“Okay.”
“We will go around to the back of the camp and hide behind the barrels over there.” He pointed to the spot. “The sentries will change positions and meet in the middle of the camp. That will be the best time for us to move to the boats.”
“Okay.”
“We must not talk. There are men sleeping in the tents.”
“Right.”
“Follow me.” He turned to go. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. The steady vibration that always accompanied her touch never failed to alarm him, for it could not be natural. It must be due to a curse or a spell woven upon him.
“What if something goes wrong?” Her voice sounded high and tight with emotion.
Despite his misgivings, he found his heart responding to her fear. “You take the boat and leave without me.”
“I won’t leave you.” Her defiance showed in the set of her chin and her narrowed eyes.
“The Spaniards will rape you.”
“I will kick them in the balls.”
If the situation were not so desperate, he would have drawn her against him and allayed all her fears with a kiss, but they had no time to lose.
“Okay.” His use of her word brought a tremulous smile to her lips. Her perfect teeth glowed in the moonlight.
A few minutes later, they crouched behind some of the salvaged barrels and listened to the snores of the men sleeping in the two tents. He believed there were four of them. Some would relieve the men on duty. Those two sentries stood at opposite ends of the camp. When the bell rang on the ship out in the water to mark the hours, they switched positions, meeting in the middle and sharing a joke before marching onward to their posts.
He must knock them out separately when they were alone at their respective posts, but he decided to wait until they traded positions.
His hands became slick with his sweat as time moved slowly along. His mind kept drifting as he crouched in the dark. He must succeed. He could not fail. He had spent a year on an island the last time with his former captain. He never wanted to do that again.
But all of the pleasures Lesley had to offer intruded on his thoughts. He wanted to sample each one, slowly.
One of the men in the tent stopped snoring. He grumbled about something and then all was quiet. Harlan hoped the man did not have to waken to relieve himself.
After some minutes more, the regular sound of snoring continued, but by then sweat drenched every inch of Harlan’s clothing.
At last, the ship’s bell rang and the two sentries began their march. They met in the middle, chatted for several minutes, laughed and shared a drink. While they amused themselves, he, with Lesley on his back, slid from hiding behind the barrels and scurried to a spot behind the boat closest to the sentry’s post.
The sentry hummed a tune as he reached the end of his march. When he turned, Harlan slid up behind him and knocked him over the head with a solid piece of wood. The man keeled over.
Harlan propped him up against the boat so that he would appear to be sleeping. Lesley quickly gagged him with his own scarf and proceeded to tie his hands and feet together with rope she had found in the boat. Harlan cut a length of it to use on the other sentry. He sliced up the sails and pulled out the pieces that held the rudder in place. Taking the rudder, he placed it in the boat he and Lesley would steal.
They hurried around the back of the camp, along the edge of the jungle, to the spot where the other sentry sat nodding on a large crate. He did not succumb as easily as the first sentry, but a punch to the solar plexus—as Lesley recommended—soon rendered him insensible.
Harlan glanced up and the cold chill of alarm went through him. The edge of dawn appeared on the horizon. He decided to run straight through the camp to get to the boat, for they had not a moment to spare.
Before they finished the mad dash to the boat, a familiar voice cried out.
“Captain Sterford! Save me!”
Chapter Seventeen
Lesley saw Jibby tied to a small cannon. She slipped off Harlan’s back intending to hobble as fast as she could to the boy.
Harlan reached out to grab her, but she dodged his hand.
“No,” she whispered. “He comes, too.”
“Go to the boat.” The glare he gave her could have sliced through sheet metal, but she stood her ground until he capitulated. “I will get him.”
She swung her crude crutch under her arm and hurried to the boat while Harlan went for the boy. She had to wade to the boat since the tide had rolled in and it stood anchored in three feet of water. With difficulty, she scrambled into it. When she looked up, she saw Harlan running toward the boat carrying Jibby. However, she also saw two men step out of one of the tents.
She went to the sails and hoisted them, another great lesson she had learned at camp. The two sails went up and filled with the steady wind the morning’s light had brought with it.
The men on the shore shouted, woke their sleeping compatriots, and reached for their weapons
Harlan waded into the water and handed Jibby to her. She wanted to cry when she saw what had happened to him. He had been beaten. His stomach had bruises everywhere.
“It hurts here.” He lay his hand over his left side.
She touched the area gently to locate the source of the pain but he moaned in agony and fainted in her arms.
“His spleen.” She swallowed hard past the tight ache in her throat as she recalled the fact that with spleen injuries the muscles in the abdomen would be rigid—and his appeared that way. If she was right, there would be no hope for him. A surgeon could repair it, but in 1711 surgeons were nothing but butchers.
Harlan jumped into the boat and sliced the line for the anchor with his knife as the men ran toward them firing their weapons. Out in the bay, the ship’s bell rang the alarm.
“Stay down,” he ordered as he crawled toward the stern with the musket balls flying past. Grabbing the rudder, he guided the vessel around the rock-covered spit of land encompassing the bay.
Meanwhile, the men in the camp jumped into the other boat and prepared to follow them. The squealing winches on the ship at anchor indicated that another boat was being lowered to give chase.
The wind blew from the island out to sea and Harlan’s sailing skill sped the boat along at a crazy angle. The men in the boat Harlan disabled rowed furiously but made little headway. However, the boat lowered from the ship had the advantage of the same wind, and briskly sped toward them.
Lesley hoped Harlan’s nautical knack would best them, though she worried about the boat capsizing since it did not have a stabilizing keel. Nevertheless, Harlan obviously knew the boat’s capabilities and he pushed it to the limit.
“When I went to camp, we had little sailboats with one sail—they were called Sunfish.” Lesley recounted as she made a pillow out of a coil of rope for Jibby’s head. “We used to race the boats on the lake. I won a race once.”
“You won a sailing race?” Harlan gave the sail more slack and the gunwale inched ever closer to the waterline.
“I won because one of the other boats capsized and another one ran into a log, but I got the trophy. I still have it at home, on the mantle.” She sighed as she thought of her childhood summers. “I learned so much at camp and I never appreciated it until now.”
“I would like to see you sail.” Harlan’s wry smile touched something inside her.
“I’d prefer to sail in a calm lagoon.”
He laughed outright.
The raucous laugh disturbed Jibby who groaned. She touched his forehead. “He has a fever.”
“We will shelter at another island,” Harlan promised.
“Do you think they’ll stop chasing us after a while?”
“If luck is on our side.”
“At least they aren’t shooting at us.”
“They will wait until they are in range.”
Jibby moaned. “They are upon us.”
“We are safe.” Lesley soothed and loosened her sca
rf to dip it in the sea. She dabbed Jibby’s brow as the boat rose and fell on the swells. “We are ahead of them.”
“Mr. Hooper stabbed him.” Jibby whispered. “I saw him do it.”
A chill prickled along Lesley’s shoulders. “Who did he stab?”
“He took his coat. ‘What a fine peacock I am now,’ he says.” Jibby shivered in his delirium and then slipped away into an unconscious state again.
Lesley pulled out an old canvas tarp stashed under the bow. Rough and scratchy, it smelled of fish, but she had nothing else to cover the poor boy. If he was in shock, which he probably was, she needed to keep his body warm and prevent the salty spray from drenching him. Despite the rough ride, she tenderly placed the tarp over his frail form.
She cast a glance behind her. Their pursuers gained on them.
“Please hand me the toy horse,” she asked Harlan. “Perhaps it can keep Jibby warm.”
For once, Harlan did not argue with her or accuse her of witchcraft. He pulled the small object out of his pocket and gave it to her.
She stroked it until it grew warmer. She slipped it under the tarp and placed it on the center of Jibby’s chest, but if she took her hand away, the horse became cold. As long as her hand rested on it, it spread warmth upon the poor boy.
As noon neared with the sun at its zenith in the sky, a low bank of clouds threatened.
“Rough weather,” Harlan commented.
“Another hurricane?” Panic set her pulse racing.
“A squall. It may give us an advantage.”
“Will it swamp us?”
“Get the buckets.”
Lesley reached for the two wooden buckets in the boat and set them beside her. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Good.” He did not smile. He held on to the rudder with every ounce of his strength, taking advantage of the wind as much as he dared. However, the boat behind them veered off.
She swung around to study the forbidding sky in front of them. Lightning flashed in the heavy bank of clouds. Would the small boat survive? The far larger Lyrical sank.
“What is the difference in intensity between a squall and a hurricane?” she asked. However, a huge clap of thunder drowned out her words so that Harlan did not hear her.
The storm came at them as a deluge with the rain pouring down so heavily, she could see nothing except a gray wall of water. The rain rapidly accumulated in the boat. She bailed, Harlan furled one sail and joined her, bailing with the other bucket.
“If we had some plastic tubing, we could siphon it out,” she grumbled. “Sure would make this easier.” Again, Harlan did not hear her due to the great booms of thunder overhead.
The wind vanished with the downpour. The sea became dead calm, but only their constant rapid bailing kept them afloat.
Her arms ached, but she had to keep going. Poor Jibby’s body floated in the bottom of the boat but his head remained above water due to the pillow she had made for him out of the coil of rope. He remained unconscious despite the din in the sky above them.
At last, the rain slackened. The sea stayed tranquil.
Harlan took out the oars. “I see land.”
Lesley peered at the surrounding water and saw nothing. “Where?”
Harlan sat and pulled at the oars. “There.” He glanced over his right shoulder. “Look for the birds.” He swung the boat around.
She studied the gray horizon but she did not see any sign of birds or land until a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and a patch of green beckoned, sparkling like an emerald jewel in the sapphire sea.
“Do you think there are turtles there?” Her stomach growled.
“I will search for them.”
“Do you still have the flint and steel?”
He nodded.
“How well do you speak Spanish?” she asked.
“Why?” he frowned.
“If there are more Spaniards on this island, maybe we could pretend to be Spanish. Then we wouldn’t have to fight.”
He shook his head but one corner of his mouth tilted upward. “You do not look Spanish.”
“I have black hair.”
“You have green eyes. I have never seen a Spaniard with green eyes.”
“It could happen,” she grumbled. “It’s a recessive gene.”
“Is a gene like one of your monstrous little germs?”
“No. Genes are part of an individual’s inherited traits.”
“Not harmful?”
“Not usually, though some genes do cause trouble. There are inherited illnesses—like sickle cell anemia...”
“So all small things, so minute that we cannot see them, are very bad—like vermin.”
“I never thought of it that way, but a lot of them are like vermin. However, some bacteria are good—like acidophilus.”
“Bibble-babble.” He rolled his eyes.
She decided to give up on the vocabulary for now.
As they drew closer, the clouds blew away and the warm sun shone down on them.
“Thirsty.” Jibby stirred.
“We will get water soon—I hope.” Lesley reassured him. She removed the small horse from his chest and held it close for a few moments so it would grow warm for him. Holding it soothed her, but she soon placed it on Jibby’s chest once more.
“The breeze stirs.” Harlan declared with a note of relief. He put up the sails, and though they did not speed through the water as they had previously, they soon were skirting the lovely island.
They discovered it to be two islands set close together. One island appeared rather flat, the other had three small mountains and a bay.
“The bay is exposed with nowhere to hide.” Harlan pointed out as they sailed past it. “We must search for a sheltered spot.”
“Please, let’s land soon ... for Jibby’s sake. He is getting jostled about here in the boat.”
“We must be sure no one else is on the island.”
“But it’s much larger than the last island. It would take half the day to sail around it.”
His mouth set into a grim line. “Look for a river.”
Lesley narrowed her eyes and searched the terrain. “There.” She pointed. “It’s not very wide, but that’s good. A large ship would never fit.”
He nodded. They switched places. He went to the bow to watch for rocks or other submerged objects. He had an oar with him, but she held onto the rudder.
“If you see anyone, get down.” He warned.
She shuddered.
“We must stay hidden. We need a place with many bushes, trees, or a cave.”
“No caves.” She objected.
“Overhanging rock...”
“I’d like a place with a restaurant nearby—and a bar.” Her eyes misted with tears. “And a hospital for Jibby with all the best medicines and surgeons.”
“He will be comfortable on land.”
She glanced at the boy. His skin—where it wasn’t bruised—was pale, almost ashen. Even if his spleen had not ruptured, he could be suffering from some other internal injuries. Why had they beaten him? How could people be so cruel? So vicious?
Harlan pointed to the right. She moved the rudder and the boat glided to the right.
Harlan pointed to the left. Again, she obeyed his direction. They floated along for several minutes more in that manner until he brought the boat up on a marshy bank shaded by several trees and surrounded by abundant bushes. When he helped her out of the boat he lifted her by the waist and set her down. The touch of his hands had her reeling. She had to hold onto the side of the boat to get her bearings once he let her go. What sort of magic connected them?
He handed her the pitiful piece of wood she had been using as a crutch.
“How much longer do you think I need to use this?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Until your ankle no longer pains you.” He handed her the tarp and carried Jibby from the boat. “There’s a sandy area under that tree.”
She went to the spot and set the
tarp on the ground. Harlan placed Jibby gently on the rough canvas. Lesley knelt beside the boy and smoothed the hair off his forehead.
He moaned and opened his eyes. “Home?” he whispered.
“Not yet, but it’s a fine place to spend the night.” She tried to sound cheerful but looking at him broke her heart.
“Thirsty.” Jibby closed his eyes and fainted once more.
Lesley got up. She needed to find a spring of clean, fresh water.
She went back to the boat to get one of the buckets. Harlan had already turned the boat on its side and disguised it with branches.
“You can sleep underneath,” he said. He handed her the toy horse.
“Please, keep that in your pocket,” she said. “I’ll have my hands full with the bucket.”
“I fear the magic in it.”
She stroked it tenderly and it grew warm. “Then I’ll give it to Jibby again. It will comfort him.” She went back to the boy and placed the toy on his chest.
“’Tis summer,” he muttered.
“Yes, ‘tis summer,” she repeated. “And the breeze is warm.”
“Strawberries?” he asked.
“I will look for them,” she promised. Her eyes filled with tears as she hobbled off to look for clean water with the bucket in one hand and the crutch in the other. The afternoon shadows had grown longer as the sun moved lower in the western sky.
The small rivulet that fed the marsh wound upward. Her heart heavy, she followed the stream. She had no idea how far she had traveled until the thick vegetation fell away and she found herself standing on a wide and pleasant grassy plateau.
She glanced down the hill but Harlan had concealed the camp so well even she could not see it. However, she knew all she had to do to return was follow the little stream.
On the plateau, the rivulet tumbled merrily down a gurgling waterfall. Lesley bent and put her hand into the water. It appeared crystal clear without any worms wiggling around in it.
“If there are worms, they’ll provide more protein,” she muttered to herself. She drank her fill.
Afterward, she put the bucket beneath the waterfall. She had to spill some of the water because she could not carry it back to their camp full to the brim.
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