He laid his hand on my bag to seal it shut. “You don’t have to do that. This is my mission and my risk. You’ve given more than enough as it is, Bentley.”
Backing away from his barricade, I said, “This is my fight, too, and I am also responsible for this crew.”
Removing his hand from my bag, he went to light his pipe. “I respect your commitment, I truly do, but…well…before we go any further, I want to ask you something, something I’ve been curious about for a while, now.”
“Ask away.” I started checking my weapons to make busy with my fidgety hands.
Puffing on his pipe to light the cherry, he asked, “Why do you feel so compelled to see this through?”
I hadn’t really thought of that before. Pausing for a moment, I reeled over the possible answers and blurted the first thing that clearly came to mind, “On a shallow note, those mutineers offended me personally. I’ve worked too hard to be a good and fair man to let those logger-headed fools destroy my hard earned reputation. But more than that…” Digging deeper into my thoughts, and feeling the sense of urgency fleeing my body, I stopped fiddling with my weapons and looked into his eyes. “More than that, I feel in a way that I owe you. Not only did you offer me the chance to sail on your ship, but you gave me the opportunity to find strengths I never knew I had. I’ve learned so much since I left England. Most of it has been shitty, but I remember my grandfather saying, Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do to survive, and by doing those dreadful things I was able to survive. Now, I am stronger than ever.
Speaking of my grandfather, I’ve never told you this, but the way you do things and how you carry yourself, reminds me of him. I was lucky enough to have his guidance until I was fourteen, and though it was nowhere near long enough, I wouldn’t be half the man I am without knowing the things he taught me. And well, I guess…the resemblance assures me that your family must feel the same for you. You have a wife who loves you, a daughter who is waiting for you to take her fishing, and a son who will carry your name in the world. I’ve never met any of them, but thinking back on how drastically my life changed after I lost my grandfather, I can’t help but strive to keep your family from suffering a similar loss.”
Moved by the memories that were rapidly surfacing in my mind, I struggled to hold back my tears as I concluded, “Just like the rest of these buccaneers, I never speak much of my past, but I’ll tell you right now that I lost everything that mattered to me. In this state, I became a man with no one to return to, with nowhere I needed to be, and nothing whatsoever to lose. But having you as a friend—someone who has something so wonderful to live for—has in turn given me something to live for, something to care about. And for those who I care about, I will sacrifice all.”
Standing in silence, he watched the smoke blow from his lips as if there was no rush in the world. After drawing deeply on his pipe, he slowly exhaled another puff, and then flashed a satisfied grin. “Well, blow me down. You’re one hell of a man, Mason Bentley. Though I never met your grandfather, I can assure you that he’d be damn right proud of the way you’ve turned out. Just as I am proud to have you as my first mate.”
I wasn’t a crier like Peck, but if I was, I would have shed a tear over that compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
Patting my back, Captain Burton said, “Now, with the heading set and my curiosity quelled, shall we address our men, Quartermaster?”
I nodded to concur. “Aye, Captain. Victory shall soon be ours.”
X
Afternoon sun beat down on the deck and reflected brightly on the face of the sea as Isabella got underway. Loving the feel of the ship bobbing free on the turquoise water, I happily sang along with the crew as I climbed down the shrouds and whipped around the futtocks. While rushing to meet my fellow sailors to loose the rolling and the truss, I thought about how much I had grown to love sailing.
Most of my life had been spent ashore, yet being back at sea made me feel more at home than I’d ever felt before. Perhaps it was the enchanting scent of tar and wet lumber filling my nose, or maybe the familiar and promising sound of wind whipping at the massive canvas sails as they draped in the breeze. Either way, the sight of sheer Atlantic water being parted by Isabella’s cutwater left me feeling at peace within my soul, among my brothers, and with nature.
I felt this way every time we made sail, but there was something different in the air today. This time, I was honored to not only be a part of, but to be leading this fine crew out of Tortuga’s harbor.
After Burton and I addressed the men, they all agreed to stay aboard. Their reasons varied from feeling betrayed by the others, to simply not wanting to be left without a ship or crew on an unfamiliar shore, to plainly committing to their faith in their elected officers. But Gean didn’t explain himself at all. He did, however, appear to be troubled by the choice he had to make and had not said one word since we made sail. Whatever the causes that led us each here, I felt damn good about it. Knowing these men trusted in me and having their loyalty backing my strength has lifted a huge weight off of my shoulders and allowed me to move forward with confidence.
Before long, all the sheets were away and Isabella was passing the mighty guard tower at the harbor entrance. Turning to face the bosun, I asked, “What do you say, Peck? Stay the course?”
“Scanning the sailors on deck, then looking at the lufting sails, and finally setting his sights on the eastern horizon, Bosun Peck said, “Aye, the winter winds are blowing to the south southeast, so we’ll come about due east. Wind will be over the port side and we’ll be running close to the wind until the end of the island.”
Impressed by the seafaring knowledge he held in that small head of his, and excited for the feat ahead, I clapped my hands together and said, “All right. Tell them how it goes, Bosun.”
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted to the crew, “Take the wind on a port tack.”
They hopped to answer his command.
The orders he barked thereafter were executed with precision and were followed by heaves and hos as the crew worked together to follow them through. In no time at all, we were bracing around the sails. Wind whipped through my hair and salty sea water sprayed my sweat covered face as the deck tilted beneath my feet. Bosun Peck guided us through the tack until Isabella was steady on her course and running close to the wind. Soaring over the wind-whipped water of the channel gave me the feeling of a bird in flight. My heart rate accelerated with every knot we gained. But all enjoyment aside, I knew the worst part of the sail was yet to come.
We kept on a port tack for the next few hours, but eventually a change of course took us up and around Tortuga, and into the Windward Passage on a head to wind course. This is where our true skill and endurance would be tested.
After the storm, the sky seemed unusually blue and the puffy white clouds looked extraordinarily fluffy, but in contrast to the cheerful skies, the sail was rough and strenuous. Having enough hands on deck, I stepped away from the sailors and went to discuss our heading with the captain. As Isabella bumped and jarred over the choppy swells, Captain Burton and I studied the maps and considered the landmarks that would lead us to the uncharted Boa Constrictor Island. Since we could only sail as close as twenty degrees to the wind, the sailors remained hard at work, constantly tacking and wearing, while Burton and I struggled to keep a constant watch on our position.
I tried my damnedest to keep on top of the route we were carving, but the calculations were just more than I could comprehend. Maybe it was the rushed time limit, or maybe it was the struggle of the sail, but I could not wrap my mind around the concept of charting a course. I could, however, see Terra Grand in the distance. The peak of the mountain I first spotted from Boa Constrictor Island was one that would be forever seared in my mind, and I used the sight of it changing shape as my gauge. From here—far north-east of our destination—my view of the peak was different from what it was the day I first saw it, and I was counting on it taking on its
familiar shape while the sun was still shining.
Struggling along our rhumb line course, with the wind at our faces and sun in our eyes, the men grew weary and started to complain. I ordered Zean to cook up an inspirational feast and allowed them to dip into the liquor stores to feed their habit as well as their courage. In between motivating the exhausted sailors, doing what I could to assist the captain with his charting, and keeping a sharp eye on the mountain’s peak, I often squinted and strained to take in the sun beaten western horizon, where Boa Constrictor Island should soon appear. Clouds were rolling in and if the skies darkened before we found it, all hope would be lost until morn. We couldn’t afford that kind of delay.
As the sun fell low, the landmark mountain took on its familiar form, assuring me that the island would come into sight any moment. Standing at the knighthead, like I did upon my first sail, I looked ahead for any sign of land. By now, the sea was reflecting the fiery colors of sunset, and I figured the island would be nothing more than a black silhouette on the red abyss.
Bit by bit, dark clouds covered the low setting sun, making it seem much later than it was. Just as the burning orb set behind the foreboding marine layer, the island I’d been seeking came into view. Small and dark, with its one high point standing like a beacon on the otherwise flat and unwelcoming sea, she beckoned me back into her clutches. Remembering the misery that ensued upon her shores, my throat grew parched and my stomach rumbled. Drinking heavily from my decanter of water, I squinted at her silhouette, as if tempting her to tamper with me again. Taking a bite of boucan, and savoring the flavorful spices, I dared her to starve me. I dared her to trap me. No. This time, I was ready for what lie ahead. This time, I was the one bringing death to her shores.
We lowered anchor just before daylight vanished completely. There wasn’t more than a faint amber glow illuminating the red crosses on our sails as we cut and furled them for the night. Trade winds blew through our wild locks as we painted our faces and arms with the war paint Ziare had stored in his duffle. Night engulfed the scene completely as we prepared our weapons, spears, guns, arrows, swords, and axes. As ready as I could be, with determination burning like a fire in my soul, I ordered the men to lower the canoes.
Gean, Dennel, and Smoky were nominated to keep watch. Gean didn’t look pleased with the position, but I think he understood the unspoken reason as to why he was chosen. The lot of us knew it was too dangerous bringing him ashore when his loyalty was in question.
As I helped Ziare to drop Eraiza Lace into the dark water of the bay, Gean tapped on my shoulder. “A minute?”
Stepping to the side to hear him out, I fanned my hand to rush him along.
He gulped. “Sorry to keep you, sir. But I just wanted to ask that you might go easy on Renard. I know him well, and beneath his hard attitude, he’s a good and reasonable man. In this case, he was but a victim to his pain—he just loved Naked so much—and those mutinous dogs took advantage of his heartbreak, I know it. I don’t want to see my old friend end up on the wrong side of the English law for robbing Burton’s cargo, or worse yet, on the wrong side of your blade for being foolish enough to follow your enemies.”
Patting Gean’s shoulder, I quickly responded, “I see your point, and already considered such things, myself. But, Renard’s fate will depend on his reaction to our arrival. This is war, and anyone who stands in our way will suffer the same wrath I have reserved for the mutineers who called down this thunder.”
I couldn’t tell if my answer appeased him or not, and I honestly didn’t have time to care.
There were eight men per each of the two canoes, and as I finally boarded Eraiza Lace alongside the others who were already seated, I grabbed my oars and said, “So it begins.”
Burton shoved a musket ball into the barrel of the fourth pistol he had stashed on his person and said, “You’re the one who knows the way. We’re at your command, Quartermaster.”
As quietly as we could, we dug our oars into the black water and began our row around the coast. Our plan was to stay up wind so the traitors would not catch our stench on the breeze. Thick, salty air brushed hard against my sweaty face as I eyed the hardly visible course ahead. The moonless sky was just as black as the sea; similar shades were broken only by the thick clouds that were slowly overtaking the glittering stars. With no lanterns to light our way and no visible horizon line to follow, we used the contrast of white sand against black sea to guide us, but stayed outside of musket range from the shore in case the traitors did spy us and try to open fire.
As small as the island was and as swift of rowers as we were, we came upon the cove I planned to approach from in no time at all. It seemed we had reached the shore unnoticed, but I kept wide eyes on the shadowy darkness beneath the canopy of trees surrounding the rocky shore we were now setting foot on.
My feet sunk into the thick wet sand between the rocks, soaking my shoes as we pulled the canoes up and out of the water and into the shade. Continuing with our seemingly successful stealth, we stashed the canoes in some shrubs and covered them with palm fronds to keep them out of sight. With that done, the men followed me through the trees. It was easy enough to keep quiet in the sand, but once we began our trek through the trees, leaves began crunching and branches started snapping beneath our footfalls. The men quickly found their ways around the sounds and we ambled on like panthers in the night.
Venturing this path, I thought about the traps Barlow and I had set to protect the cargo from the mutineers. They were hours ahead of us, and there was no telling what they had accomplished with their leeway, but it was a possibility that they could have been trapped in my snares or fallen onto the spikes in the pig pits we set around the crates we buried. Thinking back on the effort we put in with our limited supplies and energy at the time, I figured those traps may serve as punishment for a few of them, but weren’t enough to prevent a full raid.
At this point, I could only hope that their superstitions had kept them from digging in the graveyard at night and that they were still here.
Not far into the hike, we spotted firelight and heard voices. Reaching a nearby rock pile, and taking shelter behind the boulders that offered us a view of Boa’s beach, we quickly set our sights on the traitor’s camp. They had set themselves in the same place they camped last time, and just like then, they were gathered around the fire, talking and laughing as if all were well in the world.
Holding my finger over my mouth, I signaled for my men to keep quiet as we listened in on their talk. Rupert and Smedley were captivating their audience with stories about their last visit here. I quickly grew annoyed by their over glorified tales, but my attention shifted when one of the men started asking about the reason for the current visit. The cargo.
“What are we doing waiting around?” One of them said. I recognized the gruff voice to be that of our tribe’s best hide skinner, Skinner.
As Rupert stuttered about the delay, Skinner’s matelot, Round Pete said, “Ah, shut that chirping bird hole of yours. I say we go tonight.”
“Aye, Bentley will be after us and we have no time to waste,” another added.
“I already told you, we should wait for morning,” Smedley said. “Bentley buried the goods by the graves of the men he killed and we don’t want their ghosts rising up to haunt us, or worse.”
Rupert started mumbling about the things that would be worse.
“You never said anything about graves or ghosts,” one of them huffed, sounding afraid but trying not to show it.
The men started hissing and booing about Smedley’s lack of information. Some were even shivering about the spirits. Skinner was the leader of the displeased uproar. “Eh, I bet there’s nothing here, anyhow. You probably conjured up all this nonsense so we’d set you free.”
“Oh, there are things here,” Smedley assured. “There are enough supplies to build a whole community.”
“There were so many crates.” Rupert concurred. “And some of them were full of guns and
ammunition.”
“Aye,” Smedley nodded. “And the things are so valuable that Bentley never once left the site unattended. He would sit there in the night, alongside the graves as if to remind the spirits of the dead that he would punish them again if they were still alive. Coaxed them into keeping watch over his master’s cargo, he did.”
The men started asking questions about my relationship with the ghosts. Rupert and Smedley’s ridiculous responses frightened a few of the men into agreeing to wait until morning. But Skinner and his half of the group started rising to their feet, insisting that they’d rather fight with ghosts than the so-stated ghost keeper, Mason Bentley.
All the while Renard sat by the fire with his head between his knees. He may have led them here, but he didn’t have a care about their debate, and didn’t flinch when Skinner and his mates began threatening violence to Smedley and his followers if they did not show the way to what they came to gather.
I thought for a moment that their dispute may breakout in civil war, which could be to our advantage, but before long, Skinner’s group won their favor.
As the prevailing group yanked Smedley and Rupert to their feet, Smedley groaned and fought against their clutches while Rupert wailed about how they’d be sorry for making this choice. The few who did not want to go tonight went along, anyhow. Lighting torches, they grumbled about how the plunder better be worth the fright. Renard stayed where he was with his head between his knees.
Preparing for battle in my mind, while also hoping my traps would take care of a few of them before a fight broke out, I waved my hand, signaling to my men that we would follow.
Walking when our prey walked, and stopping when they stopped, we stalked them down the trail until we reached the graves. Tucked away in the shadows of the rocks overlooking the graveyard, we were able to observe their actions by the light of the torches they spiked into the ground. As frightened as they were, they surrounded themselves by so much firelight it was as bright as day under the canopy of trees.
King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 34