“Why are we anchored and not in port?” she accused.
“Easy girl,” I said more confidently than I felt. “It’s too late in the day to navigate these waters. We’ll pull anchor and be in port tomorrow.” She glared at me again and went below.
“Girl’s got it for you,” Rhames said.
I wasn’t sure what he meant and ignored the comment. “The land is arid, and there is a clearing toward the center of the island. Tomorrow we can send a group to set up camp there. It’d be a mistake to make port like this.” I looked around at the unwashed and dirty group, our clothes torn and bloodstained. He nodded approval and volunteered to be in charge of the shore party, partially, I expected, because he was the most notorious of our group.
I went below to check the old crew’s stores and see if there were clothes that would fit us, when I heard sobbing coming from behind Rory’s cabin door. I knocked lightly, half-hoping that she would turn me away, but I needed a few minutes with her to explain my plan. To my surprise the door opened.
She was disheveled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I expect you have a plan to get me off this boat?”
“I do, but there is some subterfuge involved.”
“What else would I expect from you?” She turned away.
I explained my plan then left the cabin, feeling amiss about leaving her. Part of me wanted to stay and comfort her; the other, to be far away from her accusations. Before we reached port, I needed to inventory the hold and take some coin for provisions and negotiate a passage for Rory. I grabbed Rhames and asked that he accompany me below. The last thing I needed was to be seen going into the hold alone and arouse the suspicions of the crew.
We took a lantern and climbed the wooden ladder into the hold. I set the lantern down and looked around at the dim and damp space. Our last canoe was on top of several bales of tobacco, the treasure chests off to the side. Across the way were several barrels and crates.
“We should take the treasure ashore in case something happens,” I said as I went to the chests. “It is high enough to bury it there.”
We set the chests below the hold, where they could be lifted in the morning. I opened one, reached in, and took out a handful of gold and silver coins. “I’m taking these to buy her way onto another boat.” I looked up to see if anyone was in earshot and told him my plan.
30
Pounding on my door woke me the next morning. I rubbed my eyes and focused attention on my leg, realizing for the first time since the attack it did not hurt. The door opened without my prompting and Rory stood as a silhouette, her hair aflame in rising sun.
“You going to get your pirates moving? Sun’s up.”
I ignored the barb and looked at the linen wrapping my leg wound. It came off cleanly, and the scab protecting the cuts was flaking off, revealing healthy pink skin beneath it. I left the wound uncovered and rose.
“That looks better.”
It was the first personal thing that had come out of her mouth in days. “We’ll get to it soon. Got to unload the boat and send some of the crew to the island.”
She turned and left without a word. It was curious with her. I know I felt something and was pretty sure she did as well, but as long as she branded us pirates, there was no hope. I hadn’t wanted to be a pirate; rather, I had no choice, as I was abducted by Gasparilla the same as she. Fortune just had it that I was a boy—and able to read.
I heard activity on the deck and left my past in the cabin as I climbed to the deck.
The sun was out and the men were all up. Rhames had started moving the chests to the island, and I watched as the men heaved the last of them onto the deck. I sat and watched them finish the work and said a quick goodbye to Rhames as he and Red disappeared down the rope ladder. Lucy and Blue had already gone ashore, leaving me with Swift, Syd, and Rory.
I gathered the group together, and we watched the canoe disappear around the island in the direction of the beach. “Right, then. You and Syd work the sails. Rory will be at the helm and I will navigate and work the lead.” I checked the morning breeze before determining how much canvas to put out, then looked north, to where I expected the three-fathom line was, to decide on our heading. It would be a mistake in these shallow waters to pull the anchor without a clear course.
“We’ll head to deep water and follow the three-fathom line to Cayo Hueso. Set the main,” I ordered, before moving forward to bring in as much of the anchor rode as I could. Once the boat was directly over the anchor, I tied it off, hoping the movement of the boat would drag it free of the sandy bottom.
“You said Indian Key yesterday and that it would take a few hours,” Rory said.
“Change of plans. You’ve a better chance of getting on a boat at Cayo Hueso. It’ll take a bit longer, but the navigation is straightforward.” She seemed to accept this and went to the wheel. Swift and Syd pulled on the halyard on the main mast, and the large sail rose from the lazy jacks supporting it on the boom. About two thirds of the way up the mast, they tied it off, and we waited for it to fill. The wind was from the southeast, as it typically is here unless a front blows from the north. The canvas filled and pulled us forward. The boat lurched with only the weight of the anchor holding it back. I moved to the winch with the other men, and we put our backs into it. The anchor came aboard easily with the three of us and, once stowed, I went to the helm and took the lead line from the navigation station.
“Steer us straight north until I call to turn to the west. There’s a line at three fathoms here that’ll take us to a passage to the harbor.” I went forward after checking the course, repeating Rhames’s instructions for finding the channel in my head and dropped the lead line over the side. We were just shy of three fathoms now, and I knew we had a few feet below the keel. A few minutes later the lead line indicated we had reached our spot, and I called for Rory to turn. I had to admit the girl was good with a boat. Instead of making a hard turn, she called back my order and waited for Swift and Syd to adjust the sails. She then turned in a wide arc. The fore and aft mains and topsails were full, and I watched as the men moved to the bowsprit and unfurled the jibs.
I coiled the lead line and went back to the helm. I needed the speed of the boat to calculate the time to reach the passage and held the knot line, splitting the coil between my hands. I waited until the men had the jibs rigged and the wind filled the canvas before dropping it. I counted to thirty before retrieving the line and counting the knots. The boat was making close to nine knots. I left Rory with directions to hold course and went below to plot our position on the chart.
A pair of dividers was in the drawer, and I used the latitude lines to estimate the mileage and time to reach the channel. Sixty-four miles separated us from our destination, and I divided that by our speed. If the wind held, we would reach the passage in seven hours. It would be too late to navigate the narrow channel in low light, so I planned on anchoring for the night just outside of it. I relaxed slightly. We were fortunate that the boat we had stumbled on had a shallow draft. At eight feet below the waterline, we could skirt the shallows, where the larger vessels, including the Navy, were restricted to the deeper water.
I went back on deck after doublechecking my calculations and saw Rory at the helm, a smile on her face, which she tried to hide with a snarl as I approached. “We should reach the passage to the harbor around sunset. We’ll have to anchor for the night before making our approach. It’s too narrow to try it in low light.”