Haitian Gold

by Steven Becker

  With the sails backed to the wind we waited for them to come alongside us. The minute the skiff was secure, I called to Mason to set course for Little Inagua. I had no idea what the men on the beach were about, and suspecting the treasure was on the smaller island, there was no reason to stay and find out.

  Rhames was first over the rail, and I took him and Pierre aside for his report. “What happened?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell you if the gold’s there,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “But about twenty of them have a camp set up and are digging all ’round that half-finished house.” He took another few breaths. “From the look of them, they’ve been at it awhile with no result.”

  I turned to Rhames. “Any sign of a ship?”

  “Just a few of the native canoes. I’d guess they came overland. There was some carts around for their equipment, and donkeys to pull them.” He looked forward. “Where’re we heading?”

  I told him about our new theory and he just shook his head and walked away, muttering something about pirating being an easier business. We were approaching the smaller island now and I went back to the helm.

  “It’s going to be too dangerous in this light,” Mason said.

  I looked at the sun, now only four fingers above the horizon. With just an hour of daylight, I agreed. “Just get in the lee and we’ll find an anchorage. Far enough up the coast so they can’t see our masts.”

  He turned to port. With the wind behind us we had an easy run across the narrow channel and started to move up the coast. This part of the island was nothing more than a salt marsh, barely a foot out of the water, providing no cover. Flamingos lined the shores, mocking us as we passed, somehow knowing they were protected by the reefs surrounding the island.

  We were close to the tip now with no suitable anchorage in sight. Flamingos continued to line the shores and I heard a strange sound, much like the braying of donkeys. I took the glass and went into the rigging. With my forearms braced between the lines I scanned the island. There were indeed donkeys and goats, but no sign of man. I could almost smell roast goat, and planned to send Rhames on a hunting party once we were anchored.

  The landscape started to change as we approached the tip of the island. A layer of hardpan was visible on the shoreline, rising slightly from the water. Small coves dotted the coast, but as inviting as they were, we would be unable to cross the reef to reach them.

  I climbed down and went back to the helm. “Nothing,” I said to Mason. “How do you feel about anchoring out here?”

  “Not well. The swell’s troubling. One big roller and the anchor’d pull, sending us into the reef. I’m thinking we need to reef the sails and stay offshore overnight.”

  He was right, and I tried to put the roast goat dinner from my mind. Taking station off the coast would tax the crew, but it was the only course open to us. “Right then. Set the watch,” I said and left the deck.

  Shayla was in the cabin, reading through the logbook. “Going to dive in the morning?” she asked.

  “The pump’s on the Panther,” I answered. “I was hoping to find the spot and see what we could under our own air.” I lay down on the bunk and, as I was just about asleep, I felt her next to me.

  “Let me go with you. They say that women have better air than men.” She jokingly jabbed me with her elbow and smiled. “I’ve got some skill here. Spent many an afternoon after school on the reefs around the harbor gathering sponges and spearing fish.”

  I didn’t want to think about endangering her again after just escaping from Haiti. I merely nodded and stopped the conversation by leaning in and nuzzling her breasts.

  The morning air was heavy with humidity; small puffy clouds, the harbinger of the large thunderstorms I feared would develop, were already present in the sky. The deck was quiet, the men on watch, resting against the gunwales. Having to stand off the coast all night had forced Mason to split the crew into thirds, leaving enough men on deck at any one time to maneuver the ship. The result was that no one had gotten a full night’s sleep. Swift was at the helm and we stood together. “Going to be stormin’ later,” he said.

  I looked back at the sky. “Best get to the work quickly. Call the watch,” I said and went to the forepeak. He yelled an order and the men on deck came to their feet. Swift sent them to the rigging and waited for the rest of the crew to come up. The island was still a mile off. I heard the order to come about and grabbed a line as the bow swung into the waves and crossed the wind. Behind me I heard Mason’s voice and went back to the helm. Rhames was by his side.

  “What’s our plan?” he asked, sweat already on his brow from the thick air.

  “Get as close to the spot we marked and have a look. Then we’ll decide,” I said.

  I sensed the restlessness of the crew. After our failed attempt in Haiti, they were getting anxious, and the action last night was doing nothing to ease their nerves. I knew their minds: If they were to face bullets and steel, they might as well know the prize before they took the risk.

  “My guess is it’s right there,” Mason said, pointing to a small cove off the tip of the island. “Waves’re breaking a good ways out. I don’t reckon we can get too close.”

  “Do the best you can and we’ll take the skiff in.” I left him, went to the foremast and climbed to the topsail spar. From this height I could see the sand through the clear water and heard six fathoms called from the bow. I looked ahead and saw the cove, a perfect horseshoe ringed by rock. A reef guarded its entry, whitewater breaking on the exposed coral, showing its teeth. If that’s where it was, he had chosen well, I thought, trying to figure the best way in. Fortunately the tide was on the rise and might allow just enough water over the reef for the skiff.

  I climbed down and had a few words with Mason before selecting the men I knew to be good with the skiff to make up my crew. Mason called for the sails to be furled and the Caiman crept toward the reef. The current was against the wind, leaving us almost stationary, and we dropped anchor in four fathoms, about a quarter mile from our goal.

  I approached Shayla and told her my decision to take her and we joined the four others waiting by the ladder.

  “What’s with the girl?” Rhames asked. “This ain’t no place for a lovers’ picnic.” He laughed at his joke.

  “She’s a strong swimmer, might be some use to us.” Before I could continue my argument, she pulled her shift over her head and dove off the rail. She had done this once before and I was not overly worried, but as we gathered by the rail there was no sign of her.

  It seemed like minutes had elapsed and a crowd had gathered around us, each man pressing forward, watching the water for any sign of her. I was past worry now and stripped my shirt off and dove in after her. I hit the water and started clawing my way down, refusing to blink or I might miss her. After only seconds, my lungs burned and I was about to surface when suddenly a shape shot gracefully past me. I surfaced just after her and heard the men cheer as she held a conch shell over her head.

  We swam to the ladder and boarded the ship. I was about to scold her for the stunt when Rhames took her hand to help her on deck.

  “Four fathoms is better than any man I’ve seen,” he spoke in approval.

  There were six of us in the skiff: Shayla, three crewmen, Rhames and myself. Rhames had insisted on accompanying us in case there was any threat from the land. With the flood tide, the reef lay submerged now, but I knew it was there. The men at the oars held water while I counted the waves, waiting for the three larger ones that always came together. The first one passed under the skiff, raising it in the water, and I yelled for them to row. The small boat picked up momentum, and on the crest of the third wave we coasted over the reef.

  We sat in the small cove now, the water so clear that I could see fish swimming up to the hull. A small herd of goats taunted Rhames from the small bluff and he looked at me for permission to shoot one. “Later. Let’s get in the water before the storms hit.” I looked to the sky and couldn’t
help but notice the small clouds were now larger, their bottoms becoming dark and heavy with moisture.

  With the threat of weather, we rolled off the side of the skiff and dove, the piece of lead we each held effortlessly dragging us to the bottom. I waited until Shayla was by my side before proceeding. It was deep enough to make my ears pop and I barely reached the sandy bottom on my first try. I dropped the lead, but held the line secured to it as I went back to the surface for air. With this system we could use the weight to pull ourselves down, saving energy and air. We took turns diving until I felt the first drop of rain. It was discouraging, finding nothing but sand.

  “We’re done,” I said to Rhames and climbed aboard. “If you hurry, you can take a goat.” He smiled at this and helped the men aboard. Shayla swam to me. I grabbed her arm and lifted her over the gunwale. The look on her face mirrored my disappointment. Rhames rowed to the shore and we beached the skiff on the rocks. He climbed out, staying low to the ground, and crept to the small bluff.

  “I saw nothing but sand,” Shayla said.

  The other men were saying much the same thing. “It has to be here,” I said. “The line runs right through the cove. If I only had the gear, I could really scout it out.” It dawned on me as soon as I said the words. Henri’s men would not have had pumps and gear. With a treasure as heavy as it was reported, they would have had to work in shallower water. I looked at the bluffs and saw a small opening.

  “Come on.” I grabbed her hand and led her around the cove. When we reached the spot I had seen, I eased myself over the rock face, landing in chest-deep water. There was what looked like a cave, carved out of the rock by the tides, and she followed me as I swam toward it. It was dark inside, with only a foot of air above our heads, and I felt for the bottom. Instead of finding the sand, I slid into the water, swallowing a mouthful when my head submerged.

  I resurfaced and spat out the water I had inhaled. We were both treading water and I didn’t want to waste any energy with too much talk. “It’s another hole.”

  “Let me try,” she said.

  I nodded, but was not going to let her go alone. We both breathed deeply and when our lungs had absorbed all the air they could we nodded at each other, pivoted and swam for the bottom.

  I opened my eyes but it was too dark to see anything and kicked toward the depths. I had no idea how deep the hole was and was almost out of air, still not having touched bottom yet. I spun my body and was about to kick for the surface when my foot hit something odd and I reached down and grabbed a frayed piece of rope. I grabbed Shayla and led her to the surface.

  “What’d you do that for?” she scolded me once I had caught my breath. “I can stay longer.”

  “My foot hit this.” I held up the piece of rope. “But it’s too deep for me to see if there is anything else.” Before I could stop her, she took a deep breath and was gone, leaving me treading water and waiting.

  Her ability underwater amazed me and again I started to worry. I was just about to go after her when I felt movement below me and she surfaced smoothly, holding a piece of wood that looked like the top of a chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Together we walked through the shallow toward the skiff.

  Rhames heard us and came over. Several of the crewmen were dragging the carcasses of two goats he had shot. “I think we’ve found it,” I said hoarsely, the salt water I swallowed stinging my throat. I handed the piece of rope and wood to him.

  “Just a piece, then?” he asked, but I could see the smile on his rugged face.

  “Felt like it was part of a chest,” I said. “There’s more there, but it’s too deep. We need to get the pump and gear.”

  “Aye, be good to have our assets back together again as well. Hard to trust these government types.” He turned to check that the carcasses were loaded and we pushed off. The tide was slack and we coasted over the reef and rowed back to the ship.

  Pierre and Mason met us at the rail and called some men over to help Rhames with the goats. I was last up the ladder. “We need to get the gear,” I said and told him how we had found the cave. “It’s too deep without it.” I handed the piece of rotten wood to Pierre.

  He took it and smiled.

  The ship was underway in minutes, the mood having changed to one of cautious celebration, but that was short-lived when the rain we had been expecting started in earnest. I feared the worst when we hit the channel and the current took us, swinging the ship back and forth across the top of the whitecaps. Rain blasted the ship, streaming in horizontal waves, before finally exhausting itself. Soon the decks were steaming from the warmth of the sun and I looked up at the sky. The clouds were high and puffy, the angrier black ones moving quickly to the north.

  The Panther was at anchor where we had left her, and I was surprised no work had been done to her. I started to worry, not seeing a watch, and called to her, realizing too late how far my voice carried in the quiet anchorage. There was no answer. Mason called for the sails to be furled and the anchor dropped, and Rhames readied the skiff to see what was wrong. It was just dusk, and even at anchor there should have been a watch posted. I found Blue and asked him to swim to shore to have a look while we checked the ship. Before we climbed down, I left strict orders with Red to double the watch and ready for action, but to stay dark and quiet. There were six of us in the skiff, all armed and ready to push off, when I heard Shayla from the deck.

  “I’m going with you. My father was on that ship,” she said and climbed down the ladder without an invitation.

  The men reluctantly slid over to make room for her. We untied the painter and rowed to the Panther. No one greeted us and she appeared dark and empty. We secured the skiff and climbed aboard, arms ready. There was no need for caution; the deck was deserted. Rhames ordered the other men below to check the cabins and hold, but they returned a few minutes later empty-handed. Our men and the treasure were gone.

  “Bloody magistrate’s got his hand in this. I say we storm the bastard’s house,” Rhames yelled.

  I shared his rage, but needed to temper his spirit. “Let Blue report back. We can get the pump and equipment in the meantime. Once he gets back we’ll organize a party to go to shore.” I hoped a little time might allow cooler heads to prevail. Because of the pump, we had to take two trips back to the Caiman, leaving Shayla and me alone on the deck waiting for the skiff to return.

  “I’m worried about my father,” she said accusingly. “Why are we wasting time?”

  “I sent Blue to scout the village. No use to rush in until we have information. Believe me, I’m as anxious as you are.”

  After a brief inspection of the ship I doubted there had been any action. Everything seemed to be in order and there was no blood on the decks. “If I had to guess, I’d think the magistrate is holding them as insurance. We’ve been gone almost a week longer than planned.”

  That seemed to satisfy her, and we climbed down the ladder to the skiff that had just returned. Rhames met me on the deck of the Caiman. He had a cutlass swinging from his hip and two pistols jammed in his belt.

  “We’ve got to think this through,” I said, trying to gauge his mood.

  “Bloody hell we do,” he said. “Bastards got our treasure—and the men!”

  He was deep in the embrace of the bloodlust. I had seen this before with Gasparilla’s crew and knew how tricky it could be to calm them down.

  “Storming the town is likely to get a lot of people killed—some of them ours.” I looked at the dark water, desperate to see Blue and get his report. Rhames was about to say something when we saw a figure on the shore waving to us. From its stature I was sure it was Blue. “Let’s see what he’s found.”

  He stuck his thumbs in his gun belt and called out to the men, both assigning the shore party and setting a battle watch onboard the Caiman.

  Swift stood by me with two other men, waiting for Rhames to finish. I saw the disappointed look on Red and Pierre’s faces. “You’re still hurt,”
I addressed Red and then turned to Pierre. “And you’ve got a country to save.”

  We armed and crept down the ladder, careful to keep our weapons from banging against the ship. Once we were aboard the skiff, I pointed to a pier near where Blue had stood by the edge of the town. There were a few lights ashore but the area where I intended to land was dark.

  Just as we eased against the wood structure, Blue came out of the shadows. I thought about hiding the skiff in the brush next to the pier, but decided against it in case we needed to make a quick getaway. The tide was low, revealing the muck surrounding the shore; not something we would want to fight our way through if pursued. Following Blue in a broken line, with ten feet between us so as not to look like a gang, we entered the town. It was hard to orient myself in the darkness, and we took several wrong turns before reaching the jail. My first priority was to find Pott. If anyone knew what had happened to the crew, he would.

  The guards on either side of the door quickly succumbed to Blue’s blowgun and I placed Swift in one of their places, hoping he would pass as a guard to a casual observer. Blue went to check the surrounding buildings while Rhames and I moved around the back of the stone building.

  “Pott,” I whispered at every window, but got no reply. Thinking he must be in an interior cell, I was about to search the guards for a key when I heard a whisper.

  “Is that you, Captain?”

  I moved to the sound of the voice. “Aye. Can you talk?”

  “The guards—”

  “Handled. Tell me what you know and we’ll free you.”