by Lisa Grace
Graham took a swig of his drink. “May I?” he gestured for the bottle as Captain Stafford nodded his assent and said, “Certainly.”
Graham took a stiff shot, gulped, and poured himself another. “I have come to the same conclusion. I will still plead my case. I owe it to my men and officers. I will have the voyage back to pray for a miracle.”
Captain Stafford nodded his head, “I will pray for mercy too. If I had been assigned to the Devonshire, it might well have been my head on the line instead of yours. I cannot think of one decision you made on your voyage I would have done differently.”
They both sipped their drinks and sat silently.
“Captain Graham, I urge you to demote all your officers, except two, and take as few of them back to England aboard the Lancashire with us. The rest of your crew will be sent to the jail at Middlesex where they will be sentenced and assigned to a ship to be transported to the penal colonies off Australia. I hope returning with two officers besides yourself, and the remaining thirty-two pirates you recently captured, should fill the requirements of our King to satisfy the blood lust from the country of Spain. The good news is pardons have been extended to the for-hire surveyors, scientists, and artists. They are not bound by military law and the King feels they are truly hostages to their circumstances.”
Graham answered, “Good. My wife is among that number.”
Captain Stafford nodded and drank, “Well, this settles the matter for now.”
Captain Graham leaned back in his chair, “Thank you. I will advise my crew as to the matter. I assume we ship out in the morning?”
“If the weather holds,” Captain Stafford answered.
They sat polishing off their drinks. Finally, they both stood.
“Goodnight Captain Graham.”
“Goodnight Captain Stafford.”
***
The next morning Captain Graham called for an assembly of the crew.
“I cannot state enough what an honor it has been to serve beside you. This may be the last time I serve as your captain. The Devonshire and its men are to transfer our crew to the jail in Middlesex where you will be sentenced to serve a term at the penal colonies in Australia. The for-hire surveyors, botanists, scientists, and artists have been pardoned, and will be shipped back to England aboard the Lancashire.” A murmur spread through the crew as what the captain was saying sunk in.
“With any luck, the King will hear my plea for your freedom. If not so lucky, it is my hope I can join you. However, there is a better possibility that I will hang along with my officers. To this end I am demoting all officers to first class seamen. I ask for two brave souls to return with me as officers to meet our fate together. Your sacrifice will surely be noted in heaven.”
“Captain! Captain, I must a’ be a’ one!” The voice of an older man rusty with age broke the silence. He limped forward waving his arms. He made his way to the front through the silent men.
“I have not long to live. I fear suffering more than I fear swinging from the end of a rope.” He rolled up his pant leg, showing a tumor the size of an egg on his calf.
“Seaman Bart Dobbins, at your service.”
Another arm in the crowd quickly shot up. “I will go with the Captain! Ya, must pick me, sir! Me name is Jonah Barwick, and I’s a promised to follow you to the death. I want to see England agin afore I die, and I be mighty proud to die at your side, captain.”
Captain Graham nodded and smiled. “Thank you, officers. It is an honest pleasure to serve with such brave men. Let us get you bathed and shaved, and properly attired. Then we will have a briefing.”
“Thank you, captain.” Both sailors replied acting as if it was truly an honor of the highest magnitude.
***
Randall struck out with Ben in the boat. He stripped off his naval officer’s uniform, dirtied their faces and hands, then put on the woven ponchos and straw hats worn by the natives. He loaded his bag and Ben’s into the boat. He motioned for Ben, who was now wearing the same disguise, to hop into the boat. “Habla Espanol, Bennito. No Englais, Comprende?”
Ben answered, “Si.” They picked up their oars and rowed the hollowed out log canoe toward the shore of the coast. They appeared to be two natives, a father and his young son, back from an early morning fishing trip.
***
Once they pulled the log canoe up on the shore, Ben spoke, “I’ve never meet my grandparents.”
Randall nodded, “I know.”
After they walked a while, angling toward the road that led to the Welch Hacienda, Randall spoke again. “I met them once, at your parent’s wedding. They loved your mother very much.” Ben nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.
Randall spoke again, “You have an uncle barely a year older than you. So you will have someone your age to be friends with.”
Ben nodded again, and ran his sleeve against his eyes, wiping away a stray tear, “I would rather be with my parents. I fear I will never see them again.”
Randall put his arm across the boy’s shoulders. “After I leave you with your grandparents, I will make my way back to England. I will do my best to bring your parents home to you.”
Ben looked straight ahead, then briefly up at Randall, “I know.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
***
Randall
Randall was soon on his way to the port, ensconced in a horse drawn carriage, with a trunk full of goods supplied by the Welch’s. Randall reflected back on his conversation with Ben’s grandparents while the driver drove him to the port. They were shocked yet delighted to meet their grandson, as was John, Mary’s younger brother, who hadn’t been born when she’d left all those years ago.
Mr. Welch had given Randall the funds for the voyage to England and enough to provide for the best solicitors to plead Mary and Bennett’s cases. They had cleaned his uniform in case he needed it, and given him the clothes of a gentleman. Now he needed to get to England before, or soon after, Bennett and Mary would arrive. Mr. Welch had taken him aside, “Do what you must to save them both. I would have my daughter and young Ben’s father alive, no matter the cost. Here is a letter granting you any necessary funds on my behalf.”
Down on the docks were a galleon and a clipper. At the landside of the docks was a small hut where the harbor master would greet the ships. The port side was badly in need of paint, as the winds and salt spray had eaten through. The rest of the building was a yellowed white, and peeling, with the clapboard showing through. Heavy salt build up had turned parts of what would have been brown-gray wood, a sickly grayish-white. Randall noted these things because a naval port or vessel would never allow their structures to fall into such disrepair.
The harbor master was sitting at a high table perched on a stool. An unlit pipe hung in a low curve from the corner of his lips. He wore spectacles perched on top of a nose reddened from exposure to the elements or too much drink, or both. Muttonchops, too bushy to be fashionable, seemed to be the only hair on his head. The harbormaster looked up as Randall entered the shack.
Randal smiled then spoke, “I beg your pardon, but is there a ship departing for England today or on the morrow?”
“Aye,” he spoke through teeth clenched on the pipe, “the clipper and the galleon are both slated to leave on the morrow. One will get you there cheap but slow, the other, is fast but ‘twill leave your pocket lighter.”
“Thank you, sir,” Randall said as he tipped his hat. He signaled for the driver of the carriage to wait as he went down to the clipper to secure passage for his way back to England. With any luck, on such a speedy ship, he should easily beat the Graham’s ships back to port. On the trip he had to think of a way to save Graham’s life. He would mentally work out several plans, and when the time came, risk his life to save that of his friend.
*
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CHAPTER 9
Della, Ray, and the Guys: Irv,
Phil, Roger, and Dent
The call came in to Della and Ray over his walkie-talkie. “Bad news, your pirate friends, three of them, just headed to shore and checked out the newlyweds’ tent. They’re hanging out, searching around the kids’ camp. They left one man on their boat. Phil and I will take the captain out, while Roger and Dent sneak onto shore to tail these guys and see what they’re up to. We could use your back up.”
“We’re on it, Irv. See you in fifteen,” Ray responded. He turned to Della, “Pack, lock and load, we’ll be on shore in fifteen.”
“Got it,” Della said as she went below to prepare for the trip ashore.
Ray gunned the throttle and headed for the shore out of sight of the pirate ship.
“Where do you know these guys from?” Della asked as she came back up to sit next to Ray.
“Oh, a few covert operations here and there. Lot of down time between the action gives you a chance to get to know each other. I’d have introduced you sooner if I didn’t think these clowns would try to put a move on you.”
“Uh, huh,” Della said as she ran her fingers through Ray’s windblown hair.
***
The gangsters on shore: Paolo, Marcos, and Ernesto
Ernesto pulled back the flap of the tent slowly, his gun drawn. “Gringos gone,” he said quietly.
Paolo, wearing his white suit, walked along the sandy beach searching the tree line.
“Stupido,” he said as he shook his head. He pointed up the beach a ways and walked in that direction as he spoke to Marcos the leader, “Look.”
A rough narrow path had been cut forming a crude trail. Marcos just shook his head. He glanced up the side of the mountain as Ernesto walked around the camp looking in the young couple’s bags and supplies.
“Why they go up there?” Paolo asked Marcos. “Nothing up there but rock. Stupid gringos.”
Marcos looked up through the thick jungle foliage and just shook his head again.
Paolo continued, “Pirates were lazy. Everyone knows they stuck to the shore and the caves along the shore.” Paolo laughed.
Marcos finally spoke, ”They must know something. They know where they are going. We’ll give them an hour. Hacking through the brush will be slow going. There is nowhere up there for them to hide.” Marcos gestured for Ernesto to join him and Paolo. “Grab us something to drink from their cooler. Let’s sit in the shade for a while. Give the gringos time to reach their destination. Then we’ll follow.” Ernesto brought them each a can of soda.
Marcos unscrewed the cap and took a long drink before he spoke again, “Ernesto, you will stay here and keep an eye on the camp. Paolo and I will go up when the time comes. We have them cornered. We’ll see what they know soon.” Marco burped and sat back in the lounge chair, resting before he would follow their prey.
***
On the Island, Present Day
Julian shook Keiko’s shoulder. It took her a minute as she opened her eyes in the pitch black dark to realize they were in a tent. Keiko snuck out the front flap quietly keeping low and staying behind the trees. She could barely see the outline of the main tent down on the beach. Julian followed behind then took the lead as they angled up the slope.
Keiko had her shovel and phone. Her gun was packed under her shirt by the small of her back. Julian hacked a small path close to the ground, leaving the ever present waist high fronds intact to cover the path as they passed. The sun gave a dim light as Keiko carefully picked her way up an overgrown trail going up the embankment. It was apparent no one had ascended this way in months, if not years. The undergrowth grabbed at her above her high boots, leaving little scratches. Just enough to cause pain, but not deep enough to draw blood. Up they went quietly and quickly. They reached the plateau as the sky acquired the glow that happens right before sun up. Keiko looked down toward the beach, but enough foliage stood between them and the shoreline below that she could not see their camp, or the ship out at sea that had been watching them.
“Okay.” Julian took out his GPS receiver and tuned it to the L1 channel. He looked up through the tree cover, “This canopy could interfere with the signal. They can be fussy.” He waited until the coordinates popped up on the screen. We’re here.” He pointed to the graph they had transposed the map to. We need to get here.”
Keiko nodded and looked. “Do you want to lead?”
“Yes. These islands are dead volcanoes, which means there are vent holes, and crevasses. While some of the ground looks solid, it is riddled with crevasses or loose rock broken through by earthquakes which hit every year. I’m used to treacherous terrain. Stay close.”
Keiko nodded and followed Julian, using her shovel as a walking cane.
“Whoa!” Julian said as he abruptly stopped and Keiko ran into him. She instinctively grabbed for him as he leaned back toward her. He caught her eye and pointed straight down. A crevasse three feet across cut into the ground, going down into the dark depths of the island. Julian picked up a loose rock and gently dropped it in. It plunked from side to side going down rattling and pinging all the way. “It’s about thirty feet deep.”
“Do you think this was here back then?”
“Maybe, see the rock there?”
Keiko nodded.
“That is fairly new, if it were older that would be worn away. It could have broken off recently.” He pointed to the hidden split in the ground, “but the foliage growth indicates this has been here quite awhile.”
Julian plugged in the corrected longitudinal coordinates from Graham’s map with their current position. The signal came back a second later. He spoke, “This way.”
Julian hacked at the thick foliage, then probed the ground before stepping. They wound their way slowly up the slope to the remains of an old twisted cedar. “We’re getting close,” Julian said as he typed in their new location relative to the numbers for the treasure. He flipped over his walking cane and removed the top. Hidden underneath was a spear. “Just another fifty feet or so...and we can make a grid and start probing. The GPS coordinates are accurate, but Graham’s measurements could be off by four arc seconds or more, which equates to approximately four hundred feet or thirty meters or so, if we assume total accuracy on Graham’s part. This is why landmarks on the map are so important.”
They reached the place where the treasure should be. Julian looked around for landmarks, but there were none. Just overgrown brush, palmettos, and low growing plants stunted by the little light that could make it through the trees that formed the higher canopy. He took out his machete and started swinging, clearing as much of the underbrush away as he could. Keiko took a shovel and started hacking at the tough roots firmly anchored in the dirt. She chopped her shovel into the ground as hard as she could, which resulted in it only sinking in a few inches. Keiko put her full weight on the shovelhead at an angle, and heard some of the roots tear with a popping sound. “This is going to be tougher than I thought.”
Julian laughed. “What did you think we’d find? A nice clearing with a big red X on the ground?”
“I didn’t think it would be overgrown. I didn’t really think about it at all.”
She kept digging until her shovel hit something hard and made a clanging screeching sound. Julian stopped what he was doing and came over. “It can’t be that easy,” he said.
Keiko’s eyes were sparkling as she knelt down to get a better look at what she had hit with her shovel. She brushed at the hard surface with her fingers as Julian knelt beside her. “It’s rock,” he said, “Volcanic rock, false alarm.”
Keiko got up and kept digging around the sides of the rock, making a bigger hole trying to find the edge of the stone so she could pry it up and keep digging. Julian picked up his shovel and started working on a spot several feet away from Keiko. After a couple of shovels full, his shovel went, “clang,” as he hit rock. Working on the hole trying to find the sides of the volcanic rock wasn’t working. Julian spoke up, “It appears there is a dirt cover of around two feet just sitting o
n top of this volcanic rock.”
Keiko looked at Julian, “It can’t be. Where would the treasure be then? They couldn’t have buried it in solid rock.”
Julian looked puzzled. He took the GPS out of his back pocket. “Let me check the coordinates again, maybe we made a mistake.”
Off the trail came a voice as two men bearing guns emerged from the path, “Maybe you did make a mistake.”
Keiko looked at Julian and said before she could stop herself, “Pirates!”
One of the men laughed, “Si Senorita, pirates. Just call me Jolly Roger.”
***
Bennett and Mary Aboard the Lancashire
“How long before we reach England?” Mary asked Bennett as she sat on the edge of their bed. The captain had kindly given them one of the better guest quarters. It had a window, a table, desk, bed, and wardrobe. A bookcase contained some books and other trinkets.
He shrugged, “If we have good weather, and can manage around four knots a day, we will get there fairly soon, a month or two. Pray for no wind.”
“I will,” Mary said in all seriousness. “Do you think the King would permit me an audience to explain?”
Bennett smiled at Mary tenderly, “No. I do not think I will get an audience either. I will plead my case before the naval court, and write another missive to the King, but I cannot be certain it will reach him or if he gives it even more than a cursory consideration. The King of Spain’s nephew died on the Valasperio, so since there remains tense relations between our two countries from the time of King Phillip and the Spanish Armada attack, King George will do what he can to keep the peace, which means someone must be sacrificed, and it looks like the decision has been made. ‘The someone' will be me. It is not personal, but political.”
Mary fell to her knees. “No! What of the pirates we are taking back? Are they not proof enough? Could they not serve in your place?”
Bennett stepped over to help his distraught wife back to her seat on the bed. He looked in her eyes, “They will be hung, too.”