"Once we are clear of pursuit we will divide everything. That is the reason for the chests we are sitting on." The men took a closer look.
"One half of all that is found will be mine. A fourth will come to Finday and you men will divide the remaining one quarter." Hawk smiled slightly. "Do not doubt that your share will be all that you could wish.
"By then we will know who wishes to share in our joint trading venture and who would rather be dropped off to go his own way." Jonas paused to fix them with his sincerity. "Either way, there is to be no resentment, no coveting another's choice or fortune. And, while I am thinking about it, no wagering of any kind, lest bad feelings blossom. Do we agree on all of this?" Exclamations of approval were as powerful as their sealing handclasps.
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Jonas had remembered Finday's belief in the ship's swift sailing ability. Without great ceremony they christened her Feather and added an elaborate hawk's feather carved in wood beneath her bowsprit.
Hawk's Feather, how appropriate it seemed. Feather-light, she would sail with her master Jonas Hawk, commanding. Her crew felt its rightness and deemed her a lucky ship.
Jonas thrilled at the realization of dreams so lengthy they blended with his youth along the Little Juniata Creek. He wished that Sherman's Valley could know and share his pleasure. Someday they would know. Someday he might return to show paintings of Hawk's Feather and tell barely believable tales of her journeys.
The ship trembled as Van Doon shipwrights struck away blocks wedging her cradles. For a long moment Feather hung in place and then, in a gathering rush, she slipped almost soundlessly down the heavily greased ways.
She floated free, held only by a pair of lines. Her enthusiastic audience raised a lusty cheer. Snake lean and cork light, Feather floated high on tier lines. Even on the still water she posed like an arrow, twin masts heavily raked and her short bowsprit aimed high. Stores would deepen her draught and hold her upright when wind tore at her sails. Properly burdened, she would truly be a thing of beauty.
She was the ship they needed. A breath of air would move her and she could slip across the shallow Florida flats where others her size could not venture.
And then? Jonas could imagine their triumphal return—perhaps to Philadelphia. His toes curled in his new sea boots with his hunger to be aboard and underway.
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Chapter 13
On a low tide, in the black of night, Feather edged her way into Captiva Pass. On the Floridas' west coast most passes flared southward and Captiva was typical. By careful sounding, six foot depth could be carried. Feather drew only four.
Unlike a deep draught schooner, Feather towed easily. With half the crew rowing the longboat, the remainder waited for shallow water where long poles could be used to ease the ship ahead.
Lying in the pass, Feather could escape east into the broad though treacherous shallows within the barrier islands or west into the vast reaches of the Gulf itself.
Within the pass, the height and shape of Feather's masts would be lost to distant vessels. Although he expected to be gone before daylight, Hawk seized every advantage. First his gold; then the cannon. Finally the great treasure—that for which they had really come. Risks there would be, but none acquired through carelessness.
Behind lay the strains of ocean crossing. Once bright paint was glazed from furnace sun. Sails had lost the yellow of fine Egyptian cotton and lay in their boom lashings bleached like ancient bones.
Yet it had been a good voyage. Hawk's Feather had reached to the Canary Islands in a wet and wild ride that had proven her speed and seaworthiness. If her crew cursed the green water that flooded her low decks they also cheered as the taffrail log proved fleetness exceptional for her length.
They crossed the doldrums and swung into the trade winds without lost time. Before the never faltering trades, Feather surged as though hungry to taste the delights of the legendary West Indies.
Barbados appeared on schedule. Reprovisioning was hastened with a seasoned crew ignoring shoreside temptations in exchange for a swift northerly race to Jamaica. In Kingston they rested and prepared for the dangers that lay ahead.
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Positioned by fore and aft anchors, Feather lay securely within Captiva Pass. If danger threatened, the ship could be swung for quick escape. Without cannon, defense lay in running. Later, it would be different.
To their north, Cayo Costa Island's low profile lay only a musket shot away. To the south, North Captiva Island was more distant and appeared less threatening. However, a close watch would be kept in all directions. Pirates swarming from the jungle could be on them in an instant and Feather's hope would lie in cut anchor cables and swift poling before boarders could reach the ship's side.
Feather carried no jolly boat, so the longboat touched Jonas and one other ashore on Cayo Costa's southern tip. Lengthy sea duty left balance uncertain on firm ground and limited use had weakened walking muscles; therefore, Jonas did not hurry their pace. He had considered allowing Feather to range offshore while the longboat landed close to his old hiding place. The possibility of being trapped by foul winds or the arrival of a hostile ship had chilled the idea. Better to work harder and reduce risks.
They strode on the hard sand washed clean by every tide. Hawk pointed out the rotten carcass of a Ruth Covert cloth bale washed high and still mostly intact, but they saw no other traces of the schooner's sinking.
Moon glow gave light to remain oriented but, though his eyes strained, Jonas could not see the sunken Ruth Covert's mast. He hoped it was still erect. Its presence would speed locating the wreck and recovery of the Brescian cannon.
How Jonas hungered for those long slender guns. Their four inch balls would bounce harmlessly from the foot thick oak of a ship of the line but, on anything less, their high velocity should punch through. Like his squirrel rifle, which lay on the bottom near the wreck, his cannon would range far and be extremely accurate. The rifled guns could wreak havoc on anything he might choose to engage.
If conventionally armed with port and starboard guns, Feather's light construction would be shaken into leaky ruin. Heavy cannon or carronades would have slowed her, weakening her first and best defense—the ability to run.
But, with the rifled guns . . . Jonas could stand off and pick which porthole to slam his shot through. Once he had them, then let Jose Gaspar, or any other, chase him—to their regret.
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Without hesitation Jonas turned into the island's interior. How familiar it seemed. No great storm had ravaged Cayo Costa and he found his tree as easily as he had when burying his gold.
He knelt along the tree's trunk and clawed sand aside. Immediately his fingers struck the bags and he waved his crewman down to help.
Jonas had chosen leathern bags and, despite their long burial, they seemed undamaged. The crewman held open canvas pouches brought for the purpose and Jonas carefully lifted each treasure bag and placed it safely inside a new and stronger stitched carrier. Then he refilled the hole and disguised his digging the best he could.
Jonas was sorely tempted to slip to his old lookout to see if pirates were still in residence, but this was the dry season and he could not count on daily showers to erase his passage. Here, they were a mile distant and, unless the freebooters had changed their ways, no one would come near.
Hawk and his helper slung a bag from each shoulder, and began a heavy footed return to the waiting longboat.
Already the rising tide lapped at their earlier footprints and Jonas kept moving. By the flood he wished to be aboard his ship. The soft offshore wind would ease them seaward and before dawn Feather would be beyond sighting with maneuvering room all around.
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Further south, Captiva and Sanibel Islands were separated by a shallow pass. Ripped through during a hurricane, the pass helped dram the sound and its current could be swift. Hawk deemed it a proper hull cleaning anchorage. At an ebb they poled Feather in until her keel scraped. Again anchored b
ow and stern, all of her hull could be reached. Sentries were posted on each island and a lookout was maintained aloft. The rest of the crew went over the side with rough scrapers.
After months at sea, Feather's hull was foul with marine growth. Soon she would need careening and repainting lest teredo worms attack her planking. That would come later. Now her hull needed to be glass smooth so that she slid almost wakeless through the sea. Smooth hulls were swift and the smallest lumps or dimples stole speed like never resting thieves. If the pirates came out, Feather's swiftness could be essential.
They began at Feather's keel and worked up. At first they scraped away grasses, barnacles, and even small crabs floated around them. As the tide began to run in, the debris washed away.
A crewman surfaced with a fist-sized oyster he had broken free. He swore it alone must have taken a knot of speed. Then he disappeared to scrape again.
The ship was moved to shallower water so that the rising tide would not pull the men off their feet. They worked swiftly, saving the waterline for last.
There the fouling was worst. Sunlight near the surface encouraged growing things and the men cursed as they scraped at slime, mollusks, and weeds.
The tide was full before they finished. Crew boarded, an anchor was hauled, and sentries were called in. The last anchor was catted, and on a breeze as soft as a maiden's breath, Feather slipped into the Gulf and in late afternoon again aimed north—this time for the wreck of the Ruth Covert.
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Leaving only a helmsman and a single lookout, the captain and crew of Hawk's Feather gathered near the wheel for the dividing of Jonas' gold.
They were fourteen in number. For this division, shares would be equal. If no additional treasure was recovered their payment was already worthy. That captain and mate did not demand extra was special. The crew could expect that future dealings with Hawk and Finday might also be fairly conducted.
The treasure bags were opened and it was determined that all coins were doubloons. Amid reminders for helmsman and lookout to keep their eyes and minds on their work, gold was stacked in fourteen equal heaps. A number of coins, clipped or overly worn, were set aside and, in the flush of unusual riches, assigned to a ship's celebration following recovery of the real treasure.
With the success of their plans to date, their chances seemed good and, on Hawk's Feather, spirits were high with eagerness to get on with the next step toward gold almost beyond counting.
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Ghostlike, Feather barely moved across the night breeze. At her stem a crewman cast the lead, softly passing water depth to the helmsman who held the ship as Hawk directed.
They were on Johnson Shoals, edging north toward the burned and shattered carcass of the Ruth Covert. The land breeze blew the inevitable creakings into the Gulf, helping hide their presence from island occupants.
Jonas could smell the land and once he thought he detected woodsmoke which could have drifted to them from fires in the hidden village. No lights showed along the dark shore and Jonas had not expected any. The pirates had rarely roamed and, with luck, Feather could work the night through without discovery.
A lookout in her stem whispered excitedly and Jonas' heart leaped. Almost dead ahead a battered spar rose from the sea. It had to be the Ruth Covert's broken foremast. They had found her and, directly below, encased in tar, lay the Brescian guns that could give the venture teeth to be respected.
Using push poles as sweeps, Feather was positioned alongside the wreck and anchors were dropped. With only moonlight helping, Jonas and others went over the side to feel out the sunken schooner's condition and to decide where and how to begin.
During her long submersion, storms had battered the hull and voracious Teredo worms had munched oak and pine into tunneled warrens. Forward, most of the deck had torn away and the bulk of a cannon lay within reach. Further aft the hulk would have to be opened. Even then, the second cannon was buried beneath sand and a few rotting cloth bales.
A monstrous jewfish swished from hiding, passing through the swimmers and scaring them to the surface where they thrashed and snickered softly at each other's fear. But, sharks could lurk near a wreck where smaller fish swarmed so there was reason to be nervous.
Both fore and main booms were swung over the sunken hulk and recovery began. Hawk and his men dove and surfaced, each doing what he could. Sand was clawed from around the exposed gun and stout poles were edged beneath to lever the load enough to fit ropes beneath. Working by feel, the labor went slowly but, once secured, the gun could be windlassed aboard using as many pulleys as needed.
When ready, the swimmers clambered aboard and rested as their mates wound the lines around the ship's capstans and began walking the labored circles that drew the pulleys closer and raised the boom end with the cannon fastened below.
Constructed to heave anchors imbedded in sea bottom, the capstans made easy work of the first gun. The windlass pawls that prevented the drum's backward turning clunked steadily and the black and shapeless form of the tarred gun rose like a giant corpse resurrected after centuries in Neptune's graveyard.
When the cannon reared above Feather's low gunnel, the boom was swung inboard and the strains eased. Almost soundlessly the cannon settled on the deck. Only a few shoulder slaps and a pleased mutter or two betrayed the crew's satisfaction.
Rowed by only a pair, Jonas had sent the longboat to a position between Feather and Cayo Costa Island. Another hand roamed the ship, keeping lookout in all directions. Hawk wished no surprises.
Men who had worked aboard swapped duties with weaker swimmers and a struggle to free the second gun began.
This time a boom was attached to sunken decking and planks were violently ripped away to expose the wreck's hold.
As though in pain, Ruth Covert's timbers groaned and splintered. Feather heeled beneath the strains, and men braced above iron pry bars to wrench at still solid sections.
Piece by piece, the wreck was dismembered and, safely removed from the work area, great chunks sank to the Gulf floor.
The diving was not deep but as the night wore on men tired and returned to the depth ever slower. Gradually the deck hole grew large and lashings were fought around the giant girths of rotten cloth bales. One by one the sodden masses were hoisted above the shattered deck, the boom was swung, and without reaching the surface the bundles were allowed to sink beyond the wreck.
In relays the crew clawed sand from around the gun. a man dove to pass another on his way up for air. In darkness and sand-filled water, he scraped and scooped until his lungs demanded release. Then he rose to hang on ladders draped over Feather's side, sucking breaths, seeking strength to go down again.
The cannon's muzzle was cleared and a clove hitch was snapped around it. Everyone surfaced and the capstan pawls began a steady clunking. Lines firmed and a pulley squealed. Water squirted from stretching ropes and fibers began soft groanings as strain increased.
Gradually Feather heeled and the pawls clicked slower. Men in the water clambered aboard and moved about checking the pressures on standing rigging. The windlass men rested and all waited to see if the powerful draw would begin to suck the gun from its sandy grave.
To the east, above the island, a hint of light touched the night sky. Hawk gritted his teeth, silently cursing the cannon's recalcitrance. Finday sent men aloft with additional rigging to run from boom end, to mast, and around a second capstan. Within minutes the additional tackle added its strength. A pawl at a time, the capstan clicked. Feather's heel increased but the cannon did not come free.
In unison the crew hurled themselves over the side and again clawed, dug, and scraped at the sandy mass burying the gun.
Then they found it. A long timber lay across the gun's length, pinned by settled sand and odd cloth bales. A saw was sent down and men relayed the cutting. Five minutes, another two, and on the deck Jonas felt Feather lift. Men popped to the surface and swam for the ladders. Again the ship straightened and a boil of sandy wate
r heaved above the wreck.
Without direction, crew got the ladders up. Others stood anchor watch and the longboat was whistled in. They had the cannon. The gun was free. Seamen all, they knew the feel of an anchor breaking loose.
Up the cannon came, dangling as her mate had from a boom end. The boom swung and the gun settled amidship. Cables were shifted and a capstan upped the bow anchor. As the anchor broke free the stern capstan clunked and in moments Feather rode free of her bonds.
A jib rose and was sheeted. Another went up on the opposite side, and wing and wing Feather slipped westward, beyond view, before the sun cracked the horizon.
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Chapter 14
Cannon cleaning would not be casual. The protecting tar was a foot thick with layers of canvas sewn around and partly embedded. The cannon bores were poured tar full with their flintlock firing mechanisms dropped within. Shell life had found the outer surfaces to their liking and some sections were festooned with shells and urchins.
Again Feather turned south. There were passes to the north but who knew what villains might dwell there. Hawk felt his way around Sanibel's southern tip and ventured into Pine Island Sound.
The longboat found a passage where the shore dropped steeply and Feather was brought tight against the bank. A clearing was hacked into the spiny undergrowth and the heavy guns were swung ashore. Lightly manned, the ship sailed free. Until the guns were ready to go back aboard she would stand clear, prepared to flee.
Ax men laid fire beds. Finday and others used cutlasses as drawknives and shaved away thick slabs of tar. When they had removed all they could, the cannon would be heated and the remaining tar would be scraped and wiped away.
It was touchy work. Overheating might injure the guns by loosening the iron bands that strengthened the breeches. But, every hint of tar had to come off. Foul work indeed, but they could do it.
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