Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

  Another stroke of luck befell us when a bell clanged and the men and women working the plantation started toward the kitchens. We waited until the last strangler had passed and ran for the wagon. Juan and I hopped onto the driver’s seat, while Blue and the two freedmen jumped in the back.

  With a low whistle and a smack of the reins, Juan got the attention of the horses, who slowly dropped the stalks of hay they were chewing and started down the path.

  Chapter 14

  As the miles passed beneath us, I started to become more confident. It was late afternoon and there were a few other parties on the road. We felt quite a bit of trepidation as the first few groups passed, but whether it was riders in a group or a driver and a wagon, each offered only salutations. It finally occurred to me that with the freedmen in back we looked the part of traveling landowners. After a time, Juan started to speak to the passing travelers. I understood enough Spanish to ascertain that we were at least on the correct road to Havana.

  I heard the Spanish word for forty, caurenta, several times. I was used to estimating speed over water, not land, but, figuring we were making between three and four miles per hour, we would have to find a place to overnight. Traveling these roads after dark was a dangerous business. We were tired from the crossing and the sun was starting to dip low in the west when I asked Juan to find us a suitable camping spot.

  I saw a plantation ahead. “How about there?”

  “Best to pull off the road. Too many questions there.”

  He was right. The lure of a hot meal and bed had gotten to me. Putting comfort from my mind, I asked Blue to search the road ahead for a suitable campsite. Juan was initially against the idea of Blue going scouting, but when he saw the pygmy blend into the scenery, he relented. It wasn’t a half-hour later that he returned.

  “Up ahead. There’s a dirt road where we can pull the wagon off and some rocks that’ll give us cover.”

  We followed him to the turnoff, where he then fell behind us, using the stiff fronds from a palmetto tree to erase any evidence of our passing. The road ended in a near-perfect spot—almost too much so. We were still in the valley, but to the north I could see the hills of an inland range. It was nothing like we had climbed in Haiti, but at the base of the foothills, the rocks allowed us to pull the wagon into a narrow cut, making it invisible even if someone should find the path.

  We sat back, eating and drinking our dwindling provisions, as Juan had hobbled the horses and released them nearby to nibble the thick grass. As the dark of night set in, our exhaustion lulled us into a state of laziness. Our small group rested our backs against the rock outcropping that hid our wagon. It was an easily defensible space—although one I should have investigated further.

  Twilight is fleeting in the tropics, and with the darkness our senses became fine-tuned to our surroundings. Nocturnal predators become active and I could hear several small animals scavenging nearby. Blue left to check on some snares he had set earlier after discovering the small-game trails running through the area.

  When the horses spooked I knew what I’d missed. I’d made the mistake of trusting our position and not posting a watch. If I had pictured our camp as a ship, I would have insisted we take the higher ground. Now, looking up, I saw the silhouettes of two men atop one of the taller rocks. They were looking down at us. When I saw one raise his rifle, I called out to Juan and the freedmen, who found cover before the shot was fired.

  I was not so lucky. Closest to the men above, I was still exposed and running for a rock to shield me when I felt something strike my calf. It was hot as an iron, but not debilitating, and I was able to hobble behind the rocks. Our group was in a state of confusion. Used to the confines of a ship, where each man had an assigned station, the fluid openness of the site worked against us.

  “Over here! Bring the horse,” I called out to the men, who had scattered following the shots. Juan and the freedmen answered my call, and were soon by my side, but none was willing to brave the open pasture to secure the horse. This was a concern, but not urgent, as the men above us would steal them before they killed them. Conversely, we would be shot first.

  “Can you see anyone else?” I asked. Peering around the corner of the rock, I assigned each man to a compass point. At least with the outcropping at our backs we would see anyone approach.

  “You’re hit, Captain,” one of the freedmen said.

  I looked down at the blood streaming from the wound. This wasn’t my first injury, or even the first bullet I had taken. The scars from the jaws of the panther that had attacked me in the Everglades were visible just above the bullet wound. “Keep watch.”

  Sitting on a small rock, I checked the wound, first to see if there was an exit hole. If the projectile had lodged itself within me, there was little chance I would keep the leg. Breathing a sigh of relief, I saw two holes. The bullet had gone sideways through the muscle behind my shin bone. The next order of business was to clean and bind the wound. Without the proper supplies, I tore a strip from my already ragged shirt, and tied it around my calf. The bleeding soon slowed to a trickle, then stopped altogether.

  Looking around, I saw the two men were still high above us. If there were any others nearby, I assumed they would have attacked, but, not knowing the extent of my injury or how well-armed we were, they kept their distance. It appeared to be a standoff, and I would have been happy to see them come to the same conclusion and leave, when one of the men suddenly dropped to the ground. The other bent over him, and looking around defensively, dragged him into a copse of pine trees.

  Blue, who had been away from camp checking his snares, must have snuck up on them and shot the fallen man with his blowgun. I had no doubt Blue had the other in his sights. Now that they’d moved away, I had the confidence to scout the area.

  “Juan, take Luis, and have a look back to the main road. Gabriel, you’re with me.”

  We waited until the two men were further away, then Gabriel and I crossed back behind the rocks and checked the wagon. It appeared intact. Moving in increasingly larger circles, we scouted the entire area. Running into Juan and Luis, who had seen nothing on the road, I guessed the pair above us were alone.

  Fighting the pain in my calf, I left Gabriel to guard the horses and, with Juan and Luis, climbed up to where Blue now had the two men under guard. He had several options in his array of darts, in addition to the poison ones that inflicted an immediate death. Blue had chosen one that merely knocked a man unconscious. The drugged man was coming to, but still groggy, when we reached them.

  “Got the bastards, Mr. Nick.”

  Rhames would have been proud. I looked at the two men, trying to determine what they were about before I interrogated them. I often found that silence paid dividends as well and was in no rush.

  “We meant no harm. Just after your horses is all,” the taller man said.

  “Just,” I snarled.

  Blue, sensing my distress, looked down and saw my bound leg. He dropped to one knee and unwrapped my makeshift bandage. As soon as he released the pressure, the blood flowed freely again.

  “It’s good for now,“ I said. I wasn’t yet feeling light-headed or otherwise from the loss of blood and needed to keep my wits until this situation was handled. After Blue had retied the bandage, I stood and walked to the men.

  “Just the horses.” I repeated for them to understand it was as bad to steal a man’s horses as it was to shoot him—and they had done both.

  “What are we to make of you two?” I asked, hoping they would answer my questions without me having to interrogate them. I had learned that information was more reliable when given freely than when coerced. From the few sentences they had spoken, I had already learned they were British and an idea popped into my head.

  “We’s been on the run for the better part of a week. Ain’t ate or drank nothing,” the man who had spoken earlier said.

  The other man was still under the influence of Blue’s dart. What his companion had said about bei
ng on the run confirmed my previous thought.

  “And what would you be on the run from?” I asked in the manner government officials usually ask questions—as if you were guilty.

  “We was crew aboard a British ship. Something was amiss about the captain and me and my friend here, we swam to shore and been trying to reach Havana, figuring we can hop aboard another ship there.”

  “What do you know about this captain?” I didn’t want to let on I knew who it was.

  “Crazy was he. Deserter, pirate, whatever.” He paused. “What we ate …” He left the rest for our imagination.

  Chapter 15

  They had my sympathy and, trying to appear friendly, I lowered my hands and signaled for the men to drop their weapons. “We’re headed to Havana if you’d like to join us.”

  “Mighty kind of you. Honest, mate, we meant you no harm.”

  “It appears we have a common enemy.” I explained about Red and Swift then recounted the story of the crews capture.

  “Not surprising. Fast ship he has.”

  “So, you’ll join us then?”

  “Sure thing. Michael MacDonald,” he said as he extended his hand. “This here’s James MacDuggal.”

  I reached out and shook his hand. “What are two Scotsman doing with the Royal Navy?”

  “Pressed into service, we was. Bit of an uprising we had. Damned Brits made short work of putting it down.”

  That explained their lack of uniform. Taken on as the lowest deckhands, they wouldn’t have been given any commission.

  “Any skills between you?”

  “Happy to kill some Brits.”

  “Spanish?”

  “Them would work as well.”

  As night closed in and the mosquitoes started to swarm, a fire proved to be a necessity. Blue found a level spot with a flat, stone overhang that would obfuscate the smoke. The small flames did their work keeping the mosquitos at bay. Walking outside of the outcropping we had chosen as a camp I could barely see any sign of our presence, but I had learned my lesson. On returning to camp, I set a watch schedule. Not trusting the newcomers, I set it using only our men.

  I gave the freedmen the first watch and lay down on the hard ground, doing my best to make a rock work in place of a pillow. It wasn’t the discomfort of my bed, or the pounding in my leg that kept me awake. After a hard day of paddling across the bay and riding overland, my body was exhausted. My growing concern for Shayla, the crew, and our ship—never mind the treasure aboard—kept me awake. The longer we were delayed in reaching Havana and discovering their fate, the more likely we might never find them.

  Blue must have felt the same, because before the first dog-watch ended, he was wide awake and pacing. Watching his diminutive figure through the flames, I rose to see what was troubling him.

  “We’ll get them back,” I told him.

  “We should go now, Mr. Nick. The moon will be bright enough to travel.”

  We had already decided that it would take a full day to reach Havana. Leaving now would get us there by noon, allowing the rest of the day to find the crew and ship.

  “Right, then. Let’s get on with it.” I called out to the lookouts above and woke the other men while Juan rigged the horses to the wagon. Within minutes we were assembled and ready to go.

  “We’ll need to keep a good eye out.” I looked at the shadow cast by the moon. “We should be able to see the road well enough, but no sleeping. Have your weapons ready.” I nodded to Blue, who returned the weathered rifle to Michael.

  “We should look at that wound of yours before we leave,” Blue said.

  I didn’t want to take the time, but he was right. The pain was to be expected, but it hadn’t been properly cleaned. Moving near the remnants of the fire, Blue brought it back to life with a handful of moss and some kindling. Under the growing light, he pulled my leg toward the flames and removed the bandage.

  The bleeding had stopped, but the wound was a mess of clotted blood. Tossing the piece of my shirt I’d used as binding into the fire, he cleaned the blood off my leg with a fresh piece of cloth torn from my shirt. While he worked, I tore another strip to use as a bandage.

  I breathed deeply, trying to suppress the pain as he worked. The skin was pink from his scrubbing, but a fiery red spot had started to form near the entry hole. There was no need for discussion. We both knew what had to be done, and as I pulled my belt from my pants, Blue heated his knife in the fire.

  Placing the bunched-up belt in my mouth, I nodded to the two freedmen at my back. Each man grabbed an arm, and as the blade, heated to a dull red, neared the wound, I could feel their grips tighten. I had suffered this fate once before, and though I knew what to expect it didn’t make it any easier. As I screamed into the belt, the men struggled to restrain me while Blue cauterized the entry hole.

  The smell of burnt flesh saturated the air as I spit out the belt, and the men relaxed when Blue moved the knife away. Bracing myself for the second round, Blue reheated the knife.

  A minute later, sweat covered my face and body as Blue applied a paste made from what he called the Monkey’s Hand, a green-leafed vine that grew near the rocks, to my wound, and handed me a piece of bark he had gathered.

  “Chew it and suck the juices.”

  It tasted bitter, but the relief was immediate, though I knew the real pain would come later when the skin around the holes healed. Wrapping the piece of my shirt around the wound, he nodded that he was finished. The freedmen helped me to my feet, and I gingerly tested the leg.

  It was a good thing we had the wagon, because my first steps were like those of a sailor after a long voyage. Blue found a branch suitable for use as a staff, and with its help I hobbled across the clearing to the wagon, where Michael and James held the horses by their bridles. Juan was aboard, already in the driver’s seat. The freedmen helped me up next to him. I would have preferred to ride in the back, where I could lie down, but if we were seen on the road it wouldn’t look right.

  Loaded up, Michael and James walked the horses down the narrow path. When we reached the main road, they took their positions. Each with a rifle in hand, James went about a hundred yards ahead, Michael the same distance behind. With our lookouts in place we started down the road toward Havana.

  Finding a comfortable position for my leg proved difficult, and when Juan started nodding off, I agreed to take the reins. The moon helped, and since it was well into the dry season all that was required of me was to keep the wheels in the worn tracks. traveling by road in the tropics was generally slow, between the mud and terrain. Ships were often faster, but for now we found ourselves making good time. Though we had no escape from the mosquitos, the night-time temperatures were mild, allowing a respite for the horses.

  Dawn found us at a small town. Bringing the Scotsmen in from their positions, we loaded everyone aboard the wagon, stashed the weapons, and hoped for the best. Our precautions were needless, as the only greeting we got through the quiet streets was from a pair of roosters. Blue looked at me. I guessed he wanted to take one, but I shook my head. Several windows were backlit by candles or lanterns, and although we couldn’t see the inhabitants, I knew they were watching. We didn’t need to stop. We had enough provisions to reach Havana, and if we ran out, we’d hunt our own.

  On leaving the town, the road turned east. We’d left the hills behind and found ourselves in a forested land specked with lakes that allowed us to replenish our water supplies. The condition of the road remained good, but it was too narrow for two carts to pass, causing a few delays. With each encounter our hands reached for the concealed weapons, but we got nothing but nods and muted greetings.

  Without incident we reached the outskirts of Havana by midday. We’d recently been in the harbor, but I knew little of the city. Everything here happened by the water, and if the crew and ship were being held here, they would likely be held in one of the forts.

  As we approached the harbor another concern took hold of me. Our ship, towed by the Spa
nish frigate, would have been noticed by the watchful eye of the harbormaster. He already had taken our gold in exchange for provisions and weapons, and might have expected there was more treasure aboard. It was well-concealed in the bilge, but a thorough inspection would uncover it. Our only hope was that the bilge would be the last place they looked, giving us a little time.

  We blended in well, and so stopped several times to buy food. There were no questions asked as we passed through the city, at least until we were in sight of the harbor and the military presence increased. Still, we were able to travel close enough to see the ships tied to the docks and moored in the harbor. At first, I didn’t see her, but once we rounded a corner, I saw our ship anchored about a hundred yards off the docks. Men were moving aboard, but we were too far away to see if it was our crew or not.

  Judging from the two skiffs tied alongside, I guessed that a search was underway.

  Chapter 16

  My first inclination was to find a skiff and storm the ship. With only myself and five others, two of whom I didn’t completely trust, I thought better of it. Even with greater numbers, attempting to take a ship in the Havana harbor was suicide.

  What we needed was information. Roaming the streets as a group would surely attract unwanted attention. Juan and the freedmen had access to areas and information that James, Michael, and I didn’t. The converse was true as well. I’d have preferred to stay together, but it was the logical decision to split up. After deciding on a time and meeting place, Juan took the freedmen and headed toward the docks. Much to their delight, the Scots and I found an inn. Blue struck off on his own.

  Inside the inn was a hot and sweaty affair, but at least it had shade. Finding a table near the center of the room, the three of us ordered ale and checked our surroundings. Not much of a drinker, I sipped my mug, while James and Michael did what the Scots were known for and quickly downed their first. Blaming the heat of the day and the dusty road for their thirst, they were into their third mugs before I was half-finished with my first. When they order their fourth I had to put a stop to it, reminding them why we were here, and warned them this was their last.