Hawk's Feather (Perry County Frontier Series)

by Roy F. Chandler

  By the time he had the boat under cover, Jonas' legs were almost too weak to support him. He stood anyway and made a staggery way along the mainmast and again into the Gulf shallows.

  A check while lightning glared showed the boat's passage already washed away. Despite his need for rest, Jonas hurried to his next task.

  Half buried and wrapped into a scramble, the Ruth Covert's mainsail was ripped and mostly useless. Useless for some things, but Jonas went at the canvas mass with his knife and the same desperate furiosity he had used challenging the weight of the jolly boat.

  He cut away a large rectangle and heaved it into the jungle. Then he hauled and dug free a number of lighter furling and trimming lines, ropes small enough in diameter to be useful.

  Jonas got his precious salvage safely to the jolly boat even as the storm began easing. He collapsed in utter weariness against the overturned boat's planking. He was almost too tired to think and his belly rumbled with an empty hunger so intense he wondered if he had ever eaten.

  For now he could do no more. Too tired to appreciate all that he had accomplished, Jonas crawled beneath his boat and pulled in a corner of the heavy sailcloth to help ward off mosquitoes. He heard thunder, now well out to sea, roll in a long barrage that was somehow soothing. He dropped into sleep so deep that the droning, biting insects did not disturb him.

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  Chapter 8

  The wild creature squatted in apparent ease on a limb that looked across smaller growth into a village of a few dozen thatch or canvas roofed shacks. Within the squalid settlement people moved at daily chores, but the watcher's eyes looked past their routines to the anchorage where a ship discharged cargo into boats and where a cannon raft guarded against surprise.

  Pelican Cove bit into the northeast corner of Cayo Costa Island and provided safe harbor for vessels of not too great draft. For more than two months the ragged figure had spied from his perch, observing the activities while building his plans around them.

  A scraggly black beard disguised Jonas Hawk's drawn features. His uncropped hair hung below his ears and straggled down his neck. Survival diet had thinned Hawk so that his rags hung loosely and feet, grown tough from constant exposure, were bony and calloused. But, when he moved, Hawk's actions were agile and his eyes were alert and calculating.

  The first days had been the worst. Hope had been small and bare survival was all he sought. Food had been problematical and still was. Night fishing sustained life and gradually he found other edibles.

  Men had lived on Cayo Costa for a hundred generations. From their giant shell mounds Hawk learned which shellfish to eat. Without fire, he ate everything raw. Later he found grown-over fields and cautiously sampled what remained.

  At first Hawk had worried about the Indians seen with the pirates, but they proved to have abandoned old ways and, except for hunting wild pigs, did not leave the settlement.

  The Indians were a trio of families that squatted beneath the crudest of shelters between the settlement and the great house. Their pig forays were conducted at dawn and dusk. They were rarely successful.

  Unwilling to brave the spiky undergrowth, the Indians lurked near the village's overgrown fields and sought to trap or drive wily swine into nets and deep holes. The pigs had learned and seldom failed to raid with impunity. Hawk judged the swine smarter than the hunters.

  For many days, bits and pieces had floated in from the wreck of the Ruth Covert. Far down the beach, a fully clad body had washed ashore but Jonas had feared to leave hiding. At the next tide it was gone.

  From lofty perches he could see the wreck burned to her waterline. A pair of small boats had gone out, and Hawk believed he had seen divers working. There would have been little to recover, and after the third day they did not return.

  The cloth bales had floated for a time and he could see a number grounded far down the beach. The pirates displayed no interest nor did they attempt to raise the bales remaining in the ship's hold. The cloth did not tempt Jonas. No one must discover a ripped open bale that could hint at a strange presence on the island.

  He had been nearly a month repairing the jolly boat. Using his knifepoint, he had tightened the sprung planks by boring holes near the opened ends and similar holes through the planking on the boat's opposite side. He had doubled rope connecting the holes and inserted a short stick through the rope's center. Seamen called it a Spanish windlass, and by winding the stick he tightened the rope, which drew the planks into place.

  Unable to risk sounds of nailing, he windlassed the planks into position and depended on his ropes to hold them there.

  From washed-ashore planking, he laboriously shaped new pieces for the smashed boat side. He bored holes and stitched the new planks in place. Plugging the bullet holes was easier, but they were many and each took time.

  Finally he wounded a gummy looking tree and spread tree sap over his repairs. When he thought he had it right he dug the jolly boat into the sand and filled it with sea water. Salt water would not rot wood the way fresh did and the planking would not dry out and leak.

  Rigging a small sail also took time. He carved and fitted a short mast and boom. Without a keel, the jolly boat would only sail down or across the wind but, with luck, he should have such a wind with some regularity.

  To the north, friendly settlements were scattered. Hawk did not know their exact positions and he had a braver plan.

  Almost all ships sailed for New Orleans or fanned out from that busy port. He too would point for the Mississippi. If lucky, he might hail a ship long before sailing that far.

  Of course he scouted the pirates. The settlement on Cayo Costa seemed their center of activities. From hiding, Hawk watched their labors. When ready to sail he would need provisions. He intended to take them from his enemies.

  On a bit of higher ground a more permanent structure had been erected. Hawk's best lookout was almost above the building, which he thought of as the great house. The place stood empty until the arrival of a real ship. Then it bustled with activity.

  From the ship came an individual of importance. Trundled behind him was a sea chest, obviously of great weight. Hawk's interest grew.

  The village celebrated the ship's arrival and the return of its crew, some of whom dispersed to shanties while a few rowed across the inlet to a smaller settlement on the north island.

  During daylight, Hawk watched. At night he slept at his camp, far enough away that only wind-borne gunshots reached him.

  Until late in the day there was little activity as the pirates slept off their carousing. Then the important person would leave his great house and a blown conch shell would summon the men.

  There was desultory refitting of the ship but the work was haphazard. An attempt was made to careen but no one seemed willing to dismount the guns of one side or shift stores so that the hull could be leaned on to its side. The ship ended aground and heeled. For a day or two men scraped at what hull could be reached. The craft was refloated and mostly forgotten.

  The pirate ship was a broad beamed brigantine. It had two masts like the Ruth Covert but the forward mast used square sails. Brigantines were common. They were better downwind than into the weather, which skippers like Mathew Covert considered a weakness for most sea voyages.

  The pirate had eight mismatched guns on each side and boasted both bow and stern chasers. She was heavily armed for her size and if she could approach a merchantman, the honest ship would have little chance. No name adorned the ship's transom but Hawk studied her carefully. If he saw her again he would know her.

  The important man was the ship's captain and leader of those who lived on Cayo Costa or the surrounding islands. His men called him Jose or Gaspar. A few remembered to use captain but they were a polyglot crew that spoke mostly in Spanish. They were an ill-disciplined pack and any deference shown their leader appeared almost accidental.

  Jose Gaspar? Jonas Hawk had not heard the name but few pirates were identified. Their demise usually followed s
uch notoriety. If he reached safety, Jonas would make Gaspar's name familiar.

  Gaspar's personal retinue was small. A pair of unhappy-looking women arrived and an older couple brushed at household chores. His men stayed distant and only approached Gaspar's domicile preceded by loud hails.

  For a time Hawk believed Gaspar to be suffering a serious bowel disorder because the man made regular and lengthy visits to a crude privy raised a short distance from the house. Hawk noted the journeys and then half forgot them—until Gaspar became careless.

  On one hasty visit the captain carried something weighty but unseen beneath his long shirt. Hawk could see the burden strain at the pirate's arms and make his walk heavy. It seemed curious and Jonas watched intently. When Gaspar reappeared his arms swung empty and his step was light . . . Well, thought Jonas Hawk.

  Each trip Gaspar carried hidden cargo to his privy and left without it. Treasure, it had to be. Hawk was sure of it.

  Within days, Jonas was more certain. A pair of men trundled Gaspar's heavy sea chest from the great house. Straining beneath the load, they placed the chest in a small boat. Alone, Gaspar rowed from sight beyond Useppa Island to the southeast. He was gone overnight. When he returned he easily tossed the chest onto land and a man later placed it aboard ship.

  Hawk smiled in reluctant respect. The wily pirate hid his wealth under noses, where he could recover it in an instant, but made all believe he carried his treasure to a distant and secret place. What did go in the heavy chest? Probably sand, there was no end of it and it would weigh like treasure and could be dumped anywhere.

  The treasure, if such it proved to be, made a difference. Hawk, perched in his lookout like the hunting bird after which he had named himself, watched and waited.

  Others in Caspar's household used the privy and Jonas had to wait until he could be sure of no interruption. He had to have a look. Perhaps the loads secreted were only trash to be disposed of. Though that seemed unbelievable, where in a privy could a chest of treasure be hidden? In the pit? That too appeared improbable.

  During his second month, on a morning little different than others, the village woke early and the populace began ferrying themselves across the inlet to the north island. Ship's boats were included and last to depart was Gaspar and his pair of dispirited handmaidens.

  The community lay empty and only a single sailor stood a disconsolate watch aboard the nameless ship. On the north island, pits were dug and fires built in them. Later seaweed was dumped in and loads of shellfish and vegetables followed. A drum was beating and another joined in. Jonas saw a cask rolled on end and broached with an ax. Seadogs dipped in and singing and cavorting began.

  Now was his time and within moments Hawk was into the privy. It was a foul enclosure, but with treasure in his mind, Jonas didn't care.

  The pit was long and still deep. A pair of logs had been placed for sitting. There was nothing else. Surely Gaspar would not hide his wealth in the filth of the pit, but where then?

  Jonas stood on sand. It was the only place. Gaspar buried his loot right where they stood. Swiftly Jonas scraped at the trampled and fouled sand. A few inches down he struck plank.

  Now his heart raced and blood pounded his ears. He worked swiftly piling sand to one side and locating a plank end. When he tipped it aside he crouched above a shallow hole in which leather and cloth bags lay like bread loaves. He touched one and it clinked with heavy metal sounds.

  It was a goodly treasure. Enough to buy ships and a town. Jose Gaspar could depart to a place where he was unknown to live his life in grandest luxury. Yet, here he remained, slapping mosquitoes, mixing with humanity's refuse, and hiding his gold in a reeking privy. Jonas reached for the treasure.

  Then he stayed his hand, again looking and considering. At his feet lay the treasure from Gaspar's chest but the hole had been waiting. Could there be more?

  Thoughtfully, Jonas touched the sand beneath the bags. He dug a finger deep and felt nothing. But, you could not readily push a finger into undisturbed sand. The floor of Gaspar's hole was not really the bottom.

  Carefully Hawk removed the leather bags, remembering their positions. Then he dug into the hole's false bottom. Six inches down lay more bags and some boxes whose wood had begun to rot in places. More treasure! Were there other layers? Jonas squatted on his heels to think about it.

  He might have time to transfer Gaspar's gold and silver to a safe place but he would leave a trail a blind man could follow. How often did Gaspar check? He might feel the urge after a day's absence.

  Jonas had no intention of leaving empty-handed, however. His best course would be to get what he could but leave the cache looking undisturbed.

  From the deeper hoard, Jonas took four bags. They were all he could carry and that much, if it were gold, would buy him a ship and more. He carried in sand to fill the new cavity and smoothed the false bottom until it looked right. He carefully replaced Gaspar's upper layer of bags and studied the result. Unless the pirate had secret markings, the treasure looked untouched. Jonas replaced the plank and restored the sand. He made a few hundred footprints facing many ways and judged his work as good as he could make it.

  Sweat drenched and emotionally drained, Jonas shouldered his bags and made for his distant camp. Across the inlet arums thumped and voices rose in drunken squalling. When the celebration ended, Hawk would be in his lookout waiting to see the outcome of Jose Gaspar's first privy visit.

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  The gold that could make him rich would not go in the jolly boat. Jonas decided that immediately. The boat was chancy and whoever rescued him might not be above temptation. Jonas opened each bag and found them stuffed with Spanish doubloons. Untarnished, gold heavy, they glinted in his palm, each worth two pieces of eight. Jose Gaspar traded his loot for good Spanish gold, far better than the chains, lockets, cups, and jewelry he captured. For this one time, Jonas Hawk agreed with him.

  Under a giant tree, one he could not forget, one with an awkward curve in it so that it would not be chosen for a dugout, Jonas buried his treasure. He kept four pieces and tied them into a rag in his worn pants. They were enough to see him safely to Philadelphia. There, James Cummens would equip him with a powerful ship. Mathew Covert would command. They would blow the pirate lair to kingdom come and lay claim to Gaspar's secret hoard.

  The dreaming thrilled Jonas Hawk as nothing had since the death of the Ruth Covert. In night dark he made his way back to his perch, a new worry pressing on his mind.

  Did he now dare steal food from the pirates? Far better that his presence never be suspected. If Gaspar closely checked his cache and discovered bags missing the least he would do would be to move his treasure. Then Hawk would never find it. Could he manage a Gulf passage without durable supplies? Jonas began to replan.

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  Chapter 9

  At dusk sea winds often fail and after a week at sea Jonas had resigned himself to the hours of tiniest progress. Otherwise night sailing had advantages. The sun did not broil him and he had stars to sail by.

  Day or night, time barely crept by. Accustomed to being alone, Jonas could endure, but his hunger to speak and to listen heightened to an unremitting ache as his tiny craft moved toward its destination.

  But, he had time to think. As the jolly boat plodded ever northwest, Jonas slouched at his steering oar and encouraged his mind to drift.

  Sometimes he remembered the Sherman's Valley years and how sweet they seemed. In an instant he would have traded all of Gaspar's gold to be transported back to the Elan cabin along the Little Juniata. Elan—the name seemed strange even in his thoughts, would he ever again use his right name? After these years as Hawk would he wish to? Would he survive to have a choice?

  More than two months before, Mathew Covert and the overburdened longboat had plied these same waters. To them, Jonas Hawk was dead. By now that word was likely en route to Philadelphia. From there it would be sent to the north valley and his parents would mourn.

  Of course it
was not certain that Mathew Covert and his crew had made it through. The powerful storm that had allowed Jonas to salvage the jolly boat could have struck them as well. On land such a squall was an annoyance; at sea it could be life threatening. But longboats were built to survive and Hawk expected Captain Covert had made a swift passage to New Orleans. By now the captain had probably left the Gulf as a passenger and was personally bearing word of the Ruth Covert's loss homeward.

  What now would the captain do? His ship was gone and his livelihood with it. Covert was not old, but ships did not come easily. Well, when Jonas Hawk destroyed Jose Gaspar and took his treasure he, Jonas, would buy Mathew Covert a new and finer ship to sail across the great oceans.

  Jonas dreamed on.

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  Jonas had launched the jolly boat and provisioned it by starlight. Although his strength was not as great as it had been, the beach slope made launching easier.

  When Jonas judged his thinness of arm and thigh he knew he had waited long enough. His weight had probably stabilized but being half-starved was not particularly promising. The quicker he got away, the sooner he could return, would Jose Gaspar move to another area? Hawk hoped not and doubted the pirate's opportunity to depart. The world grew smaller as each year saw more ships and increased commerce. Pirate lairs became fewer as outraged victims struck back. Perhaps Gaspar would be sunk or taken and hanged. Fine, Hawk thought. The treasure would still be in the privy.

  Jonas' only theft from the pirates had been an open ended cask holding five gallons. The cask was used by many and lay unclaimed beside the shallow depression from which the settlement drew its water. Jonas doubted the cask would be missed.