottom, and without any lines or sails, it was easier to move about the ship than I expected. Phillip had drawn a sketch of the ship, and I tried to orient myself before venturing inside. I still had no idea if this was indeed the Ludlow.
The hold was dark and I could see the antennae of a dozen lobsters hanging upside down from the deck. I stuck my hand out to grab one, but it moved backwards and out of reach. It was already darker in the deeper water, and I expected light was going to be even more of a problem inside the hold. With no light and unknown obstructions for the hoses to tangle on, I decided removing the deck boards and dropping in from above would be the best means of entry.
I moved amidships and went to my knees, ignoring the blunt-headed fish pecking at the coral next to me. The once-tight deck boards had decayed enough for me to slide my fingers between them, but when I went to pull one up, my fingers came back bloody from the coral crusted on them. I stayed where I was for a moment, watching my own blood float towards the surface. Hopefully no sharks were nearby to smell it.
I wiped my hands on my pants and rose to my feet. I was reluctant to go above, but it was probably time to report back. There was nothing more to be done. I would need tools and gloves to penetrate the wreck.
After two tugs on the line to signal the men to bring me up, they pulled and I rode the weighted line to the waiting skiff. On the surface, I suddenly felt heavy, but hands worked around me to remove the weights. Then I was pulled over the gunwale and the headgear was removed. Several voices asked me questions at the same time. I raised my hand to silence them until I could orient myself to the heat and light.
“Is it there?” Mason asked first.
“The decks are intact, but I’m going to have to pry the boards up with tools to access the bilge.” I held up my bloody hands to illustrate that it was not an easy task.
“But it’s there?” he asked again.
I shrugged, not knowing what to tell him. There were ten ships in the wreck and I had no idea if this was the right one. “We need to establish the provenance of the ship before we go any further,” I said. “She looks like Phillip described, but there has to be something to identify her.”
“She was newly launched,” Phillip said. “It was her first voyage.”
“Well, she’s thirty years under the sea now. Every bit that hasn’t rotted is covered with coral and barnacles.”
He started to say something, but a blast from the cannon on shore drowned out his words. We had manned the battery and agreed that a shot would be fired from the bluff should a vessel approach. I stood in the skiff and strained to see what they had, but we were too close to the water.
“We need to get back to the ship,” I said.
Mason and Red untied the weighted line that acted as the skiff’s anchor and rowed us back to the Panther. Minutes later, we were on deck, and we saw the trouble. The sails of several ships were visible on the horizon.
Rhames came to my side. “We need to get inside the reef and within protection of the guns.”
“Right, then,” I said, grabbing the glass and climbing the rigging. “Make for the anchorage.”
“Pull anchor!” Rhames shouted.
From high in the rigging, I could barely see the cask we had left floating on the line, but Mason would know the course. I looked down at the activity on the deck. Red and Swift were yelling orders to the new crew, and, with the additional manpower, we were underway in a matter of minutes. I had to twist in the rigging to see the approaching ships.
They flew the Union Jack, one a schooner, the other a frigate, but both larger than the Panther, and I had to assume better armed. Looking toward the cannon on the bluff, I estimated where we needed to anchor in order to be within their protection and out of range of the guns of the approaching ships. The shore-mounted guns could fire close to a mile, while even a well-winded carronade could only reach a quarter of that.
We entered the slot in the reef, and I briefly considered using our chain to create a boom across the narrow opening. Alas, there was no time. It was something I intended to do once we dispatched this threat.
“One hundred and fifty yards to my mark,” I yelled down to Mason, pointing to where I wanted him to steer. From this height I could clearly see Swift calling the soundings and confirming the bottom was deep enough.
The two ships were already approaching the cut when we passed the keg. I waited another hundred yards before I called to the men to drop anchor. The lead ship was now making its way toward the cut and on her deck, I clearly saw the figure of the governor. A red-headed woman stood at his side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Standing next to the governor, Rory looked stunning. Her dress was cut to her figure and accented by jewels that could only have come from our chests. I had never seen her like this and almost fell from my hold in the rigging when our ship swung on the anchor.
I felt someone climb next to me but ignored it and remained looking through the glass. I figured it was a crewman climbing to lash the topsail. That’s when I smelled her next to me.
“I know you’re not evaluating their readiness,” I heard her say.
I froze as if I was doing something wrong, then, embarrassed, I moved the glass back and forth pretending to scan the deck.
“Let me see that.”
Shayla pulled the glass from my hand and put it to her eye. I could tell she had never used one before by the way she jumped at seeing the figures up so close. I placed my arm on her shoulder to steady her and felt the warmth of her body.
“She wears the rouge of the whore,” she said and handed the glass back to me.
Without waiting for a response, she climbed back to the deck, leaving me alone. I put the glass back to my eye and watched Rory again. She did appear different, her pale skin painted a reddish hue by the makeup.
I felt guilty for not evaluating the threat, and Shayla’s reprimand had served to remind me of my duty.
The ship was a schooner, probably the governor’s from the way she was appointed: slightly larger and better armed than the Panther. Uniformed crewmen scurried back and forth executing orders yelled from a man by the helm, clearly the captain. Behind the schooner, a larger frigate stood on patrol.
The captain called an order, and the men in the rigging dropped the schooner’s sails just out of range of the cannons on the bluff. They were still in range of our carronades, but our bow was towards them. From this angle we would need to swing the ship to fire, but I wasn’t yet ready to reveal the cable we had rigged.
As I made another pass over the deck, Rory again came into view. She looked back as if staring right at me, but her gaze dropped to the water and I saw her lips move. I followed her gaze to a skiff being lowered into the water. The captain and several armed men were aboard. I climbed back to the deck and ordered the men to stations.
While we waited for the boat to reach us, I played every scenario I could think of in my mind. Were they here to try and arrest us? The last conversation I had with the governor permitted us to salvage the wreck as long as the Crown got their share. Rory’s presence, along with her dress and demeanor, had me wondering as well. She had acted demure and restrained during breakfast at the governor’s house, but now she appeared to be the governor’s woman.
“Put her from your mind,” Mason said, now standing next to me at the rail.
I remained silent, watching the boat row closer. They were only a hundred yards away now.
“You want my advice?” Mason continued.
“If it looks like a pig and snorts like a pig, it’s a pig.”
I knew he was right, but I still couldn’t understand it.
Rhames approached and stood on my other side. I expected comment from him too, but he was all business.
“Do you want the men armed?” he asked.
I could see the cutlass hanging from his side and the pistol in his belt.
“Better wait. There’s no threat yet.”
Rhames seemed reluctant, but he held fast. For a pirate it was unnerving to watch the law approach and not flee.
“Ahoy,” the captain called from the skiff.
They were next to us now, the two men at the oars holding water and keeping the boat in position by our ladder.
I called for one of the men to throw a line and allow them to tie up. “What can we do for you?” My voice almost cracked.
“Just a message from the governor: permission to come aboard?” the captain called back.
I debated the request for a moment but decided he posed no threat by himself. “Just you, then.”
The captain wasted no time and climbed the ladder, his cutlass banging against the hull with each step. I held my hand out in the American fashion, but he just nodded and tipped his hat.
“You must be Nick,” he said, ignoring my title.
“Aye. This is Mason and Rhames,” I said, but Rhames had disappeared.
“Care to take a glass in my cabin?” I offered. I figured that what the captain had to say might be better heard in private.
“I’ll gladly take the drink, but I’d prefer the air, if you don’t mind.”
I nodded to him and moved towards the companionway to get a bottle. Looking for Rhames, I saw Swift instead and motioned for him to follow me below.
“Check the cable and make sure the guns are ready,” I told him.
I found a bottle of Madeira and brought it and three glasses back on deck. I wanted to steal a glance Swift’s way to see if he was following my orders, but I thought better of it. Reaching Mason and the captain, I held the bottle out for inspection then commenced pouring.
The Wreck of the Ten Sail Page 10