Haitian Gold Page 12

  “He is awake,” Lucy called out.

  We jumped up and went to the hut. Pierre was sitting up now, drinking tea. “It is good to see you, my friend,” I said.

  “And you as well,” he responded, his voice hoarse.

  Shayla spoke something to him but all I could make out was Cloe’s name. At the mention of her he smiled and then looked at me.

  “He wants to know what has happened,” Shayla said.

  I looked at him watching me. I left nothing out, pausing only to answer his questions.

  “So, he is dead?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “And Cloe has remained?” he asked.

  “Yes, she seemed to think you would understand her reasons.”

  He sat up straighter and I could sense his authority. The silence grew uncomfortable while we waited for him to answer.

  “There is no way to take control without the gold. We may be able to hold off the president in the South, but not for long,” he said. He looked deflated.

  “And there are no other clues to where the treasure was taken?” I asked, not sure that I wanted the answer if it lay anywhere in this country.

  “I will speak to the chief. He knows this island and can tell me what he has heard since I was sold into slavery,” Pierre said.

  He got up and took a few tentative steps.

  “We plan to leave in the morning,” I said.

  “I will have information and a decision by then,” Shayla translated and he walked out of the hut.

  “Tell him that we will join him.” We were equal partners and had gone through considerable pains to get here. I did not want to be undermined and have the treasure taken from us. We walked together back to the fire past incredulous looks and dropped draws as the villagers saw Pierre fully healed. The chief was still by the fire.

  “Don’t interpret. Just the important parts,” I told Shayla and we sat down.

  After an extended conversation that seemed to be amongst old friends, Shayla whispered in my ear. “He says we were closer before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This dialect is strange to me, but from what I can gather, it seems that Henri became ever more paranoid before his death. There are rumors that he had the treasure removed from the island and taken north.”

  “Great Inagua?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  The chief rose a few minutes later. “And what is your decision?” I asked Pierre. There was light in the sky now and I wanted to move out.

  “I cannot take this country without a treasury. If you are willing we will go back to the Bahamas and find this gold.”

  I was already getting anxious about our ships and the treasure. “And then?”

  “He asks that you provide him transport back to Haiti.”

  I agreed. If he was able to take the island it might be a safe refuge—away from the Americans and British who both sought us.

  The sky was lighter now and we went back to the hut to rouse the others. The chief hugged Pierre before we left and gave us two canoes with his warriors to guide us to the mouth of the river. Once there I hoped we would find Rhames and signal the Caiman.

  We set off in a convoy of four canoes, with several of his warriors in each to navigate the river. Its course took us through several sections of rapids. The smaller ones we rode through, the larger we portaged around. By nightfall we landed on a beach by the ocean.

  I searched the horizon for any sign of Rhames, but the boats fishing on the reef line a quarter mile offshore all looked the same. I guessed that if we couldn’t see him, we would be invisible as well. We had lost the bundle of Chinese rockets somewhere in the brush and I sought for a way to signal him. I paced along the beach, staring at the boats, and upon turning, I ran straight into the pirate.

  “Bloody hell would I like to get off this cursed island,” Rhames said.

  We clapped each other on the back. “What about a boat?”

  “Aye, the natives are a bit prickly,” he said.

  Reunited by whatever stroke of luck, we needed to signal Mason, but without the flares, he would never know it was us. I put the question to the group and Pierre responded.

  “He says there is a substance they used on the sugar plantations that will light the sky when mixed with powder.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but Rhames seemed interested.

  Pierre got up and touched Blue on the shoulder. “He says they will be back by midnight. Something about a sugar beet plantation not far from here.” Shayla shrugged. “I have no ideas what he means.”

  “You should take Rhames and Swift for protection,” I offered.

  He shook his head. “He says they walk like oafs.”

  They left and we settled in to wait. I used the opportunity to lay out our supplies and weapons. Rhames and Swift helped clean the guns while Shayla sorted out our food stores. Lucy took Red back to the river to clean his wound. We packed everything in palm fronds, anticipating a wet exit from the country, and settled in to wait.

  The moon was high in the sky when they returned, but by the look on their faces I knew they had been successful. Pierre came forward and laid out a pile of a chalklike substance they had packed in a piece of cloth.

  We gathered around like it was something precious, and it was—I recognized it at once as saltpeter.

  I debated whether to start the fire now, and saw no downside. With Jean-Jean dead, the military would be in disarray and I doubted anyone was looking for us. Besides, if they did find us, we were well armed and ready. I asked Rhames to set up our defenses in case we drew in the wrong people and went with Blue and Pierre to start a fire.

  With all the wood still soaked from the rain, it was harder than I’d expected. While we waited for the wet timbers to dry and catch, Rhames dumped a handful of black powder onto the sputtering flames, which quickly ignited the wood. The flames were high in the sky now and I saw Rhames looking around the camp. He had combined the saltpeter and the remainder of our powder.

  “We need something round and hollow,” he said.

  There was nothing I could think of that would fit his description and I was about to give up when Blue took one of their blowguns and, using a sharp rock, cut it into half a dozen pieces. In each he packed the powder, then took a stick and hollowed out the middle.

  One at time he tossed the tubes onto the fire. For a long minute we stood staring at the flames in defeat. Nothing in this country had gone as planned; why should we expect our exit to be any different? I turned away, trying to come up with any other way to signal Mason, when the fire sputtered. Hoping for the best, I turned around, but the flame died down. I looked away again and stared at the ocean, hoping for the sight of a sail in the moonlight, when the second tube blew. This time it launched a few feet in the air before sputtering. The other tubes did the same and my hope died with them.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rhames had not given up, though. I noticed he had gathered some seaweed and set it close to the fire. He then pulled some embers out and scooped them into a shell with a stick. We were all watching him now as he took some of the dried seaweed and placed it in another shell. He was intent on what he was doing and a rare smile crossed his battle-worn face. Despite our situation, I could tell he was enjoying himself. With a small rock he ground the two substances. Once he had a quantity of each, he mixed the seaweed, charcoal and saltpeter together, carefully judging the color before adjusting the proportions.

  “Mind the ladies,” he said, turning to the mixture and urinating on it. “Works like a charm,” he laughed and turned back to us. He took the paste and spread it on several green palm fronds, setting them a safe distance from the fire, but still within range of its heat.

  I left the group and went to the water’s edge. It was low tide and the wet sand felt good on my bare feet. Shayla came up beside me and together we stared out to sea.

  “Do you think they saw it?” she asked.

  I was
careful not to inflict my pessimism on her. “We won’t know till morning. He won’t chance an approach in the dark.” I moved backwards as a large wave crashed at my feet. There were still a few hours until sunrise and together we walked back to the camp to find a place to rest. Rhames, Blue and Pierre were busy by the fire. They had collected several large conch shells and stuffed them full of the mixture and were about to throw them on the fire.

  “Stop! Those are bombs,” I said.

  “Bloody right they are,” Rhames said proudly.

  My spirit had ebbed, but not enough to watch him blow us up. “Wait for the dawn and if he doesn’t show, we’ll give it a shot.” I waited until they had backed away from the fire before moving to where Shayla sat by a large palm tree. I tried to rest, but sleep eluded me. I couldn’t sit still.

  “What is it?” Shayla murmured, half-asleep.

  “No worries, get some rest,” I said and walked towards the brush. Rhames’s crude bombs had given me an idea. The tubes we had tried earlier were a step in the right direction; they were just not the right projectiles. It was hard going in the dark, especially not being sure what I was looking for. With sweeping motions, I scoured the brush, looking for anything that was hollow, or could easily be whittled out. Sharp leaves cut my arms and mosquitos swarmed around my face as I moved inland. I continued forward and stumbled into a small salt marsh. The reeds snapped in my hands when I grabbed them for support and I looked at the hollowed-out section of the broken stem. I quickly gathered as many as I could carry and ran back to the fire.

  I set them down and one at a time cut the reeds into foot-long pieces, using a small stalk to hollow out the centers, then sharpened one end and filled them with powder. Rhames saw what I was doing and came over to help. He dragged several embers from the main fire and started a smaller blaze a few feet away. The first rays of the sun were in the sky now and we needed to move fast to gain the maximum effect if the rockets actually worked. We moved our possessions to the water’s edge and gathered together.

  “Who’s it going to be?” I asked, looking for a volunteer.

  “You’ll not let me miss this,” Rhames answered and went to the fire before anyone else could speak.

  The rest of us stood by the water, what we hoped was a safe distance from the fires. Rhames took the first stalk, jammed the sharpened end into the smaller fire and jumped back. Nothing happened and he was about to reach his hand in when with a burst, the stalk shot into the air, leaving a trail of sparks behind it. He hooted like a child and set two more in the fire. The first rocket reached its apex and exploded, showering sparks behind it.

  He set off the remaining rockets two at a time. When he was finished we stood together on the shore watching for any sign of a ship. If Mason had not seen the display, he was nowhere near. I turned away after a few minutes, not wanting to think of our options if he hadn’t seen the flares.

  “There!” Swift yelled. “There she is!”

  A ship showed on the horizon, clearly moving toward the beach. We watched as the shape of the Caiman became visible. Under full sail, she came within a quarter mile of the beach and hove to. The skiff was dropped and several men climbed in. Within minutes they were on the beach, but a gunshot tore my attention from our rescuers. Down the beach, a band of uniformed soldiers kneeled in the sand and fired. We hit the beach just in time and the bullets flew over our heads. More men were coming toward us. Obviously our rockets had been seen by our enemies as well.

  “Into the skiff,” I ordered and waited for them to load up. “Everyone in. Go!”

  “What about you?” Rhames called.

  “I’ll swim.” Before they could hesitate I ran toward the fire, turning back to make sure they had pushed off. They were in the swells now, working hard to get past the breakers before they were swamped. I moved to the far side of the fire, hoping it obscured me from the attackers’ view. They were split into two groups now, one reloading to fire on the skiff, the other running toward me. I grabbed the shells that Rhames had made, hoping they would actually work, and moved to the edge of the brush. I heard a round of gunfire and looked out at the skiff bobbing in the calmer water beyond the surf. I could see the bullets hit the water just short of them. The men ran forward, shortening the angle of their shot, and started to reload. The skiff was in range now and I had to act.

  I left the cover of the brush and threw two of the shells into the fire. Not knowing what to expect, I dove back into the brush for cover and waited. Seconds later the first bomb blew up, scattering burning branches and red-hot embers a hundred feet in each direction. I brushed the sparks off myself and watched the soldiers scatter and run for cover when the second round blew, throwing more embers after them. In their haste they had run right past me. I waited a few seconds and ran for the surf.

  Someone yelled behind me and several shots fired. To escape them, I dove into a wave, staying underwater for as long as I could. I surfaced briefly and swam hard for the Caiman. They fired another round and I chanced a look back at the beach. Seeing I was out of range, I eased my stroke. The soldiers stood in a line on the beach staring at me.

  I reached the ladder and climbed aboard. Within seconds, Mason had ordered the ship to come about and slowly the Caiman turned and headed out to sea. I wasn’t sure who else had seen the fireworks, and I’d had enough action for one day. The sooner we were over the horizon, the better I would feel.

  Mason adjusted the course and the sails filled with the wind. We were moving now and I started to relax as the beach faded from view. Exhausted, I collapsed on the deck.

  Someone handed me a mug of water. The sweet rainwater tasted good after inhaling more salt water than I would have liked on my swim out. Finally I had enough energy to rise and went to the helm.

  Mason and Rhames were there looking at the chart. “It was there the whole time?” I heard Mason ask him.

  They made room for me and together we looked at Great Inagua. “Where do you think it is?”

  I went to find Pierre. He was in my cabin with Shayla. The logbook was in front of them, but they were focused on each other. My blood started to boil when she touched his elbow and they both shared a smile. I cleared my throat and spoke, trying to hide my irritation. “We’ll be needing a destination.”

  He didn’t look up, but turned his attention to the book, glancing back at the chart every few seconds, shaking his head as if nothing had just happened. He spoke again and I wished there was someone else to translate. The two were too close for my liking.

  “He says there are two reefs on the south side of the island. A northwest heading will get you close,” she said.

  I went back to the helm and relayed the instructions to Mason. He set the watch and Red took the wheel.

  “How’s the arm?” I asked, noticing the small piece of cloth still wrapped around it.

  “Pretty close to healed now, thanks to that woman,” he said and swung the wheel to our new course, calling to the men in the rigging to adjust the sails to a broad reach.

  We settled in for what I hoped was an easy and uneventful passage. Finally the tips of the high mountains vanished below the horizon and I went down to my cabin. Pierre and Shayla were still there, but at least they appeared to be working out a math problem on the table.

  “Can we talk?” I asked Shayla.

  She turned to Pierre and said something that made him laugh. It was all I could do to control myself when she touched his arm when he rose.

  “What’s with you and the Haitian?”

  She turned to look at me. “His name is Pierre. What’s bothering you?”

  She had asked it as if there was nothing wrong. I was flustered now and the words sputtered from my mouth. “The two of you. Your secrets and looks and …”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, is that it?” she laughed.

  “Don’t dismiss me like that,” I said.

  She rose and faced me. “Dear Nick, it’s his woman, Cloe. That’s what we talk about. I didn’t think you�
��d want to hear about his personal affairs.” She stepped forward.

  I felt the fool but didn’t know what to do. Backing down too easily made me look weak, and my jealous fit had already embarrassed me. She seemed to sense my dilemma.

  “At first he was concerned and told me about their meeting and life together. Now he is just happy.”

  She leaned into me and I felt her tongue in my mouth. Before I could say anything we were on the bunk.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I woke with a start sometime in the middle of the night. Lying in bed, I tried to go back to sleep, but the riddle of the chart and the logbook ran through my mind. Shayla snored quietly next to me, and it took an effort to leave her.

  I went on deck and relieved myself, staring into the night sky and wondering how to unravel the clues the French captain had left. Swift had the watch, and I went to the wheel, where we exchanged a few words. He gave me our location and I looked into the rigging to make sure the sails were reefed. The wind had shifted during the previous day, moving to the north, forcing us to tack in order to make headway. The maneuvers delayed us, but I expected we would make landfall sometime in the late morning.

  I said goodnight and went down to the cabin, where I lit a lantern, placing it so the light was focused on the table, though just enough bled onto Shayla so I could see her form. I looked over and smiled at her clinging to the pillow where I had just lain, an impish grin on her face.

  I pulled the logbook and paper toward me. There were some rudimentary angles drawn on the scratch paper, but I immediately knew they were wrong. My eyelids were heavy, and I had nodded off twice in the chair before I decided to take a break. “Maybe if I get some sleep it will come,” I said quietly to myself so as not to wake her, and I collapsed on the bunk next to her.

  As I lay there it dawned on me that people did their dreaming on charts. I remembered some of the old charts Gasparilla had shown me with dragons and sea monsters marking the unknown. The logbook, on the other hand, was a historical record of where the ship had been and what they had done. The answer had to be on the chart still unfolded on the table.