As his big, calloused hand wrapped around mine, I introduced myself as the name Holly called me by. “Rory Hawke. Are you a sailor?”
“Don’t know how to do nothing else, so it’s a sailor’s life for me,” he chuckled. “Except drinking. I’m good at that, too, and I was about to warm up on my skills at the tavern. Want to join me?”
Heart ablaze with girlish excitement, I had to force myself to grumble a simple yes, and then walked with Leeland Buckley to the dockside tavern.
There we sat, drink after drink, sharing our life stories. Well, I made mine up, but his seemed to be sincere. He lost his parents at the wee age of nine, and had been sailing ever since. The adventurous ways he’d overcome his desperation strengthened my attraction to him. He was handsome, he was funny, and his tales of survival proved him to be brave. All of these attributes got me wishing I could invite him to my room as the sun set low, but I wasn’t on the market for a lover. No, I wanted to sail away from this stupid city, and the ship he was working on was headed for Jamaica. He was in good with the captain and had already assured me that I could join their crew. This was a business connection and it’d be better for my future to leave it that way.
The drunker I became the more I enjoyed the bawdy surroundings of the shady bar that was packed with seafaring men. Blending in with them drink by drink, I figured the morning sun I’d sail away with couldn’t come soon enough. Just like them, I would soon be a sailor. Taking a massive swig of rum, then belching like an old sea dog, I looked at Lee and asked, “So, tell me, Buckley, sailing the seas all the years that you have, I’m wondering if you’ve ever come across the fearsome Mason Bentley?”
“Unfortunately, I have not met him, or even come near him for that matter. But my father used to tell me stories about him when I was a little fellow. I’ve been following his story ever since. I keep hoping I’ll get to meet him or his boy Sterling one day. Sterling’s a navigator, you know…” He went on and on with story after story concerning the life and times of the brother I never knew.
Wishing more than ever that I’d had a chance to meet Sterling, the witty and wild artist of the seas, I exhaled, “Sounds like one hell of a man. I’d like to meet him one day, myself. Have you heard of his recent whereabouts?”
Lee stroked his goatee. “Last I heard about him was through an ol’ bloke bantering about a fight he got into with Sterling on Tortuga, and that was a couple of months ago. I guess the fight was over a game of cards or something. He was mad because Sterling won his loot in the game and chopped off one of his fingers in the fight afterwards.”
My heart lit up with excitement. Sterling was alive! I could only hope that Mason was, too. But if he was, why hadn’t he come back for me like he promised? My, oh my, I was far too drunk to fret over such things. Choosing to focus on the joy I felt over the news of Sterling being alive and well, I chuckled, “I suppose that father of his taught him a thing or two about the power of chopping off limbs.”
Lee winced with disgust.
I laughed. “Oh, come on, do you think they gained their fame by being sweethearts? No. In fact, Mason and I had a drink together at Barlow’s a few years ago and I watched him lop a tongue right out of a man’s foul mouth. People don’t forget shit like that.”
Lee grabbed his own tongue and squawked dramatically, like he was feeling the pain. “No, they don’t. And I suppose Barlow’s is the perfect setting for such events. Mason and Billy used to buccaneer together. Rich as kings they were. But a brutal and bloody lot, I tell you. I hear Mason pickles his victim’s parts in rum jars. And Billy…well, they say he cuts heads off and shit.”
Knowing how Mason capitalized on his reputation and remembering the human skull Billy had sitting on his desk, I shuddered. “Truth is stranger than fiction at times, isn’t it?”
Lee shook his head. “Aye. Those buccaneers are mad, I tell you. I’ve been in more fistfights than I can count, but I’ve never cut nobody’s limbs off.”
I took a drink then smiled wickedly. “Perhaps that’s why you are not as rich as a king.”
He shot me a humorously suspicious squint. “Are you a crazy cutthroat, too?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” I winked and pulled out the deck of cards I had taken from Barlow’s. “Speaking of cards, how about we play a game?”
“As long as we aren’t betting for limbs,” he laughed as he accepted the cards I was dealing.
“All right. My pickling jars are full now, anyhow,” I teased.
Knowing I had to rise with the dawn, I chose to sober up as we played game after game. I enjoyed every waking minute of Leeland’s company as the night went on.
Fighting my sensual urges up until the last moment—I somehow managed to say farewell to my new friend as the man I was pretending to be. Yet, when I laid down in my bed alone, thoughts of him ran wild in my mind. I hadn’t been with a man since I made my great escape, and other than my bittersweet memories of Jackson, I thought I was no longer interested in such affairs. But my time with Leeland Buckley assured me otherwise. I still liked men, and as I tossed and turned on those dingy sheets, I imagined how differently I’d be feeling right now had I forsaken my secret identity for but a night alone with him.
X
Walking under the yards of a merchant ship named Margret Mary, I smiled at the rising sun. Perhaps this was dangerous, but it was certainly thrilling, and knowing that whatever awaited me across the deep blue sea would be better than settling where I was, I reveled in my newfound freedom.
With sunlight slowly coloring the sky, I watched the sea turn from black to grey. While I wondered what it would be like to finally get up on the yards, Lee nudged my shoulder. “Get on up there, ratter.”
The ratlines. So soon? Aye, the captain was shouting commands to get underway. I had always dreamed of climbing the shrouds, but I’d also often thought of how fearfully high up they went. Now, with the line of sailors behind me rushing me along, I had no choice but to see what it would be like up there. I’d heard many sailors say not to look down while making the climb, and the way I worked so hard to keep my grip on the hempen ladder, I had no time to look anywhere else. My heartbeat sped up with every step I took away from the world below. Clinging tight to the tarred lines with my soft little hands, I took slow breaths to keep my head from drifting away in its lightness.
The height would have been frightening from a solid perch, but the ship was moving. Rocking gently on the calm waters of the bay, the rhythm was even and almost predictable, but as I stepped out on the footrope, it lurched unexpectedly. Holding tight to the yard, I took a deep breath. It was all I could do to focus on the job at hand.
Making the dreadful trek across the yard, I did my best to look skilled while truly fearing I would soon plummet to my death. This is your dream, Remington, I reminded myself. You always wanted to be a sailor.
“Let her loose, boys,” Lee shouted out to the men.
With my memories of all the sailors I’d watched in my youth serving as my guide, I helped unfurl the massive sail. Hearing it drop in the misty air, I felt like I was falling with it. And as the wind filled the canvas sheet, snapping it tight, I thought I would fall for sure.
Holding on for dear life as Margret Mary made way, my being filled with an exhilarating rush—not only of freedom, but of pride. I was not only sailing, I was a sailor now, goddamn it, I was a sailor! Had my hand been free, I would have shaken my fist at the aristocratic coxcombs who said my only choice was to be my father’s daughter and my husband’s wife. Here, high above the world that wanted only to clip my wings—watching London and my nightmares fading in the distance—I once again quoted the words of Midnight’s parrot, Will not cage us.
I was finally free.
Chapter 8
Shadow of Night
Out or down, sailors! Out or down!” I awoke to Mister Ackerman slapping my back through the hammock. Though I had been rising this way every day for a week now, I still w
asn’t used to it. Nor was I used to the finesse it took to hop out of the hammock. As I struggled to expel my tired body from the swaying piece of canvas, I watched Mister Ackerman slice Adam’s hammock from its post. “Down it is!”
Watching Adam’s head whack against the deck below, and hearing him cry out in pain, I threw myself free without worrying about my exit style. Of course, my leg got wrapped up in the fabric. Not only did I fall wildly to the floor, but my forehead grazed a loose nail in the beam on the way down. More embarrassed than pained, I rubbed my brow to find it gushing with blood.
Lee popped out of his hammock smoother than I ever did from my bed at home, and reached his long arm out to help me up. “Are you all right, mate?”
Wiping the senseless amount of blood off my face, I chuckled, “Yes. It doesn’t hurt a bit. I’ll be fine.”
“That spot just bleeds and bleeds.” He showed me a scar above his right eye. “I whacked my head on a brick when I was a lad and though it didn’t hurt me one bit, my little cousins screamed like I was a monster from the depths of Hell when I stood up all covered in blood.”
Laughing at him as we walked up the gangway, I hoped I wouldn’t end up with a scar on my face.
The walk to the galley on the swaying tide was still a bit challenging, and the uneasy rolling of my equilibrium reminded me of the way that baby I carried made me feel sick in the mornings, but there was no time for complaints. There was always a job to be done and all of them required massive amounts of strenuous work. Before this, my greatest physical challenge had been wrestling Holly into the bathtub, but while keeping up with the daily demands of being a sailor, I began thinking it hadn’t been so tough keeping that temperamental whore in line.
While climbing the shrouds with my raw little lubber hands—eagerly awaiting the callouses Lee said I would soon acquire—I thought about the perks of this life at sea. No matter how hard it was, the scenery was divine, and being disguised as a man, I was finally being treated as an equal, and I loved it. In comparison to the lady passengers aboard this fine vessel—bound in their constricting clothing and hushed under the weight of their husbands’ arms—I wore breeches that allowed agility, and I was allowed to speak as freely and as foul as the men. My hard work was just as appreciated as theirs, and like them, I’d have a handful of my own hard-earned loot to spend once we reached Port Royal. Plus, I no longer had to hide my weapons like dirty little secrets.
The day was sunny, but the cold wind bit harshly at my nose as I climbed and climbed. Margret Mary was roughly riding the choppy swells—rocking and driving with an unpredictable rhythm—forcing me to become a much better sailor than I was ready to be. Reaching my perch at the top of the world, I worked alongside Lee Buckley to unfurl the top gallant.
As the heavy beast tore open, caging back the misty wind, our speed increased immensely, causing the ship to gently lean over to portside. Up and down she went, riding the momentum of the waves and wind. Atop she moved more violently than at the deck, and due to height and pitch, it felt at times like we were riding a tentacle of the Kraken as she tried to fling us off.
Holding tight till she steadied, I looked at Lee and chuckled, “Sometimes I think Margret Mary hates us.”
Hardly affected by the movements, Lee patted the wooden beam. “Ah, you just have to talk to her sweet. Remind her she wants to make port as much as we do.”
With our work done aloft, I took a moment to look around before heading down. The height was still intimidating, and the fear of falling was one I would never relinquish, but the sensation of flying had also taken hold. Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagined myself soaring free like a bird slicing the wind with my beautiful wings.
I could have stayed there, lost in my daydreams until the sun set in the west, but my pleasant reverie was interrupted when the watchman called for sails.
Looking to the southeast, I saw her tops cresting the horizon. The day was clear, and from this distance I could see that she had two masts. Who was she, I wondered. Of course, there was always the possibility of her being a friend, but sharing the visual dome with her and her alone, sent my imagination ablaze with the fearful possibilities of her being foe.
Captain Richards ordered us to stay steady on our course, so that is just what we did. But the dark and foreboding image on the horizon continued to encroach upon us like the inescapable shadow of night. From way up in the yards I eyed her every move as she gracefully closed the gap between us. Flawlessly, she danced with the wide and wild expanse of sea, making the bumbling tides seem but a stepping stone on her path. By observing the skill in which she sailed, her identity became dreadfully apparent to me.
Pirate.
I knew it long before the watchman announced the sight of the black flag, but when he did, I choked on my heartbeat. Thinking of the terrible things my mother endured when she was taken by pirates, I started to sweat in the misty wind. What the hell kind of shit arse luck is this? My first blasted sail across the sea as a free person, and pirates are on our tail but a week in. Why do you hate me so, Lord?
Coming to terms with the pitiful odds, Richards ordered us to cut out the sails. Not wanting my body to plummet below like my heart did as he raised his white flag, I grabbed tight to the rigging and took a deep breath before following orders. Surrender. Aye, just lie down and take your beating, bitch, I growled in my mind as Margret Mary slowed. Of course, I feared the soon-to-come actions of the pirates, but while descending to the main deck with the others, I also found myself resenting Richards for allowing them to violate our pride. Laying out our goods for them to take without putting up a fight, was no different than the way I allowed Joel to rape me day after day. But now that I had risked my life—and nearly lost it to escape my captor’s clutches—I understood why Mason told me to never surrender. The nightmares of the days I let Joel abuse me were far more haunting than the night I choked on his blood. But Margret Mary was not mine to stand up for.
Having no choice in the matter, I lined up with my fellow sailors.
Slowing along our portside like a graceful dancer bowing at the end of her performance, Beleza dug her grappling hooks into our gunnels. Like an audience, we stood silently and watched as the actors exited their stage. The first man to come across was taller than the men behind him. His long dark hair hung wildly about the black and gold coat draped over his broad shoulders, and he was braced with as many weapons as Mason wore. Though his presence was rather intimidating, behind the braids in his black beard he looked as bored as could be. Yawning as he approached Captain Richards, he dully stated, “We’ve come to get whatever the hell we wish to get and you will wait here quietly as we do so.” After introducing himself as Captain Miguel Cardozo, he sent his men off to gather whatever the hell they wished.
The captain spoke good English, but his accent sounded Spanish, and his mangy bunch of smelly pirates spoke only their language. I couldn’t understand a damned thing they were saying as they sorted through our goods, but one thing was for certain, Captain Cardozo wasn’t the least bit interested in any of it. Sitting on a barrel, chomping on an apple, he barked orders every now and then, waving his hand about carelessly as his men did all the work.
The raid seemed to go on forever, and just when I thought the nearly humorous transaction was coming to a close, some of the pirates came up the gangway with a screaming woman in tow.
“Olha o que eu achei.” A fat, short haired one hooted as he pulled the young lady by her hair.
In their language it seemed the others were pleading with the captain. “Podemos ficar com ela Capitão? Só dessa vez.”
“Olhe esses peitos.” One grabbed her breasts.
The fat one bent her over and flipped up her skirts. Slapping her arse, he grumbled, “Não importa o que ele fala, vamos pegar o que queremos.”
Mortified by the scene, my spine tensed painfully. There was no way in hell I could stand idle while these men abused this innocent woman, but to stand up for her meant my death, w
hich in turn, meant they would do what they wanted with her, anyhow. Just as I thought of how Mason had said, If you do nothing to stop a wrong doing, you’re just as bad as the man doing wrong, Captain Cardozo interrupted my moral dilemma by firing his pistol.
After the musket ball plowed through the head of the man who had grabbed the woman’s breasts, Captain Cardozo stood up straight and roared at the fat man who seemed to be leading the vile group. “Pedro! Deixe ela em paz ou eu vou fazer a sua cabeça explodir desse seu corpo gordo e sem valor.”
With a disapproving scowl on his face, Pedro threw the woman to the deck.
Looking towards Captain Richards, Captain Cardozo said, “I do apologize for their ape-like behavior. I’m serious about such things and they should damned well know better by now.”
After the unexpected abuse, murder, and apology, Captain Cardozo’s men carried the last of their plunder across the boarding plank. Just before I could take a breath of relief, Cardozo started plucking sailors out of our group. Pedro balked about his choices. They argued in their language for a moment and then finished the job together. As if they were shopping at the market, they seemed to be discussing the pros and cons of each man they surveyed. Though I knew not what they were basing their preferences on, it was dreadfully apparent that I fit the standards.
My friends Dusty Jones and Henry Bail were chosen right after me, but my favorite man of the bunch, Leeland Buckley, was left behind.
Grabbing me by the arm, Cardozo spit some seemingly complimentary words at me in his language and dragged me across the deck.
No. No. This was terrible. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave my friends. Why did they have to pick me? Or, why couldn’t they have brought Lee, too? Oh, Good Lord, what the hell would this dreadful future bring? No matter what was in store, there was not a thing I could do about it but be brave.
Never Surrender (Uncharted Secrets, Book 4): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 7