Haitian Gold Read online

  Haitian Gold

  Tide of Fortune: Book 3

  Steven Becker

  The White Marlin Press

  Copyright © 2016 by Steven Becker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Chapter One

  My toes lightly gripped the stay at the foot of the foresail, feeling each swell as the Panther ran ahead of the wind. I looked aft toward the island barely visible above the horizon and breathed a sigh of relief. There were no sails.

  For a flat island, Grand Cayman seemed to take forever to disappear. When it was finally out of sight, the mood of the crew on deck lightened as well. I felt the stay sway as Shayla nimbly moved from the rope ladder to the wooden cross brace to join me. Her warmth enveloped me as her body leaned into mine. This spot, high in the rigging, was my place to think, plan and sometimes brood. It was an odd feeling not being alone, but with Shayla here, it felt right. We had no need to speak. Just being in each other’s company was enough. It had been only a week since I had met her—a week that had seen our fortune lost and then recovered, all of us made even richer by the addition of the ton of silver we carried in our hold.

  A quick glance at the Panther’s sails confirmed the forty-five-foot schooner was well trimmed, and I felt the strain of the past few days fall away. My confidence grew with each passing swell that we would not be pursued by the governor, especially with his man bound in the hold, ready to give testimony in exchange for his life.

  Our course was set a hair north of due east and I hoped to see the first of the two smaller islands any moment. We needed a quick repair to the hull, and both islands were rumored to have good anchorages. I had no intention of careening her again; except for the spot that had taken cannon shot from the governor’s frigate, the hull was sound.

  The wind was fair from the southeast, which made for good sailing, but we were heading into the rainy season and I hoped the weather would serve us well, providing a cloud burst before too long. We had plenty of food, especially with Blue and Lucy manning the lines trolled from the stern. The two small pigmies howled in delight as they pulled in fish after fish. Fresh water was a different matter, though. The Caymans held little and I knew we were running low.

  I looked below at the freed slaves, a welcome addition to our previously skeleton crew, working in a chain to stow the treasure deep into the bilge. It had worked for the British, to disguise their wealth from pirates and French privateers; it would work for us as well. Under the supervision of Mason the last of the stones deep in the keel had been jettisoned, replaced by the silver castings salvaged from the Wreck of the Ten Sail. Now that the new ballast was in place, the Panther was again trimmed properly and making good time. The men grinned and talked freely as they worked, knowing a part of the treasure hidden below belonged to them.

  I was lost in thought recalling how I had come to be captain of this rabble. It was hard to believe it had only been three short years since Gasparilla, the infamous pirate, had taken the ship my family was on. I knew not the fate of my parents, but over time my bitterness and anger had diminished and I had fallen in love with the sea. I became his cabin boy and confidant and later escaped his demise with a small number of surviving crew and a good portion of the loot.

  My thoughts drifted to Rory. How different it had been with her. Now that I knew the reason behind her constant questions and nagging I scolded myself for not having seen it earlier. Returning to England by whatever means available had been her only goal. I had thought I loved her, but, although I was voted captain by the crew and commanded this ship, I was only eighteen and had to admit my naivety in such matters.

  One of the men called from the deck. I woke from my trance, moving to the edge of the spar for an unobstructed view. A cloud dead ahead hovered over a thin line of black on the water. Little Cayman. I looked further east and toward the starboard side and saw another cloud marking its sister, Cayman Brac. There we would anchor and repair the ship.

  I could feel the boat respond to the change in course and held tight as the Panther, now close-hauled, bit into the waves. Passing the smaller island, we headed toward Brac. When its trees and beach were visible, I kissed Shayla and climbed down to the deck, shouting words of encouragement and praise to the men, calling any name of the freedmen that I remembered as I made my way to the helm.

  “Where’s Phillip?” I asked Swift, who was at the wheel. Shayla’s father was a local and veteran of the sea. We needed him if we were going to avoid the treacherous reefs that ringed these islands.

  “Sent Red below to find him,” Swift answered.

  A few minutes later, Red emerged with Phillip in tow and the two came toward the helm. When Rhames joined us, I found myself looking at the last remaining men from the Floridablanca.

  “Is there an anchorage we can use here to repair the ship? Something away from the governor’s eyes?” I asked Phillip.

  “It’s been thirty years since I’ve been to sea,” he answered. “I don’t remember much from my youth, but the traders described these islands well enough.”

  He put his hand to his brow to get his bearings. “The further island, Brac, is best. There’s water on that one,” he said.

  That was good news. “And what of an anchorage?” I asked.

  “If it were me, I’d stay offshore and do a bit of reconnaissance. Pirates have been known to use these islands to replenish their water and food stocks.”

  Pirates. The word grated on me. Since our escape we carried that brand at every turn. There was no washing the stink off. That was precisely why Pott, the man bound in our hold, was still alive. It was my intention to present him to the crown’s man in Jamaica to testify to our innocence as well as alert the crown to the treachery of the governor of Grand Cayman. We had to do this before the governor made his own report incriminating us.

  A Letter of Marque was my goal. The document would allow us to move about under the protection of the crown as privateers. Though privateers were a breed a bit too close to pirates for my liking, I intended to use the moniker to legitimize our crew, even though it would cost us half of our treasure. As far as I was concerned, half was better than nothing, and right now, without a place to spend it, that was all our treasure was worth.

  The silver we had just recovered from the wreck was another matter. That could be melted, recast and sold.

  “Right then. Mason, take the wheel and let’s set a watch. Get the best eyes in the rigging and let’s see if we have company.”

  Once the watch was set, I stayed by the wheel watching the approach. The smaller island was barely visible on the horizon now. We were close to the Brac and starting to circle her. The bluffs to the east were immediately visible. Well over one hundred feet, they were by far the highest landmark for miles. Waves crashed against their base and I was so distracted that I forgot what I supposed to be looking for.

  “What do we want to do about that?” Mason asked, pointing to a mast poking up on the other side of the island.

  I turned away from the scenery. A lone mast in such a barren section of water was not a good sign. Most merchants traveled in convoys. A single ship was likely a pirate or privateer.

  “The repair can wait.” I looked at the cloudless sky, estimating how long our barrels of water would last without rain. “We can reach Jamaica in a day if the wind holds. There’s just enou
gh fresh water for the passage.”

  We were past the bluff, heading east toward open water, when I saw the other ship’s sails raise. I called the men to stations and sprang to the rigging. I climbed to the topsail, clinging to the sheets to get the best vantage point to evaluate the threat. Shayla was still on the spar where I had left her and I saw the fear in her eyes. I nodded across the open space, doing my best to reassure her. The bluffs that had fascinated me just a few minutes before now hindered my vision, and I waited for the ship to reappear.

  The ship cleared the island under full sail. She was every bit our equal, though I could tell she was not in the best repair. We might have a chance at escape. The Panther was fast and her hull recently cleaned, but with our inexperienced crew I wasn’t sure we could coax the last few knots from her.

  I heard Mason call orders to the men and the ship responded. It would take a few minutes to see if we could distance ourselves or if we would have to turn and fight.

  Chapter Two

  With full sails, we put enough distance to place us safely out of cannon range and I focused on the seas ahead. Rhames called the men back to their stations from the stern rail, where they were staring at the ship.

  “What’s with her sails?” one called out.

  I turned to the stern and with the glass I could clearly see what they were talking about. She was poorly rigged and her sails were half black and half white. It was indeed a pirate ship. I had seen enough and climbed down to the deck.

  “Pirates,” I confirmed. “They’ve got to be in bad shape to be flying black sails during the day.” It was a common ruse to use the soot-stained sails at night to avoid the reflection of the moon.

  I looked to Rhames, Swift and Red, the last of Gasparilla’s gang, and the expressions on their faces were pretty clear. They wanted to take her.

  “Nick,” Rhames started, just before I stared him down, wanting the respect of my position. He went quiet and waited.

  Again the democracy of pirate crews was haunting me. Rhames would want a vote and I was certain I would be on the losing end. But as I looked back at the ship I knew what I needed to do.

  “We take her!” I yelled.

  A roar of approval came from the men on deck and I was immediately grateful for my instincts.

  “Prepare the guns! Arm the men! Come about and set the course to take her on the starboard side,” I yelled. The men cheered again and scrambled to their stations. I felt the sea change under my feet as the bow turned through the wind and the sails snapped over.

  “Captain, if I may,” Mason started.

  Mason was my closest confidant and if it had come to a vote, I could usually count on him, but from his look I knew he disagreed now. The burly Georgian and I had spent many hours in conversation about the future and both agreed piracy in the Caribbean was at an end. I already suspected his opinion of my actions. “That ship’ll come in handy,” I said, lowering my voice so only he could hear.

  “It’s piracy,” he said and spat on the deck.

  “Is it piracy to take a pirate or a slaver?”

  I wanted to remind him of the circumstance from which we had saved him. We had survived the interior of Florida and escaped the Everglades when we came upon the Panther anchored in the mouth of the Snake River on the west coast of Florida. Pirates had brought her there, seeking shelter in a storm. We took the ship and freed Mason from the hold. When we discovered him, several of his mates were already dead, lying next to him in their chains.

  “I don’t have to like it.” He spat again.

  “We could easily run, or we can put them out of business.”

  I turned to Swift and asked him to bring Pott, our prisoner, on deck. Pott’s eyewitness report of the Panther taking a pirate ship would surely aid our cause.

  The ships’ paths were converging, and I saw a change come over the pirate ship. Where only seconds before she had seemed on her last leg, now her sails were trimmed to perfection and she was cutting a course not to evade us, but to confront us. Rhames saw it too.

  “Foul play, the bastard,” he exclaimed. “This is going to be more of a fight than we planned.” He left me at the helm and went to the gunners, slapping backs and shouting encouragement as he worked his way down the line, checking placements and adjusting elevations.

  Whatever was about to happen, I needed more information, so I took to the rigging. I was relieved that Shayla was still there but encouraged her to climb higher until the action was finished. If they intended to board us and take the ship, they would likely blast us with a round of grape aimed at the deck, and I wanted her safe from that and the small-arms fire that often preceded the grappling hooks. Unless the mast was taken down by a direct hit, it was the safest place aboard.

  “It’s a fight then?” she asked.

  I didn’t bother to answer. I glanced down at the deck and watched Rhames working frantically to instruct the crew leaders and arm the men. With the glass to my eye I studied our opponent. She was indeed ready for battle and we had badly underestimated her.

  We were a quarter mile apart now, just enough sea room to jibe and steer wide of the ship, but I knew we had to fight. If she was indeed a better ship than we’d assumed, she would turn and chase us. Already I had seen her black sails come down one at a time, replaced by fine canvas. If we were to win her, we needed to take her on our own terms. I climbed down to direct the action.

  Pott stood by the helm. “What’s this piracy that you insist I witness?” he demanded.

  I placed an arm around his shoulder and pointed a finger toward the pirate ship, now only a hundred yards away. “Mr. Pott,” I told him, “that is a pirate, sir.” I then called the order to prepare guns.

  “Fire!” Rhames yelled, and silence prevailed for the interminable few seconds from when the flint struck the pan to the explosion from the barrel. There was a deafening boom and the Panther heeled to port. We rocked back, but there was too much smoke to see the result of our broadside.

  “Set the hooks!” Rhames roared and threw the first grappling hook across the void to the other ship.

  Two other hooks followed and the men worked in teams pulling the boats together. The first boarding party was perched on the rail ready to go when we took their broadside. At this range, their guns would be trained to fire solid balls at our hull and grape shot at the decks. They intended to sink us before we could board. It was a patient captain that would endure the first shot and wait for the hooks before firing.

  “Go!” I called to the stunned crew. The fate of our own ship was out of our hands. “Mason, evaluate the damage.”

  I took the cutlass from the scabbard at my side and went for the rail. When I looked back, I saw Pott frozen like a statue by the wheel. I gave him a cavalier look I didn’t feel and, bracing myself for the unknown, I jumped across the void, landing squarely on the deck of the pirate ship. The defenders backed away as several waves of our men swung across the divide, covered by the small-arms fire of the men remaining on our deck.

  Hand-to-hand fighting was not my strong point, but I knew if I wanted to lead this ragtag group, I would need to be in front. Knowing my weakness for killing, Rhames and Red came to my side and took out two men each as we approached. Fortunately I never had to draw blood.

  It was the sheer number of men that did it in the end. With the addition of the freed slaves to our crew, we outmanned the pirates two to one. Soon, the pirate crew was in a group around the mainmast with our men closing on all sides, the bloodlust clear in their eyes. I thought of Mason. Taking a pirate ship was one matter, the slaughter of her crew another. We were close enough to land that they could be put off in a longboat and have a chance at surviving.

  I screamed for them to halt, but only a few heads turned. The deck was too loud. I attempted to push my way toward the mast, but the bulk of our crew was pushing closer as well. With no other option, I took the cutlass and slammed it into the rail, cutting the main sheet.

  The sail bellowed a
nd dropped, distracting everyone below as it fell to the deck. Instinct took hold of me and I grabbed the end of the line and held tight. The weight of the sail took me into the rigging and I found myself on the main yard. Below, there was confusion as our crew backed out from under the sail, leaving the pirates trapped underneath.

  “Well done!” I yelled.

  Chapter Three

  “Round them up and take an accounting,” I yelled down to Rhames as our crew slowly peeled back the sail, ready to bind the men underneath. The situation on deck in hand, I glanced over at our ship to inspect the damage and saw Shayla twisted in the rigging.

  She was caught in a mangled web of lines and wood. I panicked, thinking she was dead until I caught her eye. Sweat poured off her and she looked exhausted.

  “Hang on!” I screamed and climbed down to the deck of the pirate ship. I left Rhames to the task of rounding up the pirates, a duty he relished. With three of the freedmen who I had observed to be comfortable in the rigging, we crossed to the Panther’s deck and started to climb.

  The rigging was severely damaged and Shayla looked like she was spent and barely hanging on. The closer we got, the more precarious her situation appeared. The lines holding her were all damaged by the shot, their strands unraveling. Fortunately the rope ladder was intact and I was able to scurry up to her position, but when I arrived, I saw the spar was gone and I was unable to reach her.

  With broken Spanish and hand motions I directed the men working their way towards her, commanding each to approach from a different angle so as not to put too much stress on any one line. We had her surrounded, but still couldn’t reach her. I thought about using one of the loose lines to swing to her but was not sure if the remaining rigging would hold me. I looked down to see Blue watching us. With his weight being under one hundred pounds, he would have been perfect for the task, had it not been for his fear of heights.