“Ship!”
The crew gathered, eyes on the horizon.
2
The outline of a lone frigate was clear in the distance, working north toward Tampa. Those looking through spyglasses called out that it was flying the Union Jack—a sure sign of a merchant ship in these now American-controlled waters. An argument ensued as our proclaimed retirement, just started that morning, was now threatened, but majority ruled and we made for the boats to pursue the promise of plunder. I took my place beside Gaspar in the lead boat as we rowed for our ship, the Floridablanca, and scrambled up the ropes toward the deck. No time was wasted weighing anchor and setting sail as we all watched the ship’s approach. The square-rigged ship appeared to be on a port tack, fighting the north wind with shortened sail, something that surely should have alarmed us. If I were navigating, I would surely hold further out to sea, away from the dangers the land held. It was not my place and I held my tongue. The lure of treasure and women overcame our good sense as we scrambled around the deck preparing cannon and grappling hooks in preparation for our victim.
I looked back over the stern at our camp on the island. A handful of men stood in a group on the beach, guarding the treasure we were about to divide and watching our progress. The mood on the boat was jubilant, as most of the crew didn’t care for the captain’s decision to disband. But he had a troubled look on his face, as if some disaster were about to befall him that he stoically accepted. I finished coiling the line for the last grappling hook and walked toward the captain. As first boy, it was my job to attend to his needs.
Gaspar called an order to turn out of the wind to allow the merchant leeway. We appeared to be the faster boat, giving us the ability to choose our course for attack, whereas the merchant vessel was fixed on its course—although there was no reason I could think that his sails were reefed. Judging the wind and the progress of the other boat, Gaspar called an order and we turned to port. The wind filled the sails and we picked up speed on what appeared to be a collision course with our prey. After taking the most favorable tack, there was nothing the other ship could do to avoid us. The energy running through the crew as they eagerly leaned over the rails and watched the gap close was one of the thrills of pirating, and I couldn’t help but be infected with it.
Our situation quickly changed as we approached. Just outside of our cannon range, the ship dropped the Union Jack and hoisted the Stars and Stripes of the American flag. We were powerless, our momentum too great to stop the boat as we watched the men on the deck of the other ship pull canvas covers from what had appeared to be their cargo, revealing cannons instead. Someone yelled an order, we heard a loud boom, and their ship rocked as the guns recoiled. A cloud of smoke formed above the frigate as the projectiles were launched and seconds later the destruction began. Mayhem took over, as cannonballs and shrapnel fell around us, a destruction we had previously only witnessed as the aggressor and victor. The main mast came down after the second volley, tearing a large portion of the gunwale away. I knew all was lost and it was every man for himself. We were in disarray, yet to fire even the small swivel cannon mounted on the rails.
Our ship was doomed, and I looked down into the water at the men who had already lowered the boats and abandoned ship. Another broadside from the frigate sealed the fate of the Floridablanca, and I jumped.
The longboat capsized just as I landed on the deck, throwing me into the cold Gulf water. I looked up and saw debris falling toward me from another hit and dove under water to avoid a falling sail that would surely drown me. My breath was almost gone when I finally surfaced and started swimming toward a piece of floating debris. The situation was dire for many of my mates, and I had no idea the fate of my captain, but I feared for his life, as I had seen a figure holding a cutlass in one hand and the anchor chain in the other jump from the boat as the longboats from the frigate approached.
Bodies floated by as I kicked toward shore, not wanting to look back at the destruction. Downhearted about what I expected was Gaspar’s fate, I knew that I was alive and, although my survival was far from a sure thing right now, capture would result in death by the rope. I kicked harder.
“Hurry, load the boats,” I yelled at the men watching the devastation, one through a spyglass, the others shielding their eyes from the sun. Several turned to me as I climbed out of the water.
“What say Nick? Is the captain dead?” a man named Swift asked.
“All is lost. We have only minutes to load what we can and make for the mainland before the Navy comes for us.” I turned to see if the pursuit had begun. Surely they knew of the island and the treasure it was rumored to contain. As soon as they captured the remaining crew, they would come after us. I grabbed the spyglass from one of the men and put it to my eye. “Hurry. They’ll check the water for survivors, and this will be their next stop.”
The men ran inland toward the ten chests stacked against a palm tree and started carrying them to the beach. I did some quick math in my head and ordered the men to put two chests in each boat. With ten men and five boats maybe we had a chance that at least some of us could escape. The water churned as we ran back and forth loading the chests in the boats. Once loaded we jumped in and reached for the oars. The paddle blades battled the water, one man on each side, as we pulled with all we had in the direction of the mainland.
My boat led the convoy and I pondered my new role as leader. No one had questioned me in our haste to escape the island.
3
We made our way around the exposed seaward side of the island and were well into the protected waters of the sound when we paused. I looked across the large channel at the land on either side, wondering where to go. A mile across the water in the direction of the mainland was the cover we sought. Dozens of small islands surrounded by shallow water were scattered along the coast. Exhausted, we knew we were in a life or death situation, and we worked through the pain of our aching muscles, pulling hard on the oars. Thankfully, we paddled with a flood tide, made even stronger by the full moon. If the tide had been outgoing, we would have been treading water, but instead the extra two knots helped push our boats toward land. Rhames sat by my side, grunting with every pull and giving me cross looks as his strokes, more powerful than mine, kept moving the boat toward starboard, where I sat. I knew the estuary as well as any man and navigated while he watched the horizon behind us for any sign of pursuit.
As we reached land, we collapsed on our oars, exhausted by the effort of the hour-long row. We floated into a cove in the lee of a horseshoe-shaped island hidden from view from the seaward side. I had seen no boats yet, but we all knew they would come. The legend of the treasure on our boats was widespread, sought by both pirates and the United States Navy.
“Well, Nick? What do you think?” Rhames said, after he caught his breath.
I was shocked by the question. He was technically second in command after the captain, but most knew it was more for his loyalty and brutality than for his wits. My only guess was that after several years of bringing him orders from the captain, that he looked to me as Gasparilla’s surrogate. I took the chance and retained the authority. Leaving our state of affairs to pirate law—meaning the consensus of the group—would probably result in several deaths and the loss of our treasure. When we were safe we could choose a leader, but for now I had an idea.