“Watch the way you’re talking to the helmsman, Barlow,” Walsh growled from where he sat near the gangway, braiding his long, tangled hair.
Mister Dabney hurriedly leapt between them. Holding his arms out—whip in hand—the first mate ordered, “There’ll be no more fighting on this deck. The next one of you who threatens the morale of this crew will be tied and beaten into submission.”
The silence following the threat assured me that the men took him seriously.
Walking away, Dabney grumbled, “It would have saved a great deal of grief had we done that days ago…”
In silence we sailed through the absurdly hot afternoon. Knot by knot, the humidity thickened. Beyond the sounds the ship made while dipping up and down over the rolling swells, there was an eerie sense of calm adrift in the overbearing air. In contrast to how much work it took to keep the ship afloat and sailing in the right direction, there was also an awful lot of downtime onboard. Time where we just sat around, telling stories, singing songs, and sometimes playing cards. But today, we all sat around in the shade of the sails, hoping to catch whatever breeze we could to cool down. Our boredom, mixed with the tension festering between us, and the strangeness of the weather, left it feeling as if there were some sort of monster below deck. A monster we all knew about, but one no one dared speak of.
While each man found some fidgety project to do in silence—whittling wood or stitching torn shirts—I picked at the blisters on my calloused hands and listened to the sound of the doctor’s quill scratching across the pages of his journal. To amuse myself, I imagined he was observing our behavior and recording our health status as we rotted away in the weather. While puncturing another sore and protruding lump of pus on my palm, I chuckled to myself about Clarence, and the many tales he told himself and others. But for him it wasn’t about entertainment. He believed the stories he told, and it was days like this that led me to see why. Too much time adrift on the stillness of the sea could easily send a wandering imagination into far-fetched fantasies; fantasies that could somehow come to life within the void of the never ending horizon ahead.
The sound of Chef Clarence clearing his throat snapped me out of my thoughts. The others seemed to jump in surprise as well. Once he had our attention, the lanky ol’ sea dog peered around to be sure no unwanted listeners were lurking. All but Boa, Burton, Dabney, and Jenson were present. I suppose that suited him just fine, for with all eyes on him, Clarence began, “I’ve been sailing the seas for long enough to know we’re in trouble here.”
“No,” the doctor spoke up with a tremble in his voice. “You can’t speak of it, Clarence, you just can’t. It’ll come true if you do.”
“What’ll come true?” Peck asked, gulping like a frog.
The wind picked up a bit, enough that I had to remove my hat so it wouldn’t blow away, as I listened to Clarence’s explanation. “We’re off course. I’ve been sailing these seas long enough to know there be no islands this mountainous around Barbados. So, either we’re lost, or they want to lose us.”
Rupert leaned in close. “Do you mean to say ol’ Jenson don’t know his charts?”
“That or perhaps, the captain, who has spent the latter part of this sail stirring over them with him, has other plans for our futures.”
“He did say we were hauling a special load.” Dennel started biting his nails.
Shaking his head, expression heavy with doubt, Clarence said, “Tell me, lads, do any of you know just what we’re hauling?”
Everyone looked around at each other, shrugging shoulders and shaking heads. No one knew. Suspicious whispers grew like the unbearable degree of moisture in the air.
Barlow, who didn’t care for Jenson either, attempted to tame the uproar. “Listen here, boys, we may not know Jenson, but we know Captain Burton. Most of us have sailed for plenty of other captains to know he’s a damn good man and if something is wrong with Jenson, we can trust Burton to steer us right. It’s his job to manage us and our job to manage the sails, so let’s just leave it at that, eh?”
Seeming eased by Barlow’s speech, most of the men began laughing and joking about the unlikely events as they rose up and wandered off in different directions. If nothing else, Clarence certainly cured the spell of boredom. But Humphry, wiping his sweaty forehead, trembling as he drank his water, was hardly satisfied. He and Clarence glanced between each other, shaking heads as if to say the nonbelievers were fools for not taking heed to this important warning.
As for me, I did not know what to believe. All I knew for certain was that I was tired of holding onto my hat that I could no longer wear in the wind. I decided to head below deck in order to store it in my sea bag. Barlow followed behind me, running his mouth about wanting dinner and craving liquor as we wandered down the teetering gangways and halls. Reaching the berthing quarters, and finding no one in sight, I stuffed my hat in my bag and shoved it neatly in a gap I had found between the planks.
Barlow scratched his balding head. “You found a hiding place, eh?”
“Aye. Everything I own is in this sailcloth bag and I don’t want to risk losing anything else to greedy paws.”
“Good thinking. I carry all I own with me these days, as well. I once had a house full of things, including a wife, but she left me while I was gone at sea and took everything I’d worked so hard for in her greedy little paws. Bitch,” he grumbled, but as he opened the flap on the porthole he laughed a bit. “That good judge of character thing I was telling you about…well, it flies out of the porthole when it comes to fat bottomed women.”
I laughed at his comment, but my mind was swiftly swept away into erotic visuals of Pauline’s fat bottom and meaty thighs slapping against my skin. Realizing how even the brief daydream carried my sense away, I chuckled again as I told him how I understood his struggle.
Peering out of the porthole, Barlow’s thick brows furrowed. “Come take a look at this, Bentley.”
Trying not to breathe in the stench of his body odor, I stood alongside him and stared across the sea. There in the distance, silhouetted before a dangerously red sky, stood a mountainous island. Clarence had mentioned islands, but sitting low beneath the gunnel all afternoon I had yet to take in the marvelous sight. Though the fire colors in the sky looked dark and mean, the island held a sort of promise in its stance. “I haven’t seen land in so long; I forgot what it looked like. What island do you think that is?”
“Not Barbados.” Barlow shook his head in dismay. “Clarence was right. We’re in trouble, Bentley.”
“Wait. You just told the men we have nothing to worry about.” I backed away from the porthole.
He leaned in close and lowered his voice, “That’s what I said to them. But between you and me, this weather, along with the tension between the men, is dangerous enough to stir a mutiny on its own. We don’t need doubt for the captain deepening the dissension.”
Overwhelmed by everything he said, I stepped back and shook my head. “I don’t like the sound of all this.”
“There’s nothing about it to like. It’s almost like a curse is upon us. I didn’t want to stir the pot with the men, but you know I trust you, and I’ll tell you the truth. That island is something different. We are definitely off course. I have it in my heart to believe the captain is working to steer Jenson straight, but regardless, if we’re lost in Spanish waters, we’re all as good as dead. So, you and me, we’ve got to stick together. Be ready for anything. Especially that storm we are sailing into.”
“Storm?” My voice cracked as I lunged for the porthole. Looking east, I saw that the already threatening clouds—taller than any I had ever seen—had darkened into terrible shades of grey, almost black at some points. And worst of all, they appeared to be moving in our direction. “It looks like the fires of Hell are on our tail.”
“They are, my boy, they are.” He set his hand on my shoulder. “Just remember what I told you about storm sailing, My ship, my crew, myself.”
As I thought about t
he significance of those words, the ship’s bell began ringing wildly. Answering the call, Barlow and I bolted up the gangway. The moment we reached the deck, I heard Dabney ordering the men to batten down the ship. Noticing how things had already begun to slide around on the teetering deck, I imagined things toppling over and crushing us as the storm drew in.
While we strapped the heavy items and stowed the smaller ones, the wind that had been heavy and hot, suddenly thickened and cooled a bit, filling the sails and snapping them taut. The drop in temperature was almost refreshing, but staring into the face of the force blowing in our direction, I found no relief in the chill.
“Hands aloft to reef the sails!” Boa shouted over the winds.
It would have made sense to me to use the wind to run away from the storm, like the gulls and porpoises were, so as we scampered up the shrouds, wind whipping sharply at our hair and clothing, I asked Barlow, “Why are we reefing? Can’t we rush ashore to that island until the storm passes?”
Swiftly sliding across the footrope, Barlow hollered over the howling breeze, “The wind is already too strong to risk the reefs in the unknown inlets around that damn island that our navigator probably doesn’t even recognize.”
At that moment, I became angry with Aaron Jenson, as well. “So, if he knew, we could go ashore?”
“Aye, a good navigator would know what island that was and would maybe even know the passes our draft could slip into under this force of wind at this time of tide. But he is not a good navigator, so we’re trapped at sea. And we can’t sail through a hurricane. She’ll rip our sails to shreds and could even bend and possibly snap the masts with her force. All we can do with a bitch like that is ride the waves.”
Ride the waves. Holding tight to the yard, I looked down at the growing swells. The darkest part of the storm was still miles away, and yet the waves had already risen to a height like none I had ever seen. Atop of that dreadful sight, the wind had gained a dangerous amount of speed since our feet had left the deck.
Feeling like an autumn leaf, hanging loosely on the branch of a tree losing its color, I did my best to focus on the job at hand. As Autumn Moon rolled up one of the enormous swells, it became more difficult than ever to hold on while furling the sail. When the bowsprit hit the wave’s high point, where Autumn Moon teetered like a seesaw based on an uneven log, Barlow howled, “Hold on, boy.”
That I did, and I was glad for the warning, for Autumn Moon slid down the slope of the swell faster than she had ever gone before. She soared steadily for a moment in the bowl, so we were able to finish the job of reefing that sail and headed below as she began her next ascent.
By now, wind was whipping water from the waves across the deck. While being peppered with salty spray, we sailors worked side by side to finish reefing. Once all but the foresails were reefed up tight, the sun had fallen below the horizon. In the darkening sky, I watched the way the gale filled the foresails and pushed Autumn Moon over the waves that had now arose to even more dangerous heights.
Dark and mean, the sea rose and rose, tossing in an unpredictable rhythm. Autumn Moon dipped and hopped and bobbed around like a mindless fool. Rain dumped from the angry heavens like buckets of water. Lightning lit the darkening sky with wicked shades of white, hitting the surface of the sea like flaming arrows thrown by angry demons. Erupting thunder followed the electric assaults, shaking the planks so fiercely it seemed a sea beast was trying to tear the ship apart.
Holding tight to the jacklines—thankful for the way the liquid hit and ran off of the tarred ropes without causing slickness—I could barely see, let alone breathe. But with what sense I could manage in my mind, I saw my death over and over. There was nothing I could do to defend myself from the tempest. There was nothing any of us could do. Yet, Captain Burton stood firm at the quarterdeck, shouting harsh, but encouraging commands to Tennison, who held fast at the tiller. Bravely facing the winds and waters, the experienced helmsman held his ground to steer the ship up and over the tumbling waves. Some of them were breaking and at times washing over the deck, soaking us to the bone and striving to pull us out to sea when rolling away.
Just when I thought that things couldn’t get any worse, the wood of the foremast let out a terrible groan, followed by a spine shattering crack. In the next flash of lightning, I saw the mast bending and warping in the gale. These life threatening sights were accompanied by the sound of Boa shouting a chilling command, “Hands aloft to furl the foresails!”
His voice mimicked the might of the thunder. Though the last thing I wanted to do was rise from my safe hold, the courage in his tone fueled my will to stand. My ship, my crew, myself, I chanted the lesson in my mind as I arose. Gripping onto the line that was saving my life, I staggered across the wet deck in the pounding rain. Along the way, Autumn Moon dipped down hard into a huge bowl nestled between two monstrous waves. All I could do was hold my line and my breath as the warm water washed over the deck with perilous force.
Like a cork, Autumn Moon popped out the other end. Catching my breath from the near drowning, but still heaving and straining to keep myself alive, I continued my treacherous trek to the foremast. By powers beyond me, I reached my destination alongside my fellow sailors. Though the feat had exhausted every bit of the courage I never knew I had, I had to summon more to make the climb up the shrouds. Holding fast to my will to survive, I began my ascent behind Sanders, with Barlow at my heels.
Violent winds were whipping the tearing sails we were headed for. What felt like razor sharp raindrops were slicing my soaking wet skin as I climbed. The ship swayed and rocked and rolled over the waves, lifting us high above the raging beast below, and then rolling us back down into her clutches. Feeling seasick and scared to death, I made it to the yard and slid across the foot rope. Keeping my footing in such conditions was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but the job got harder when the ship topped out on a swell, which caused the endangered mast to swing through the air. Imagining it flinging me off and into the bowels of the sea, I closed my eyes and held the hell on.
The loose and wild swing through the air came to an abrupt halt when Autumn Moon crashed into the next wave. The mast landed hard with a thud. Grasping onto the yard, I heard Sanders let out a blood curdling scream. My eyes shot open in time to see him slip loose from the footrope and fall through the air. The sound of his cries and the sight of his body cracking against the lower mast stung my spine like a bolt of lightning. And the visual of the life leaving his body as it splattered against the trembling deck seared itself into my mind for what would be years to come, if I survived this God-awful night.
“Cut it loose!” Barlow roared alongside a crash of thunder.
Cut it loose…No matter how sad I was to see my friend die or how afraid I was of being the next to plummet to my death, all I could do was move on. The job had to be done, for the sake of the ship and for the sake of the crew.
When the soaking wet sail fell to the deck, covering Sanders dead body like the first layer of dirt shoveled upon a shallow grave, I said a swift and silent prayer in my mind, then began my descent.
Making it to the deck alive, I instantly felt safer than I did up in the yards, yet there was no true comfort to be found. The waves were still thrashing, the sky was still flashing, and the rain was falling so hard I could hardly see the bare poles of the ship that was only mildly keeping us afloat.
After another wave rushed over the deck, nearly taking everyone on the portside with it, I saw the most horrendous blast of lightening fire across the sky. Like the talons of a vulture, it seemed to grip the face of the earth, and the crack of thunder sounded like the predators caw as it circled its dead and decaying prey.
The next gust of wind was strong enough to break through the blinding haze, and in the brief clearing, the blasts of lighting allowed me to set sight on an island. It was close enough that I saw white sand lining the shore. I could see the wet leaves of swaying palms glistening in the rain.
Boa had see
n it, too. I heard him hollering about how we were too close to the shoals. “Take cover,” he roared as Autumn Moon lifted high on a swell. For the most part I closed my eyes and prayed, but when the ship began her downward plummet, I opened them with panic. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the shallow sea at the base of the wave. In the shoals, I saw the reef. A rock hard coral reef. We were falling straight for it.
Holding on for dear life, I braced for the blow. In the blink of a bloodshot eye, the wooden hull crashed against the reef. The halt in force sent the lot of us sliding across the deck. Waves continued to beat against the ship, lodging it deeper into the death wedge it had found. This tug of war of lumber being yanked violently between the skies and the seas seemed to go on forever, but eventually, the hull gave way.
We all yelled and growled in ghastly harmony as the timbers shattered to pieces and water rushed in from the gaping hole. The groan of the wood busting was like the moan of dying cattle, and the sounds of men screaming for their lives echoed in the night. Strong standing remains of the ship hit the floor of the sea so hard that I lost my grip on the line. Sliding across the wet deck like a helpless weed in the wind, I tried to grab on to anything that might save me. Before I caught a grip, my body hit hard against the now vertical standing gunnel. My head hit the rail, sending my mind into a frenzy of panic and pain. Hardly conscious, I was unable to hold on when a wave hit the hull and tipped Autumn Moon further into the sea.
Through hazy eyes I saw barrels and casks and men falling overboard ahead of me. Without the strength to stop myself from going over, I was also swept away in the wave.
The water was warm but the ride was violent. I saw lightning in the sky and heard deathly groans all around me, but once I went under an unfamiliar sound filled my ears, bubbling water. Holding my breath amidst the weighty liquid surrounding me, I flapped around with no gage of which way was up or down. During the next crack of lightning, my burning eyes took in the sight of bodies sinking downward around the ship.
King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 15