“It’s heading south,” Smithie said. The old man was only confirming his own fears. The storm was heading south, back the way they’d come—back to Belize. He felt sheer panic rip through him and he closed his eyes in disbelief at their bad luck.
“Prepare to tack,” James shouted out in the voice that carried throughout the ship. It was the voice that no-one dared argue with.
“You can’t head into a storm, boy.” Smithie said calmly.
“Watch me.”
“You’ll never outsail it. This storm will hit whether you risk all our lives or not. There are many things you can fight, but Mother Nature will make a fool out of you—a corpse if you’re stupid. You’re even less use to the women dead.”
“They’re completely exposed where they are. They have no shelter.”
“You don’t know the storm’ll hit them.”
“You know as well as I that the chances are higher than not.” Smithie’s silence only confirmed it. James gripped the wood of the handrail until his knuckles whitened. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
“What choice have you? You can’t outsail a storm, it will hit them no matter what you do.”
“We sail south.” He could not sit still when a deadly storm was heading for Gemma. This was all his fault; he should have let her go—and now she was in harm’s way. He looked down at the drawn faces of his crew. Their women and children were in danger too. “Move the sails,” he roared.
Smithie shook his head. “You better sail the best you’ve ever sailed, boy. We’ll all perish if you do this wrong. We’ll probably perish even if you do it right,” he muttered and hobbled down the stairs again.
Chapter 28
There was a funny feeling in the air that seemed to put everyone on edge. The banter between the women seemed to lose some of its good-natured feel. Even the children were somewhat deflated.
Gemma had gone with Lizzie to gather bananas when it grew dark very quickly. The jungle was quiet for once—there was no noise from birds or monkey, or whatever else lived in here. Lightning struck across the sky.
“It’s gonna rain,” Lizzie said. “We’d better get back.”
They heaved up the stick carrying the still green banana bunch. Placing the weight on their shoulders, they started walking, unsteadily at first until they got into a rhythm. The rain reached them when they were halfway down the jungle path leading from the clutch of banana trees.
Fat raindrops were singing through the forest drumming the leaves. Drops landed on their shoulders, then on their heads, before the skies opened up and it poured. There was no point running, they would be drenched either way, so they continued steadily even as water was running down into their eyes. Unfortunately their path was quickly turning to mud and Gemma slipped on a steep part of the path. Her entire backside was covered in mud when she stood up. Wonderful, she thought, tomorrow would be spent cleaning.
The rain continued to fall heavily and they had to take care not to lose the path. Gemma feared getting lost on the jungle, not knowing which way the ocean was and wandering for days, but Lizzie seemed more assured in their direction and they popped out on the beach suddenly. The rain was so heavy now; it was hard to see down the beach, which was completely deserted as far as they could see.
“Go change and then come over,” Lizzie suggested. “I’ve got some fish left over from yesterday, you can eat with us.”
Gemma nodded and retreated back to her cottage, where she quickly ran around the room closing the shutters. The rain had already streamed in on one side and puddles stretched out on the floor. She wasn’t helping with her soaked dress leaving a trail of water along her path. She untied the stays and hung the heavy garment up on a hook once she got it off. Her nightgown was just as drenched and she had nothing else to wear. Scavenging through one of James’ chests, she found spare clothes—his clothes, but she had nothing else dry. And it was better than going naked. His breeches covered most of her legs and his shirt was large, the material flowing around her. Surely, she looked ridiculous, but equally, she didn’t think her present companions would care at all.
“Oh you poor thing. Haven’t you a change of clothes?” Lizzie said looking her up and down as she quickly stepped through the door and dropped the blanket she’d used to cover herself running between the cottages. “Jack is just a scoundrel sometimes.”
“I’m sure it is not something that immediately comes to his mind.”
“Well, you have to wonder what does sometimes. Oh this weather, it’s awful, isn’t it?”
Lizzie’s two children were sitting around a table eating porridge, which the men must have brought here from one of the trading towns. Gemma supposed there was little they couldn’t get if they really wanted to. It was a comforting thought.
It had become quite cold—colder than it had ever been as far as Gemma had experienced. She had to pull a dry blanket around her. Sitting down on a chair, she heard the winds picking up, rattling the bamboo on the outside of the cottage.
Mary burst through the door wearing an oiled leather coat.
“Now that is practical at a time like this,” Lizzie said as Mary stepped further in and water ran off her as she moved.
Mary ignored the comment. “Martha thinks this storm could be bad.”
“How bad?”
“As in typhoon.”
Gemma had never experienced a typhoon, but it was feared above all else during their stay in Port Royal. Typhoons were known to utterly devastate islands inflicted by one, destroying towns completely. Her family had discussed taking shelter in the Fort if one was to come, but they’d never been so unlucky as to experience one. She watched Lizzie’s face grow pale. “Surely not.” There was no Fort here with heavy, reinforced walls. There were no structures at all other than these cottages.
There was silence between them as Gemma looked from one face to the other.
“It can’t be,” Lizzie said barely louder than a whisper. The fear in her voice was evident and the children behind them went completely silent.
“We’re meeting in Martha’s,” Mary said and turned to the door. “I’m letting everyone know.”
Lizzie gathered up her daughter and urged her son in front of her as they prepared to run along the beach to Martha’s cottage. They didn’t have far to run, but the rain was so heavy, they were drenched by the time they reached the cottage. An oil lamp was swinging from the ceiling sending moving patterns of light across the room where the women were gathering. Serious faces shown by the shifting light.
They waited a while in silence, the wind roaring outside, pushing on the side of the house and rattling the shutters. The movement of the lantern reminded Gemma of her time at sea.
“Storms happen often here,” one of the women said.
“This may not be no ordinary tropical storm.”
“We don’t know it’s a typhoon.”
“The winds are still picking up. Who knows how strong they will get.”
“These cottages are built sturdily. Our men know that the weather can be unstable down these parts.”
Looking around, Gemma surveyed the state of the cottage. They were built with real timber, which was good, but she wasn’t sure that was enough. The wind was already moving the walls and roof around.
“What is the point of scaring everyone if there is nothing we can do about it? We keep dry and hope for the best.”
“We’re completely exposed here,” Gemma piped in. “If the water rises, it is the worst place to be.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed there is no other place to be,” Cassie, the girl from Wales said sharply. “There isn’t like we can go somewhere.”
A powerful wind shook the house, increasing the tension in the group.
“Rocks are the only thing that will shelter us from the most destructive winds.”
“Are you suggesting that we go out, in that?” Cassie said pointing to the door. “You’re mad.”
“These houses could blow awa
y, blow everyone into the sea,” Martha said. Gemma hadn’t expected Martha to be the one to agree with her, but they seemed to have the same concerns. “This storm’ll get worse.”
“You don’t know that!”
“There’s a cave,” Lizzie’s son said. “I’ve been there. It’s up the ridge.”
“It’s a fair walk to the ridge. Uphill too.”
Gemma knew the ridge was the big hill further inland—covered in jungle.
“We can’t traipse around up the hill in this weather.”
Gemma turned to Lizzie while the other women talked amongst themselves. “It’s a risk either way.”
“It’s a risk walking, but it’s chance staying,” Lizzie said. “I think we should go. If the storm worsens, there may not be any surviving it if we stay.”
Gemma agreed. “We’re going,” Gemma said to the group. “The sooner, the better,” she finished, turning back to Lizzie.
“Better go then. Who’s coming?” There was silence, then a few murmurs of consent or disapproval.
“You’re mad, I’m not going anywhere.” Cassie crossed her arms.
“Suit yourself, Cassie. I need to think of my children,” Lizzie said. “Show us to the cave, Billy. We’ll talk about what you’ve been doing exploring the ridge later,” she warned.
Billy had to fight the wind to get the door open. It did seemed like complete madness stepping outside and Gemma wondered if they’d made the right decision. The sand from the beach bit into her face and the wind tore at her clothes. She was actually happy she was wearing breeches and not her dress, which would take the wind like a sail.
Most of the women seemed to join them, but a couple stayed behind. They followed a path into the jungle where the trees were all moaning with the wind and all the leaves across the jungle were making singing noises as the winds tore across the land. Everything seemed to be moving, and there was water running across the path, down leaves and blowing straight into them from seemingly every direction. It completely obscured Gemma’s vision and trying to wipe it away was useless.
The stream was swollen and they were only just going to get across. They had to lift the children across the natural rock formation that served as a bridge across the stream.
Gemma’s feet seeped into the mud as it squelched around her ill-equipped shoes. It was hard going, particularly as they started walking up the hill. The slippery path had long petered out and they were now walking in unbroken jungle, across fallen branches and through bushes. She ended up carrying a scared little girl and struggled to keep her balance as she tentatively stepped her way forward. Bits of branches were blowing across ahead of them, carried by the wind and they could hear creaking noises everywhere. A branch barely missed one of the women.
When they reached a ledge, Gemma tried to turn around and look back, but the wind was too harsh to look out and there wasn’t much to see as the rain obscured everything. The winds were getting worse, tearing at their clothes, whipping around in unpredictable ways, pulling them off balance. Even Mary’s oilskin was no match again the water that came at them in every direction—including from below, Gemma was sure.
A cry made Gemma turn around and see Martha on the ground.
“My leg,” she cried. “It hit my leg.” A branch lay next to her. Rushing to help, Gemma tried to assist Martha to stand, but she cried out in pain and sank to the ground. “I can’t walk. I think it’s broken.”
A few of the women noted something was wrong and gathered around. “We must carry her.”
“We’ll never get her up the hill,” Mary said.
“We’ll just have to manage,” Lizzie said through gritted teeth.
“You go ahead without me,” Martha said. “Get the children to shelter.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lizzie chided, eyeing Gemma like she didn’t believe a word of her own reassurance.
As Billy joined them, Gemma handed the girl she was carrying to him, who seemed too small for the burden, but he was another pair of hands and they were desperately needed.
Gemma and Mary lifted up Martha, carrying her on their clasped wrists. It made for extremely awkward and slow movement forward. They fell as Gemma lost her balance on a particularly muddy part, making Martha cry out in pain.
“Billy,” Gemma called and the little boy stopped. “Show us where the cave is, then go ahead without us.” He pointed to a formation in the rocks and Gemma tried to memorize it. She knew there was a good chance she would never find it, but the others had to go ahead. Carrying the injured Martha, was slowing them all down and the children needed to get to the cave before things worsened.
The others were out of sight in a few short moments as they struggled on with Martha. Hunkering down to the task at hand, Gemma stopped paying attention to anything but the next step in front of her. She lost track of time and was beyond exhausted by the time they got up high enough. She didn’t think she could force another step, but she made herself do it anyway. All the rock formations looked like the place Billy had pointed to and Gemma felt panic as she realized she had no idea where the cave was—knowing it may be hidden. They kept hobbling along because there was no other choice, reaching a point where they thought the cave entrance was, but were disappointed.
Martha’s exhaustion from the pain was clear and she was barely conscious. Mary was crying, but they had to keep going. Eventually they saw an entrance and slowly made their way in. They all crumpled to the ground when they made it inside and the others helped them further into the cave.
Unable to do anything but breathe, Gemma tried to focus as her lungs seemed to burn with the relentless effort. She’d never worked so hard in her life, but their refusal to give up had got them there. She couldn’t even move her arms, her muscles refused to comply. She was so tired she felt like her muscles were too weary to hang onto her bones.
Before she could think beyond the achievement of reaching safety, she fell asleep.
Chapter 29
Sailing as close to the storm as he could, he tried to steer the ship to avoid the most devastating waves. The winds and the waves were violently beating his ship, and he had to constantly watch the sails. If he got too close, they would rip and they’d be dead in the water—at the mercy of the sea. Sails or not, if the storm turned, that would be it for them. There was no way they could get ahead of the storm, they weren’t really able to catch up either as the storm raced ahead of them, even at the speed he was pushing the ship.
The storm’s direction was in no doubt. He dreaded to think what they’d find when they got there. Actually, there was something in him that plainly could not think of it. She could be dead already and he didn’t know. The thought was unbearable—because this was his fault; she would be safely back in London now, in the bosom of her family, if it wasn’t for him.
Gemma woke, stiff and sore, not knowing how long she’d slept. Sniffles and coughs drew her attention to the people around her, but it was too dark to see. She was still wet in places, and hungry, but there was nothing to eat and nothing to warm her. Her clothes were brown with mud, making them stiff as it dried. At least they were safe here. Howling, the wind ripped through the entrance, like a beast, seemingly angry that they were out of reach. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. Martha was still asleep, but moaning occasionally with pain. Gemma felt sorry for her. When the storm settled, they’d have to find some way to set her broken leg—then get her down from here. They would likely have to build some kind of stretcher to carry her, if they could manage. They had no tools—nothing but the clothes on their backs.
The storm raged for what seemed an eternity and Gemma finally fell asleep again. She was woken by people moving around the cave as they started heading outside and Gemma got up to join them.
It was a brilliant day outside, the sun was shining and the sea was blue. The storm had passed, but the land was devastated. The jungle was largely felled, trees lying like kindling all the way down to the calm white beach. The trek back to the beac
h would be very difficult.
Surveying the scene before them, they just stood there in complete silence.
“Where are the cottages?” Lizzie asked.
The cottages couldn’t be seen anywhere. Gemma’s eyes searched along the beach, but she couldn’t stop them. “Maybe they’re hidden under the debris,” Gemma started, and exchanged looks with Lizzie. She feared the worst for Cassie and Betty, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe they would be down there on the beach, angry as bees when they got back.
The trek back was slow and laborious. There was no path and they had to climb over the maze of felled vegetation the entire way down. The children weren’t bothered, enjoying the novelty of the experience, with their boundless energy.
“The fruit’s all gone, and not a coconut in sight. No coconut trees standing as far as I can see. Maybe further down the coast,” Lizzie said after they handed over Martha to the women waiting their turn to carry her, which they’d ended up doing with the material of one of the women’s dresses. “We only have fish to survive on.”
“We’ll manage.”
“Who knows where the nets are. Do you think we’ll ever find the dinghy?”
The beach looked depleted when they arrived. The water was much closer to the edge of the jungle than it had been before. There were all sorts of debris along the water’s edge, including cottage timbers. But there was no sign of the houses, there were only stumps left.
“There’s no way Cassie and Betty would have survived,” Lizzie said quietly when Mary joined them, her oilskin left behind somewhere along the trek back. “They could be anywhere up there.” Lizzie looked back at the devastation behind them.
“Or in the sea,” Gemma said sombrely. The water had obviously reached up to the cottages, likely pulling them off their piles and battering them to pieces.
“Maybe they’re fine and they’ll come join us,” Mary said hopefully, but they all knew it wasn’t true.
Defying a Pirate Page 17
