by Hays, Lara
A group of men rushed at Nicholas and pulled him from my view.
“No! Nicholas! Nicholas?”
The boat rocked peacefully next to the Banshee just as before. Slowly, so slowly that I did not notice it at first, the distance between the jollyboat and the ship grew. I was adrift now. Each wave pushed me farther from the Banshee. Away from Nicholas. I waited for him to jump. The distance between the boat and the Banshee grew. The sounds of the scuffling onboard the ship faded and I could only hear the sloshing of the waves and my own frenzied breathing.
In desperation I called out for Nicholas again and again.
He could still make it. He was strong. He could swim the distance. He could still make it.
My eyes ached from staring so hard at the ship, a shrinking toy on the horizon. Its peaceful bobbing and graceful sails betraying whatever violence was occurring on deck.
“Nicholas!”
I clutched the sides of the boat in a death grip. Desperation crushed me and I nearly jumped from the boat to swim back for him.
It was too late. I had drifted too far. He was not coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Endless blue stretched in all directions. The pale blue of the sky melted into the bottomless blue of the ocean as far as I could see. The glaring white sun was the only thing interrupting the blue monotony. The brownish-grey speck that was the Banshee faded hours ago.
I sat stiffly, clutching the edges of the jollyboat in disbelief, dried tear stains crusting on my cheeks. This had been the great escape plan? Now what?
The sun was climbing the eastern sky, casting its blinding light on the dancing waters. The air was already heavy at this hour. It was going to be a hot day.
Nicholas said there was land nearby. He knew better than to plant us both in the middle of the sea without the prospect of nearby civilization. To do otherwise be certain death—and an unpleasant one at that. Two oars lay in the bottom of the jollyboat, but without knowing what direction to paddle, I dismissed them as useless.
A grey canvas bag was next to the oars. It contained three sizeable flasks filled with fetid water; a stash of hardtack and dried, salted beef; a dirk; and a wide, tar-covered hat. I was glad for Nicholas’s foresight in packing these things before he fetched me; glad that the canvas bag had made it into the boat even though he did not.
The presence of the bag kept me calm. It was not much, but it would keep me alive for a day or two. Hopefully by then…by then, what? Perhaps the ship would return for me so they could execute me properly instead of letting the blaring sun finish me?
I clutched the bag to my breast. It represented more than my survival. It was a tangible symbol of Nicholas. He was supposed to be with me. This escape was meant for the two of us. Maybe it was childish, but I drew comfort in the bag, a symbol of his intentions.
The sun climbed higher and higher in the sky. I was desperately hot and reluctant to drink the water. I worried that I’d guzzle it all in a minute. I allowed myself a sip. After tasting the water, that fear immediately vanished. I would have to be dying of thirst before I would swallow that stuff again.
I removed the hat from the bag and dipped it in the ocean. Water beaded up and rolled off the top, which had been smeared with tar for such purpose, but the underside absorbed the moisture. I placed it on my head and felt much cooler. At least I would not die with a sunburned face.
The day passed slowly. I wanted to lie down across the benches and rest, but I was afraid that if I were not constantly shifting my weight, the boat would capsize.
A shrill cry broke the silence.
Startled, I looked around for the source of the piercing noise. High in the sky a wisp of cloud slowly moved with the breeze. As my eyes focused on the small white spot, I realized it was not a cloud at all, but a gull loping in the atmosphere. My heart soared. If a bird was nearby, land was too.
I squinted into the sun and contorted my neck to watch the gull, afraid of blinking and losing sight of it for even a second.
The bird careened through the sky, and the boat seemed to follow it. Nicholas said there were good currents here. Maybe the ocean was taking me where I needed to be.
The sun drifted lazily into the horizon, taking its light with it. Fear swelled in me when the bird faded in the day’s dying light. I scrambled to see the full breadth of the sky. I’d lost the gull.
Dejected, I plunked myself down upon the floor of the boat and leaned against a wooden bench and slept a shallow sleep.
With the peach glow of the sunrise, I looked for signs of life or land. I was disappointed—but not surprised—when I saw neither.
Rifling through the canvas sack for food, my first impulse was to eat the hardtack and save the more nourishing beef for later. But when I remembered that I could very easily die in this jollyboat today, whether from hungry sharks or severe heatstroke, I decided to eat what I wanted. I nibbled on a small piece of tough beef and watched the sunrise turn the entire sky in to a gleaming, golden treasure. The ocean reflected every nuance of the sky, the sparkle of the waves adding magic to the sight. It was the most magnificent sunrise I had ever seen. I should have been watching it with Nicholas.
Despite my dire circumstances, I felt a sort of self-possession I had never known before. I no longer lived in fear of what another person might do to me. I feared pain. I feared the absence of my agency—something that had been all but stripped from me aboard the Banshee. Adrift in this small boat, I was threatened by the heat of the sun and the depth of the ocean, but it was a threat I was somehow better equipped to face.
I thought of my father and what his last moments of life had been like. Had he survived the hurricane only to die while drifting on a calm sea? Perhaps he had been crushed by the ship’s implosion, or just simply drowned. Had he, like Nicholas, placed me adrift in a jollyboat in a final attempt to save my life?
I shuddered to think of what might be happening to Nicholas. My imagination spun with the brutal pirate punishments I’d heard of. Lashings. Dunking in the ocean. Marooning on an island. Keelhauling.
The image of Nicholas dangling in a noose flashed before my eyes.
He said they wanted to hang him. He could already be dead. Maybe they had not even bothered to execute him formally; maybe they impaled him with their swords when they pulled him away from the railing.
No. I refused to believe it.
Nicholas was an officer. Until two weeks ago, he had been respected by his crew—as respected as a pirate can be. His skills were valuable. They would not want to lose him. But they would punish him. No doubt about that.
The day passed much like the day before. I shifted my weight constantly to counteract the lunging of the boat. It was exhausting. I forced myself to take occasional swallows of the stale water to stave off dehydration. I searched the sky for more gulls but found none. In the late afternoon I spotted a grey mass on the horizon and laughed joyously, thinking that I saw land. My heart plummeted when the shadow shifted and rolled across the sky—a distant storm.
The ocean grew agitated during the night, and the wind sprayed across the pitching waves. Black clouds sheathed the sky, muffling any light from the heavens. Claustrophobia enveloped me. It was strange to feel confined when I knew I was surrounded endlessly by sky and sea, but in the darkness of this heavy night, I could not see past the edge of my small boat. Unfounded fears of shadowy sea monsters haunted me. I was too terrified to sleep. The night felt everlasting.
Even the rising sun battled with the darkness of the thick clouds. Finally, though, there was enough light to see the unchanging scenery around me. Instead of endless blue, I was encompassed by eternal grey.
I looked behind me and cried in surprise when I saw a fat gull sitting on the boat’s edge. The startled bird took flight. I watched in eager delight as the bird sailed through the sky towards a faint shadow on the horizon. I sprung to my feet for a better look, dancing wildly to keep my balance.
There was a definite shadow on the
horizon. Its shape was indistinct, but it was an unchanging, solid mass. Land!
I grabbed an oar and paddled towards the shadow. With no landmarks to gauge my progress, I couldn’t be sure I was propelling the boat along or just wasting my energy. No matter. I was too anxious to simply sit still and wait on the tide.
The grey mass grew, becoming darker and more distinct in shape. Though it seemed small, lush vegetation and palm trees flourished on the isle. Shelter. Land. Fresh food. Fresh water. I almost cried.
The sun was setting. I had to get to that island before it was too dark to see. If I didn’t, the ocean’s current might pull me away and it would be impossible to recover from that. I would take no chances. I fought my burning muscles and paddled harder. When I finally felt the oar brush against sand, I grabbed the rope still attached to the jollyboat and plunged into the ocean.
Water rushed over my head and I bobbed to the surface, laughing with glee. I swam forward and the boat floated easily beside me. My feet finally found the shifting sands of the ocean floor. I walked backwards, leaning against the pull of the boat with all my might. It offered greater resistance with each step I took. Every inch of me ached. I was tempted to let the boat drift away, but I knew it could provide essential shelter during the night. It could be the difference between life and death.
With shaking legs and burning arms, I heaved the boat onto the beach.
I had made it!
I collapsed and dug my fingers into the golden sand.
“You were right, Nicholas,” I whispered. “We found land. You were right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I deciphered my surroundings the best I could in the deepening twilight. A broad white beach stretched down the length of the island as far as I could see. Towards the interior of the island, the sand bled into a forest of palms and ferns obscured with ominous shadows.
Not wanting to sleep on the sand, I climbed into the jollyboat and curled up in the bottom, giving myself up to exhaustion.
Soft raindrops woke me in the night. Annoyed, I crammed the tar-covered hat on my head. Its brim was full of water that splashed down the back of my neck. I shivered, grumbling under my breath. Inspiration struck and I placed the empty canteen on a bench to catch the fresh rain.
Exhausted though I was, it was too much to ask to sleep through the strengthening storm. Brilliant flashes of lightning danced around me, the accompanying thunder rattled my chest. The wind lashed at the surrounding trees, and waves pounded the beach, battering the jollyboat. I worried that the tide would carry me away. Begrudgingly, I uncurled myself and hopped out onto the sand. I pulled the boat a bit farther onto the rain-soaked beach, then dragged the rope towards the forest. I fought my nerves as I stared into the black abyss of a jungle.
Quickly, I knotted the long rope around the slender trunk of a palm, hoping it would hold. I dashed back to my boat and huddled inside.
My stomach rumbled with hunger.
The canvas bag was lying in a shallow puddle at the boat’s bottom, soaking wet. I groaned. The hardtack was ruined, a soggy mess. I pulled out one of the strips of dried beef. Though the seasonings had been rinsed off, it was edible
I tried not to think of what would happen after the beef was gone. I imagined myself marching placidly through the jungle and finding bunches of wild fruit and nuts growing on low-hanging branches that would sustain me like royalty.
It was a naïve notion. I was a stranger in the Caribbean. Even if food were that easy to find, would I even recognize it? I hoped so. My life depended on it.
I pushed away my thoughts of food and replaced them with thoughts of Nicholas. I replayed our last kiss again and again. Losing myself in romantic reverie, I imagined how our courtship would blossom under more traditional circumstances.
I imagined myself back in England, preparing for a night at the theatre. I would wear my favorite ball gown—a dress of dusty lilac silk that made my alabaster skin glow. My cinnamon hair could be styled fashionably on top of my head with intricate braids and cascading ringlets, elegant yet soft. A string of pearls, white gloves, and kid-leather shoes. The butler would announce Nicholas’s arrival. I would glide effortlessly down the stairs, masking my enthusiasm with a wistful smile. Nicholas would be waiting for me in the grand foyer, a dashing smile softening the angles of his face. Barefoot and wearing his canvas breeches and flowing cotton shirt, he would…he would....
Wait.
That was not right.
I changed the image in my mind. Nicholas would be waiting for me in the foyer, wearing…a silken suit and a white wig? A long coat and leggings?
I could not picture it at all, try as I might. He simply looked absurd in any civilized clothing I could imagine.
Annoyed at this disruption in my fantasy, I let him remain in his sailor’s garb and continued with my dream. Nicholas would be waiting for me in the grand foyer, a dashing smile making my blood rush. Barefoot and wearing his canvas breeches and flowing cotton shirt, he would rush to meet me halfway up the stairs, entwining an arm around my waist and kissing me longingly without a word passing between us. I smiled, heart fluttering at the thought.
No, that was wrong too.
Nicholas would wait for me to descend the stairs, all the while admiring my beautiful gown. As I approached him, he would casually reach for my hand, pull me within inches of his face and stare directly into my eyes.
No…Nicholas was not behaving himself. I thought back upon other outings I’d had where an impeccably dressed gentleman met me in the foyer with a hat under his arm, bowed graciously, complimented my gown, and exchanged pleasantries while offering me his arm. It was a familiar script. I knew it well. So why couldn’t I put Nicholas into that role?
* * * * *
The storm subsided, though a lazy rain still dribbled down. The sun broke through the clouds in another magical sunrise, splashing the fractured sky with crimson and gold.
With the dawn breaking, I had enough light to explore my surroundings better. I stumbled out of the jollyboat stiffly. My legs trembled underneath me. More than likely they were tired and overworked, but I wondered if I had spent so much time on the sea that I had lost my land legs. I smirked at the thought.
I checked the canteen I had left on the bench. An inch of water sloshed in the bottom. Not much, but it was something. I set it back on the bench, hoping to catch a few more droplets.
I scanned the beach deciding which direction to explore first. To my right, the beach faded steeply into a short hill that jutted into the ocean, limiting my view of the coast. To my left, untouched sand extended as far as I could see. I picked up my skirts and walked in that direction.
The coastline curved smoothly and I followed along the driest sand I could find. Tiny crabs scuttled across my path in jerky movements. They matched the color of the sand exactly and it took me a moment to realize that the sand itself was not moving. I faintly wondered if the creatures were edible.
I walked until I could no longer see the jollyboat. That was far enough.
I walked back to the boat.
The air was thick with moisture. The heat of the sun did nothing to dry my limp, clammy dress. My head ached and my sore body still shivered from the dampness that encompassed me.
Once back at the boat, my energy was expended. I settled my reluctant muscles between two benches and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I weaved my way through the large crates, barrels, and bins at the dockyard in England. Some were being loaded onto ships while others were being distributed to vendors. Peddlers called to me, trying to entice me with colorful birds, bolts of luxurious fabrics, baskets of exotic spices, and piles of tropical fruits. I ignored them all. I was searching among these crates, searching for something I had not yet found. Beyond the docks, dozens of moored ships gently swayed in the breeze, their countless masts looked like an army of javelins piercing the sky.
As I meandered through the shipping goods, I finall
y found what I was looking for. Arranged on the dock in neat rows was a traveling zoo. A barker called for patrons to visit, “Only three shillings!” he shouted.
I dropped three coins in his hand and crossed into the zoo. A cage of monkeys. Oversized rodents. Two zebras. These distractions held no interest for me. I kept my meandering pace without stopping to take in the sights. I briefly paused at a caged tiger. Its eyes were glazed, and its fur was matted. It panted as if in boredom. I had expected to be awed. I was disappointed. I continued towards the last cage. I knew it would hold the best animal. The closer I got, the more whispers from the crowd I could hear.
“The fiercest of the fierce!” a small boy exclaimed.
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“So majestic.”
“How frightening!” a woman shrieked with excitement.
All crowds vanished as I finally stood before the rusty, tarnished cage and looked at the wild creature within.
It was Nicholas.
He stood in the center of the cage, his eyes fixed on nothing. Forlorn. I wondered what was so majestic and fierce about him. I could not get him to look my way, could not make him behave as he would have in the wild. I was angry. Disappointed.
Then his eyes locked on mine. They were the color of the morning sky. They were wide with shock, shimmering with pain.
A small wet, spot of blood appeared in the center of his abdomen and spread. He clutched at his stomach, his hands turning glossy and red. He looked at me, horrified.
I held a long, thin rapier dripping with his blood.
I startled awake.
My breathing was shallow and my head spun.
I shook the image out of my head.
It was just my mind reliving the horrors on board the ship. It did not mean anything.
It was not prophetic.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
I rubbed my eyes and shifted uncomfortably in the jollyboat.
