by Paul Henke
That first evening was something to remember for the rest of my life. Running with the wind as we were, there was little breeze across the deck, the sun was setting in a shimmer of gold and orange, the clouds a halo in the sky and that brandy the best I could recollect drinking. We sat in the cockpit swapping tales about our lives, though to me Jake’s was far more interesting. Mine seemed mundane and boring by comparison. He was interested in the university and Harvard while he regaled me with stories of foreign countries and unusual customs. I told him he ought to write a book.
‘I will one day,’ he replied dryly, ‘if I ever learn to read and write.’
I apologised, wishing I had kept my big mouth shut. I realised how embarrassed he was and suggested I taught him. ‘After all, you’re teaching me a lot more than I could teach you. And this would mean that I wouldn’t feel it was all one-way.’
‘Well, I don’t know . . .’ he stroked his chin.
He didn’t put up much resistance especially when I got one of his books and read some of the interesting facts found in it. We would start the next day.
The night that fell was like none I had seen on land. There was no moon, the air was clear and the stars appeared brighter and closer. At first I could not understand why it was so different but slowly it all made sense. The emptiness was something I had never experienced before; it was only to be found at sea. The wind whistled gently through the rigging and the water lapped, and slapped the side of the boat as we sped along. There was a luminosity in the water that I had never seen before, little sparks of green and blue which according to Jake were plankton, the food of the fish. Whatever it was, it added to my sense of well-being, sitting in the cockpit, my hand on the wheel, attempting to steer south, south east. A feeling of peace stole over me. I wished with all my heart Gunhild was there to share it with m - it was the sort of thing I knew she would appreciate.
‘It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?’ Jake broke a long silence. ‘The feeling of being alone in the world, the peace and contentment of it. I still feel it after all these years but I can’t describe it, not even to myself,’ he added.
We got into a routine in those first few days of sharing the night. He would take the first half, usually until about one o’clock, and then I would have it until dawn. Jake was adamant that I call him if the wind changed by more than two points of the compass or if I had difficulty holding the course. It was the evening of the fourth day when Jake sniffed the night.
‘Do you smell it?’
I sniffed too, but was unsure what I was supposed to smell. ‘What?’ I asked with a frown.
‘It’s a mustiness . . . no, that’s the wrong word. It’s rotting jungle, it’s the smell of fresh earth, perhaps flowers. It’s the smell of Cuba after four days at sea,’ he shrugged, unable to suggest any other description.
Now I too could smell it. Two hours later there was a darker smudge on the horizon which persisted and hardened in the light from the stars and the first sliver of a new moon. Cuba. My heart began to pound at the thought of adventure.
We passed about two miles off shore and rounded the cape. I had no appreciation of the feat of navigation and seamanship shown by Jake in getting us there.
We followed the coast until I saw the headland directly in our path. Jake lowered the main sail while I held the tiller and we crept in close. We changed places and I stood ready to hoist the sail as fast as I could heave on the tackle and to duck as we went about if we had to get the hell out of there.
We were now moving slowly. Jake took a lantern and flashed two long, three short and another long flash at the shore. Two short flashes, three long and one short came back. Jake grunted in satisfaction.
‘We’ll stop about a hundred yards off, perhaps more if there’s too much of a lee and the wind can’t get to us. Keep her moving with just a little headway, and if there’s any trouble get the hell out of here. Come back at midnight every night for the next week to get me,’ he said softly.
‘Hang on,’ I whispered back. ‘I can’t handle the boat that well. You stay here and let me go,’ Jake hesitated. ‘Don’t be stupid Jake. If there’s any trouble I’ll try and swim back. If I don’t make it don’t bother coming for me another night because I won’t be returning.’
He nodded slowly in agreement. ‘When you get close, say to the men there “Jesus Christ” and they will say “The only one”. Have you got that?’
I looked at him as if he’d gone daft.
‘I didn’t make it up. I was told to use it.’
We launched the small dinghy and awkwardly, with stifled curses and ineptitude, I rowed towards the shore. I could see nobody nor hear anything above the noise of the surf.
When I was close in three shadows detached themselves from the towering cliff face and approached.
‘Jesus Christ,’ I called out, and received the reply, which did nothing for my hammering heart.
I landed on the beach, my senses alert. At the slightest untoward sound or movement I was going to dive into the sea and swim for the Lucky Lady. Nothing happened.
We greeted each other with suspicious handshakes. The three men put down their rifles and returned to the foot of the cliff. When they returned they were carrying a long box each. Three of these and the boat was full, with just enough room for me. One of them gave me a shove off and I made my way back to the Lucky Lady. I made the trip eight tines, the last time with two of the men.
Within moments of returning to the yacht we had the dinghy on board, I was hauling up the main mast and we were headed for the open sea.
42
An hour later, after showing our two guests to the forward cabins, I sat in the cockpit with Jake. ‘Aren’t you wondering where we’re going?’ he asked.
‘Naturally. I figure you’ll tell me soon enough. We’re headed west and from what I already know of your other, eh, operations, I guess we’re going to Mexico. If my memory serves me right we’ll be in the Yucatan Strait shortly and if we carry on we’ll get to Yucatan itself.’
He nodded. ‘That’s exactly where we’re going – to a little cove south of Cozumel Island. We’ll land these jokers there with their guns and head on out to Jamaica, I reckon.’
‘Why? What are we going there for?’
‘We’re about half way already. With the money we get from this trip we’ll buy some of that nectar known as Jamaican Rum. We sell it back in New Orleans for half again what we pay for it. Hell, having that stuff is better than money.’
I grinned. ‘Sounds good. Eh . . . how much are we getting for this trip?’
‘A thousand,’ he said laconically.
‘Not bad for such easy work,’ I said feeling pleased with myself.
‘Don’t be fooled and don’t get careless, Dave. We get paid so much because the risks are there. Tonight could happen for the next ten, twenty times. And then somebody talks. Then they’re waiting for you. And before you know it you’re dead or worse. So believe me we earn our money.’
It took a day and a half to cross the Strait and passed Cozumel. We kept out to sea and out of sight of land until just before midnight. Then we sailed directly to the cove we wanted. The signal and password were the same again. I rowed the men ashore and followed with the guns. This time we were in closer and so I did not have so far to go, and furthermore I was becoming more adept at rowing. There was a welcoming committee of a dozen or more men who appeared for one heart stopping moment just as I beached the dinghy the first time. Relief flooded through me when I saw the manner in which they greeted my passengers. When I had the last box ashore I was given a bag of coins.
‘Here’s your blood money. One thousand dollars,’ hissed the swarthy and heavily moustached individual. ‘I hope you do not enjoy it,’ he spat at the pebbles beneath my feet. To say I was startled was an understatement. ‘We will contact you in the same way. Tell that to the Gringo, Jake. And tell him I hope we meet in hell one day.’ With that he turned on his heels, barked commands at his men in Spani
sh and stalked up the beach, the pebbles crunching underfoot.
I climbed back into the boat and returned to the Lucky Lady. Once more with a fair wind and a heel to starboard, we headed east. I told Jake what the man had said.
He laughed. ‘That’s Miguel for you. As ungrateful as hell and twice as bad.’
‘What was he on about?’
‘He, like a lot of them, believe we should help their cause for nothing, or shall we say for the betterment of mankind? Mind you, it’s only their ideas about mankind they care about. The things they do in the name of their revolution is terrible and I mean terrible. Do you know what was in that sack?’
‘Gold,’ I guessed.
‘Right, gold. And where do you think they got it from?’ Before I could answer he continued. ‘From robbing the poor, that’s where. They can’t get it from the government and seldom from banks or places like that. It’s too difficult and dangerous. So they do what the government does, and that’s take it from the poor and defenceless. If they don’t get given it willingly, which is rare, they take it. They rob, murder and rape like the rest of the bastards and the people in the middle, as usual, suffer.’
‘Why do you do it, then?’
‘Because if I didn’t somebody else would. And anyway, I told you, I enjoy this work.’
‘Knowing that you’re causing misery to untold numbers of people?’ I did not try to hide the disgust in my voice.
‘Get this straight. I didn’t ask you to come, and if you remember I didn’t want you to. Well, now you’re here and it’s too late to back out. You could have thought through all I’ve told you for yourself, you aren’t stupid. And who’s to say what difference another government would make. There are plenty of people who do believe in their revolution and are praying it’ll happen one day. And, I want to tell you something, there’s another side to the coin,’ he paused and hawked over the side. ‘Some of those men on the beach have been fighting for years and they know they’ll be fighting for many more. Can you imagine what that does to you? Knowing no peace, nowhere to rest for fear of being caught? They all started with good intentions. Can you imagine what it does to you when they ask for gold and jewellery to help them fight, and don’t get it? Don’t you think they get bitter when they go to a village where life may be hard and taxes a burden but at least the men there have a roof over their heads and a woman in their beds. The people want freedom without giving anything towards it. So the bandits force them to help whether they want to or not. And to do so their methods are as bad as those of the soldiers.’ His voice lost its intensity. ‘It’s sad but true. Then most of what I’ve seen of life is.’ He ended on a philosophical note.
After a while, during which we sped through the black night, the hiss of water along the hull and the wind in the rigging the only sound, I said, ‘I’m sorry Jake, I shouldn’t have moralised,’ and held out my hand.
He took it. ‘That’s okay, lad. You’re still young yet and for all your education and knowing ways you don’t know much about life. But you’ll learn different.’ I grinned; he wasn’t much over thirty himself. ‘It’s a dog eat dog world and you know something? I wouldn’t have it no other way.’
The next day the weather changed and we had a few rain showers. The wind backed a couple of points and increased and we had to reef in some sail. We were flying along, the sea spraying back into the cockpit, intermixed with the rain. I had the most incredible feeling of freedom; the rougher the weather the stronger the feeling became. I wanted to pit myself against the elements, against nature herself. Later that afternoon the feeling slowly died as the pitching boat kept ploughing through the green seas and white topped waves. I think it was the coffee that did it. I hardly got it down when I heaved it up again and there followed a sickness that left me wishing I could die.
‘Don’t worry David, it’ll pass. It had to happen sometime, it gets to everybody. You’ll soon get over it and be as fit as ever.’
I knew he was only trying to cheer me up but in my mind I could see him preparing to bury me at sea. Much to my surprise I survived and two days later could actually keep my watch without heaving. Although I felt hungry, just the thought of food turned my stomach.
The next day, though the wind abated a few knots, the sea was still as rough and I followed the dictates of my rumbling belly ate eat. The stew was delicious and I kept it down. In fact, two hours later, I had some more. After that I recovered quickly.
To watch the sun rise behind the green jewel of Jamaica in a blue, mirror flat sea was one of the most beautiful sights in the world. Jamaica. The name conjured up all sorts of exciting things in my mind. And this time we were going to land, in Kingston no less, the haven of the old-world pirates, of Captain Bluebeard and his murderous crew, of Morgan who later became Governor, of Kidd and the rest of them. The pirates were a part of the history of the island . . . a corrupt, killing, raping, looting, burning history.
The harbour was crowded with boats of all kinds. There were sturdily built fishing craft, fast sloops, ketches and yet another just like the Lucky Lady. There were one or two large trading boats which ploughed the oceans to the Far East and Australia, taking rum and sugar and returning with exotic goods.
We made fast alongside another boat, stepped over it and onto the shore. To have a steady platform beneath my feet after so long at sea was odd and both Jake and I rolled slightly as we made our way through the throng of people towards the nearest inn. I noticed the black men and women were tall and handsome and the girls caught my eye, in their light, flowery clothing, with their flashing eyes and quick smiles. There were street vendors all over the place, selling everything from small casks of rum and sticky sweets to knives and swords. Away from the sea it was hot and humid and I was soon sweating, pushing our way through the bustling crowd.
We came to a whitewashed building, went up a couple of steps and ducked through a doorway. Inside was a long, cool room, the walls white and the ceiling lined with black beams. There were a dozen or more men sitting at the heavy round tables scattered about; few of them bothered to look up when we entered. There was sawdust on the floor and a long bar facing us. My eye was caught by the row of bottles behind, all containing a different sort of rum.
We sat for an hour or two, sipping rum and talking, but finally we went back into the sunlight. It was now well into the afternoon and there were far fewer people on the streets.
‘They’ve gone for a siesta,’ Jake said. ‘Tonight there’ll be even more people out and about, the taverns and bars will be jammed and there’ll be fun all over the place. Careful with your money when we come back ashore because there’s as many pickpockets as there are honest people. More, I suspect. Come on, let’s get some sleep.’
The sun had set when we went back onshore again. We found a waterfront restaurant that served a delicious lobster and a good bottle of white wine. Afterwards we shoved our way through the jostling crowd looking for a bar which, according to Jake, served the best rum in town, if not in all Jamaica.
We were past the waterfront and walking up an ill lit, badly smelling, narrow alley when we heard a muffled scream. It came from ahead of us and, drawing our guns, we hurried forward. We came to another alley on our right and heard scuffling. Jake darted across the opening and we kneeled on either side of the alley, cautiously looking around the corner. From the light of a half moon we saw three men with a girl stretched out on the ground. One of the men was holding her hands over her head, another held her legs and the third was kneeling between them, groping for his fly.
I looked across the narrow gap to Jake. ‘Rape?’ I barely whispered.
He nodded. ‘If one of you move so help me I’ll shoot,’ he said loudly. In the silence his voice was startling. The men froze. ‘Get up and leave her alone,’ he continued, in a conversational manner. ‘Don’t try it, mister,’ Jake added when one of them sneaked a hand to his holster, ‘because I’ll enjoy shooting.’ The click as he cocked his gun was loud in my ears.
> At that moment the moon vanished behind a cloud and the light went out like a lamp being extinguished. They were stupid, that was the only explanation. Two shots were fired in our direction, both passing well over our heads. Jake and I both opened fire, shooting low and rapidly. I heard one man drop and a gun clatter on the paving stone. We waited, hardly breathing, listening intently. There was a scuffle but I could see nothing. After a few minutes the girl called softly.
‘Don’t go,’ said Jake. ‘It may be a trap. With a knife at her throat she’ll say anything. We’ll wait for the moon to reappear, it won’t be long now.’
In the moonlight we saw the girl but nobody else. Her attackers had gone and slowly we crept forward.
‘See if she’s all right and I’ll look further up,’ said Jake.
I nodded and knelt by her side. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with fear. Even in that poor light I could see she was a beautiful Negress. She was breathing hard and fast, and I could not help but notice the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her thin cotton dress.
‘It’s all right, we aren’t going to hurt you. Can you get up?’ I asked gently.
She nodded and I helped her to her feet. She leant against a wall for a few seconds. ‘Th . . . thank you,’ she said in a husky voice.
Before I could reply Jake called to me. I dashed down the alley and found him standing over a body. I stood beside him looking at the widening pool of blood, black in the moonlight.
‘He’s dead,’ said Jake. ‘Stupid bastard. There’s so much to be had here that not even white trash need rape a woman. I’ll never understand men like them.’
‘White trash?’
‘Yep, poorer even than the blacks and won’t do no work. Look at his clothes. Even I would have thrown them away a long time ago. Come on, let’s go. How’s the girl?’
‘Seems all right. What about him?’