Pirate

Steven Becker PIRATE Tides of Fortune: Book One

Copyright © 2015 by Steven Becker

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About the Author

Always looking for a new location or adventure to write about, Steven Becker can usually be found on or near the water. He splits his time between Tampa and the Florida Keys - paddling, sailing, diving, fishing or exploring.

Find out more by visiting www.stevenbeckerauthor.com

or contact me directly at

booksbybecker@gmail.com.

1

The crew was scattered among the bonfires lit to ward off the cold Florida morning. We waited on the beach of what had become known as Gasparilla Island on the west coast of the peninsula called Florida. The men were anxious, all knowing that the next few hours would decide both their fortunes and fates. We had passed bottles of rum back and forth last night as usual, but most remained sober in order to have their wits about them. I stood on the beach searching for any sign of the captain and the treasure we were to split, but as yet he had not appeared.

I felt naked standing alone, knowing all eyes were on me. As cabin boy, I usually stayed close to the captain should he need me, and I feared men’s restlessness would turn against me if he did not appear soon. I had never been sure if it was the four years I had spent by the captain’s side or my own abilities that the crew respected, but they generally left me alone. In fact, many often looked to me for orders, rather than Rhames, the first mate. Most knew that I could read and write, elevating me to the unearned status of advisor. Lately, several of the men had sought me out, asking questions that I couldn’t answer; mainly, what they should do and where they should go with their share of the loot? My value to them was lost if Gasparilla failed to appear.

This morning we were to divide what was left of our efforts to pirate every ship that had crossed our path over the last years. Our captain held a special grudge against the Spanish, but any merchant ship had been fair prey. As I looked at the water, waiting for the captain to arrive, I couldn’t help but notice the glances cast toward me. They looked at me as if I already knew what each man’s share would be, something only Gasparilla would have knowledge of—if he even did. I feared if the amount was not enough, there would be blood. The men’s expectations were hard to judge, and I was getting anxious.

Things were different these days, and I suspected that pirates—as we were—would soon be extinct. Gone were the dens of iniquity, like Port Royal in Jamaica or New Providence in the Bahamas, where men could spend their plunder freely, often moving from wealthy to broke within days. It was 1821, and rumor had it that the United States, after defeating Britain in the War of 1812 almost ten years ago, had its eye on becoming a sea power. And that involved eliminating piracy from its waters. The fledgling government was expanding after beating the British back for the second time, and lawless Florida was a hindrance to them. I had come across a newspaper clipping that contained a quote from Secretary of State John Quincy Adams: “Florida had become a derelict open to the occupancy of every enemy, civilized or savage, of the United States, and serving no other earthly purpose than as a post of annoyance to them.” I had read the quote several times to the crew and received roars of approval. There were rumors that Spain, unable to control the peninsula, was ready to cede the state to the new government, and the Navy was ready to launch a fleet to eliminate our kind.

Personally, I had no other pirating experience, being “liberated” from my family by this very crew at the age of thirteen. Gasparilla, known to his men as Gaspar, had become a father figure to me. His reputation as a bloodthirsty buccaneer was at least partially fabricated to enhance his reputation. Yes, he was a pirate, but having survived into his sixties, I knew there to be more to him than simply a legend. He was also a thinker and maybe that was our bond.

Gasparilla was not your typical buccaneer. His reputation for blood lust came in revenge for his past, having served in both the Spanish Navy and the court of Charles III, where he was disgraced, and after turned to piracy. But the facts were that he was an aristocrat and generally behaved like one. Well educated and cultured, he remained aloof and a mystery to his men. We had spent hours talking and planning for the changing world, and today was the result.

My thoughts were interrupted by several men running toward me. I scanned the water, finally seeing what they had spotted in the dim light of the morning: a lone boat making its way to the shore. More men ran to the beach and waded into the water, waiting to guide the boat as it surfed the knee-high waves. With four men on each side, they guided the boat with our captain to rest on the sand, where more men waited to haul the craft above the water line. Gaspar eased over the side, men clapping him on the back, relieved that he had come. There had been talk that he had absconded with the majority of the treasure, leaving them with little, but as they hauled the ten chests from the boat, their mood lightened. I had my doubts this was the entire treasure, having inventoried most of the boats we had taken, but I remained quiet.

“Come on, boys.” The captain stood on a chest and yelled to any stragglers not already there. “Time for y’all to be wealthy bastards.” He jumped down and called to Rhames, who stood in front of the chests with one hand on his flintlock pistol, the other on his cutlass. The crew backed away, respecting the man’s competence and brutality. The last of the men, who had obviously partaken in an excess of rum last night, wandered over.

“Nick! Come over here and bring the manifest,” he called to me. We had prearranged this meeting to the last detail. I pulled the folded papers from my vest and moved next to him, ceremoniously unfolding them, as he had instructed me to heighten the drama. Knowing we were the only two assembled here who could read, he knew the crew would respect the mystery of what was written on the documents.

He took the two sheets and held them over his head. “This is it, men,” he said, as he waved the papers. “The fruits of your labor. We split it now and today we go our separate ways, all rich men.”

A cheer came from the crew as two of their cohorts, also preselected for their loyalty, moved past Rhames and went to the chests. The men gathered closer, several carrying torches that lit the plain, oak containers. The crew gasped as the lids opened one at a time, the glow of gold, silver, and jewels sparkling in the light. I tensed slightly, knowing that if it was going to get ugly, it was going to be now, but the captain distracted them with the manifest. In truth, it was all gibberish, just a ruse to reassure the crew that this had been planned and each would get their fair share.

I started calling the names, beginning with the lowest, skipping over myself. We had decided earlier that the captain would retain my share until we reached the mainland. There, we would decide whether to stay together or go our separate ways. I was glad for his protection, as any one of these men could have taken my share with a cross look. I had learned some skill with a pistol and sword, but I had never adopted their love of violence.

They started to line up, holding burlap sacks in front of them, when we were interrupted by a scream.