Uncharted Waters

by Steven Becker

“Seems we’re just tools in a bigger game,” Shayla said, as she caressed the bruises on my face.

  This was not a discussion I wanted to get into now.

  “Mr. Nick. What happened to your leg?” Lucy asked, kneeling to look at my wound.

  “Should be alright now. We cauterized it.”

  “If I had my bag, I could make you a poultice,” she said loud enough for the guard to hear.

  Both women started to investigate my injuries.

  Shayla turned to the guard. “He needs attention. Get their bags.”

  The man only grunted. From what I had observed, my condition was about average for the inmates here. The guard started toward us, signifying that the liaison was over.

  “We’ll be back for you—I swear it,” were the last words I said before Blue and I were pulled from the room. The door slammed and I heard Shayla’s voice, I hoped not for the last time. The guard led us back to the larger room, where the men were enjoying a meal. From their appearance and the way they gorged themselves on the food, it appeared they hadn’t been fed until now. With the sight and scent of the chicken and pork laid out on the table, my stomach grumbled, and I realized I was starved as well. Heading for the food, I took a plate. Looking around the room to ensure the men had gotten their fill, I loaded it high and took it to the corner where Rhames was sitting.

  “I could thank you for coming after us, but next time, it’d be better not to get caught yourself. And the women?”

  “We’ve just seen them. The warden intends to hold them until we return.”

  “Then we should be getting on with it.”

  I was grateful for his good attitude, but knew he was anxious to go after Harp. I assured him that Red and Swift were on my mind as well. “They’re to shuttle us out in the morning after the ship’s been provisioned. I don’t expect to have much time aboard before we weigh anchor.”

  After finishing my supper, I sought out Mason and we gathered the men together. Under guard, there was no talk of deception or escape. I explained the deal with the warden, and answered any questions I could. With the only other option being prison, there was no need for a vote to ratify.

  We were allowed to stay in the room overnight. Soon before dawn, we were fed again, and as the first light of freedom showed through the narrow windows, chained together like slaves the jailers led us to a waiting skiff. Growing up Dutch, I was never in favor of slavery, and never experienced the tragedy of one man owning another firsthand. Our restraints made it awkward to load the skiff, and I couldn’t help but notice that between our crew and the weight of our restraints the freeboard was only inches above the water. “Helpless” was the word that came to mind, and I felt the pain of the men and women of color who had made this trip before me.

  Fortunately, the harbor was still, and we reached the ship without incident, for the weight of any water that might have made its way aboard would have sunk us. Had we swamped, with our hands and feet in chains, we would sink directly to the bottom, joining uncounted others.

  The sun was low, sending a glare over the water that would prevent any onlookers from seeing us as we were rushed into the forward hold. Having only a skeleton crew ourselves, we had rigged the ship to be sailed by a handful of men, and it appeared we weren’t needed. Voices called back and forth in Spanish. I didn’t understand much of it, but the activity on deck was familiar to a ship leaving port, and I soon heard the chain rattle around the capstan as the anchor was hauled aboard.

  Several hot hours later a man appeared in the hatch. “Which one of you’s the captain and the navigator?”

  His English was broken but adequate, which would prove to be good and bad. We could communicate without needing Shayla to translate, but he could also understand us. We’d have to be careful with any talk of taking the ship.

  “You can take the chains off now,” I said.

  “And, you must be the captain.” The man spat on the deck.

  “Right, then. Mason here is the navigator.” There was no reason, at least at this point, not to be cooperative.

  With our shackles removed, Mason and I were brought on deck. “Captain. My name is Van Doren. This is Mason.”

  “I’d be the first mate, then. The captain is indisposed,” he said, leading us to the helm. Laid out on the binnacle was our map of the Tortugas. “I’d warn you beforehand. With your men in chains, there’ll be no deception. This ship goes down, they’ll go with it.”

  I understood the threat.

  “The notations are accurate,” Mason said, leaning over the chart. “If it were me, I‘d come in from this side. The reef closes in there.” He pointed to the annotations he had made on the chart.

  The look on the first mate’s face told me that he didn’t like the proposed detour. “We’ve got as much at stake in this as you, sir. There’s no reason not to trust us.”

  “I’ve heard the stories, Van Doren. A quick study you are.”

  “Again, our aim is the same. The warden is holding our women until we return.”

  “Never seen a pirate loyal to his woman,” he snorted.

  I wasn’t about to engage him in a discussion on pirates. The best thing we could do was to be agreeable. An opportunity would present itself—one generally did, and if not we’d make one.

  “You and your men can earn some measure of freedom aboard, but I’ll tell you right now, it won’t be much.”

  Fearing that our conversation was at an end, I glanced around the deck, studying the Spanish crew. If Rhames were with us, he would have already taken measure of our opponent. Without his eyes, and with Mason more concerned about how the crew had trimmed the sails, I took in every detail I could.

  As I expected we were dismissed, but before we were taken back to the hold I turned to the mate. “We’ll need some time with the gear before we dive. Tides’ll play a factor in the recovery as well.”

  “Looked adequate to me, and you’ll dive when I tell you to dive. Back to the hold for you.” He nodded to the men standing behind us, who escorted us back below.

  Chapter 19

  From the sound of the water rushing underneath the hull and the attitude of the ship, I had a general idea that we would arrive on site by nightfall. Under other circumstances I would have let the captain and navigator seek their own council, but with the crew and myself in chains, striking the reef would likely lead us to our deaths.

  Calling up to the deck, I asked to speak to the first mate. A few minutes later, I was dragged up the ladder and brought to the helm.

  “Something I can help you with, Van Doren?” He blew a puff of smoke from his pipe and watched as the wind took it. “Fair weather. Seems we’ve had a bit of luck crossing the straits.”

  The Straits of Florida can be a treacherous, but not nearly as dangerous as the shoals scattered through the Tortugas. “Just wondering if you’ve been in these waters?”

  “Suppose you’d like a look at my twenty years of log books?”

  He’d been a first mate almost as long as I’d been alive, leaving me to wonder why he hadn’t been promoted to captain. “No sir, not questioning your ability.”

  “What’s your point, then?”

  “Just that there’re more reefs than those marked on the chart. A lot more, actually. I’d suggest you heave-to overnight and approach in the morning.”

  He pulled hard enough on his pipe that I could see the embers in the bowl glow, and took his time before he exhaled, blowing the smoke in my face. “And when I’ll be wanting your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Only a fool would sail into that death trap at night.”

  “Right, then. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  He waved his hand. “Never mind. I suppose since you’re on deck already, you might have a look at your gear. Don’t have enough of you to lose anyone down there.”

  I was glad for the opportunity to be out of the hold. “I could use my man Rhames.”

  “One man.” He turned to the crewman who had brought me up from the hold and asked
him to retrieve Rhames.

  Before I could thank him, he turned and, with a puff of smoke lingering on the breeze, was gone. While I waited for Rhames, I scanned the water for any indication of our position. Though it meant little, it was habit. All around us was the deep, dark, indigo water of the straits. Ahead, and low on the horizon, I could see several puffy clouds, suggesting the proximity of the larger islands in the area.

  “Captain?” Rhames greeted me after he was unfettered.

  “Right, then,” I said. “Let’s go through the gear.” I winked at him and saw his sly smile.

  “Whatever you’d be needing.”

  Boredom is the enemy of any guard, and it was my goal to lull the two men nearby into that state. Slowly and thoroughly I ran my hands along the hoses, examining them for any nicks or tears. I took note of several abrasions that caught my eye. In the end, I found no repairs were necessary, though a fresh coating of lard would help preserve the hoses.

  “There’re divers below, more suited for this work,” Rhames said.

  He was as bored as the guards. “Have a look around: men, armaments, anything that might help later,” I whispered.

  “I got your meaning, Captain. What say we stretch these baby’s down the length of the deck?”

  “Right, then.” I started to walk with the hose, and winced in pain.

  “Leg still bothering you then?” Rhames asked.

  “I’ll be alright.” I grit my teeth and continued.

  I asked one of the men charged with watching us for a tub of lard to grease the hoses.

  When he returned, we took both hoses and extended them to their limits. Coating them with the lard as we laid them out, we were able to check out the ship.

  “Got a good idea what we’re up against,” Rhames whispered. “Might want to hang onto that tub of lard. Got some idea it might come in handy.”

  Coiling the hoses, we stowed them and checked the face mask. After just the single dive, it appeared to be in good condition. Trying to focus on the coming effort, I thought back to what improvements were needed. The experiment had been brief, but I did remember the fog on the glass causing problems.

  Placing the sailcloth-clad bucket on my head, I waited for the glass to fog. It took less time than I expected. Removing the helmet, I spat on my hand, then inserted it in the opening and rubbed it on the glass. The fog disappeared quickly. Placing the helmet back on my head, I waited. After a few minutes, sweat started to drip from my brow, but the glass remained clear. Hoping I had solved the problem, I removed the helmet. Before I could set it down, the deck dropped out from beneath my feet.

  My first thought was that we had struck something, but as I started to rise, I felt my head start to spin, and lay back down.

  “Get Blue,” I called to Rhames.

  I was in the shade when I came to, and it took me a minute to remember what had happened. Rhames was among the group surrounding me. Before I could focus on the rest of the faces, a sharp pain came from my leg.

  “Blast, it’s gotten infected,” a bespectacled man said.

  From his age and build, I guessed he was the carpenter or cook. It was common for either or both to share the duties of a doctor aboard.

  “Get Blue.” All I could do was mutter though my clenched jaw as the man lanced the wound.

  The group jumped back to avoid the puss that flew from the abscess.

  “Blue, one of my men. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Best deal with it quickly or that leg needs to come off.”

  I was so focused on the thought of losing my leg that I didn’t notice the “doctor” send one of the men to bring Blue. From the look on his face, he didn’t want to take the leg off any more than I wanted him to. My confirmation came when he removed a flask from his pocket, drank deeply, and handed it to me.

  The liquor steeled me enough to look down at the wound. Red lines shot from the site the bullet had entered up and down my leg. Just as I saw the extent of it, Blue appeared.

  The group stepped back, allowing him access to me. It didn’t take long for his evaluation. “We need to find the fish weed.”

  Everyone looked at him, never having heard of fish weed. Were it not for the pounding in my head I might have figured it out, but I was preoccupied with pain and fear.

  “The fish weed, Mr. Nick.”

  It was Rhames that solved the riddle. “The weeds where the little bugger catches the dorado.”

  Having seen Blue and Lucy fish, I knew what he was talking about now. It was the sargassum that floated in lines or large rafts, depending on the current. Whenever we spotted the weeds, we altered course when we could to allow Blue and Lucy to troll their baits underneath or nearby. Nine times out of ten they caught fish.

  I described the weed to the doctor and he called for several of the men to climb the rigging and search out some.

  “How much time do we have?” I asked, knowing that in the fading light, the odds of spotting some of the weed was small.

  When he didn’t answer, the looks turned solemn and the flask was handed back to me. Hoping for any relief, I drank deeply. Thankfully, one of the lookouts saw something and called down to the deck. Were it not for the moon, I doubted he would have seen the patch. During the day there are the birds that generally fly over the patches waiting for an errant baitfish to venture outside the protective perimeter. At night they were near invisible.

  The ship turned hard in the direction the lookout had pointed. The men gathered around the rail, ready with long hooks, used for backing sails and boarding other ships, which they used to pluck the seaweed from the water. Blue grabbed an armful of the seaweed and brought it to me.

  “This should help,” he said, starting to cover my leg in the wet, cool seaweed. Whether it was working or not didn’t matter in the moment—it helped with the pain.

  “Leave it on until it dries out.” Blue walked toward a bucket with a rope attached, used to haul up seawater for cleaning and such. Holding the end of the line, he tossed the bucket into the sea. Hand over hand, he retrieved it and when it was over the rail, he dropped the rest of the seaweed in the water.

  I spent the next few hours keeping the weed wet and wondering how I would fare with one leg.

  Chapter 20

  Wishing for a breeze to evaporate the sweat pouring from my body, darkness finally fell bringing some relief from the heat. The dangers of a becalmed ship hadn’t occurred to me until just after the second dog watch. My earlier worries about striking one of the dangerous shoals during the night was replaced by the fear that we would drift into the Gulf Stream’s strong current. Without wind in our sails to counteract the six-knot river running through the Atlantic, we would be driven far off course, not a situation I relished with my men in chains.

  Mason took over, appearing at my side and giving me his report of sorts. It was difficult for both of us. Despite my injuries I was his captain, and he was the best navigator I knew. Watching others do our jobs aboard our own ship was difficult. Blue continued to fuss with the seaweed, reassuring me that it would work even as he was escorted below.

  “Mr. Nick. If I had my bag …” His voice disappeared as he was dragged into the hold with the rest of the crew.

  “What’d he say?” I asked Mason.

  “Something about his satchel. Maybe he’s got some medicine.”

  In my current state I was willing to try anything short of the sawbones cure. “I’d like to speak to the captain,” I called to one of the guards.

  “Wouldn’t we all,” he replied.

  The captain had been invisible since we had boarded. I knew many officers liked to spend their time in their cabins, but I preferred to mingle with the crew and take my share of the watches.

  “If he wants a chance of some gold tomorrow, he’ll listen,” I told the guard.

  That got him to thinking, probably more about the reprisals he might face by disregarding my request than his concern about whether we dove or not. Things were different ab
oard a naval vessel than a pirate ship, and there was a good chance the men didn’t know about our mission—or the gold. I’d always been forthright with my crew, knowing that men live by rumors aboard a ship. I’d rather my crew had the truth.

  His decision made, he got up and went toward the companionway. A few minutes later he returned with the captain. I wasn’t sure what I expected from a Spanish officer at sea, but the disheveled man in a robe who looked the worse for drink was not it. I was more worried about disturbing him than about the liquor on his breath. I’d spent the last dozen years dealing with drunks, that I could handle. An angry captain with complete authority over me was another story.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I said. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I scooted myself up to a sitting position.

  “You’re looking the worse for wear,” he replied, slurring his words.

  “The wound’s festered and I’m running a fever. My man, the African Pygmy, has some medicine in his bag. It was brought aboard with us.”

  He immediately ordered one of the guards to find the bag. He mumbled, but his voice was loud, and I was able to understand enough words that I sensed he wanted me kept alive—at all costs.

  The bag appeared and the captain asked that Blue be brought from the hold. Blue might have been distressed by my condition, but seeing his bag brought a smile to his face—until one of the guards dumped its contents on the deck.

  The darts for the blowgun were confiscated, as was a knife. Everything else seemed innocuous enough, and he motioned Blue towards the pile of his belongings. I had seen Lucy mutter words that sounded like a curse before, and what Blue was saying under his breath could be nothing else.

  “Here,” he said, placing a piece of the bark he had collected the other night between my teeth.

  While I worked the tree bark, pulling what liquid I could, he gathered up his belongings and started to sort through them. After replacing them in his bag, he returned to my side and removed the seaweed from my leg. The wound looked different, not as angry as earlier, and slowly I noticed the pain had subsided as well. Thanking Blue while he replaced the old weed with fresh sargassum from the bucket, I started to take notice of my surroundings.