“Don’t think I’ll change my mind in another night,” she said.
I came close to walking away, but turned to her instead. “Might not be as easy as I thought when we make port. These men were smugglers.” I watched as she turned to me.
“There’re barrels of spices and bales of tobacco below, as well as some unmarked crates, bound for New Orleans from the log. I suspect they were slavers as well, from the chains in the hold.”
“That’s not going to change my opinion one bit. Pirates, smugglers, the lot of you are the same. If a pirate steals from a smuggler, does that make him less of a pirate?”
I was growing tired of fighting with her and left her at the wheel. Swift and Syd were leaning against the foremast, talking quietly, but stopped as I approached. I gave them our position and my plan to anchor outside of the channel tonight. They nodded, and continued their conversation as I moved forward to the bowsprit to think. Rory was content by herself at the helm, and I was clearly not welcome in the other men’s conversation.
I sat on the narrow point of the bowsprit, both legs extended toward the water, catching spray on my bare feet as the bow sliced through the small waves and thought about what we needed. First was to get Rory off the boat. Her presence was unsettling to not only me, but from the way the other men avoided her, I could tell they would welcome her departure as well. Next, we needed supplies and news. Learning the location of the naval fleet, who they had captured, and which pirates were still at large in these waters was essential before we began to make a plan for the future. I had brought enough coin to buy supplies and a longboat that could be towed from our craft. From the looks of the narrow passage on the chart, it was water that I only intended to try once. With a longboat, we could move east on the ocean side from the harbor, anchor off one of the islands in deeper water, and row through the shallow water to Rhames and the others.
I must have fallen asleep, because the sun was well past its zenith when a large wave splashed me. The wind had picked up, and we were clearly moving faster than I had estimated earlier. I shook the sleep from my head and walked to the helm, where I checked our course and dropped the knot line.
“How long has the wind been up?” I asked Rory, who was still at the wheel.
“Just now,” she said.
I retrieved and counted ten knots, estimated the time from the sun, and went below to calculate our position and change my estimated time of our arrival. From the position I had plotted earlier, I changed the calculation to our current speed and figured our arrival an hour earlier. With the chart back in its case, I went back on deck and looked at the chain of islands in the distance, watching for the gap that would mark the channel.
As if on cue, an hour later I saw it and called to Swift and Syd to drop sail and ready the anchor. I yelled back to Rory to steer south, toward shallower water, and went forward to drop the lead. Fifteen minutes later it showed us in two fathoms and I signaled for the anchor to be dropped.
31
A short but strong storm blew in overnight bringing gusty winds and rain. I was up at the first drops and stayed on deck, hunkered under a tarp to keep watch through the night. The wind had shifted to the north, and we swung on the anchor as it changed. My primary focus was on our position, for if the anchor pulled with the wind from this quarter, we would ground. I was wet and cold by the time the sun rose, but the storm had played out. I wasted no time in ordering the anchor raised and the fore and mainsails set. The tailwind allowed us to cruise on a dead run with a following sea. Not the fastest point of sail, but to navigate the narrow channel there was no better condition. The boat moved forward as the booms were pushed out perpendicular to the boat, and the sails filled.
I chose to put Rory back on the wheel, which allowed me to work the rigging and drop the lead every few minutes. Syd and Swift tuned the sails, and the boat shot forward. My biggest concern was the depth of the water under the keel. So long as we stayed in the channel, we would arrive safely in the harbor. I kept a careful eye on the chain of islands to the left, careful to run parallel to them as Rhames had described.
The sun came out, and I could see the shoals to either side of the boat. The water was so easy to read from my vantage point midway up the rigging on the main mast that I abandoned the lead and called directions to Rory. An hour later the big island came into view, the tips of several masts visible over the flat land. I ordered the foresail shortened and then dropped, as the mainsail was providing enough propulsion to enter the harbor safely. We turned around the point protecting the entrance, narrowly missing a sandbar, dropped the mainsail into the lazy jacks, and coasted to a stop near several other boats of similar design. I called ahead to Syd to drop anchor, and the boat swung into the wind as the hook caught.
I looked over toward the pier, where several small launches and one larger ship were tied off, and wondered what lay ahead on the streets that spilled from the harbor. In the four years I had spent with the crew, I had never been allowed into a city and, as I thought back, the last visit to anything larger than a shantytown was our departure from London five years ago. I eagerly anticipated the foreign sights and sounds and could barely wait to get ashore—when my excitement faded as Rory came toward me and I realized we had no launch. As I kicked myself for not keeping at least one of the canoes, I saw a small boat being rowed toward us.
She stood by my side as a boat approached with a well-dressed man sitting in the bow, being rowed by a dark-skinned man behind him. I assumed he was the harbormaster and reached into my pocket, fingering the coins.
The man put his hands to his mouth. “Ahoy.”
“Ahoy, sir. We would like to anchor overnight and hire a launch to the pier.”
“Aye, wouldn’t we all. It’ll cost you some coin, boy. Send your master to negotiate.”
The insult stung, but I kept my composure. “My age has nothing to do with it. I am master of this vessel.”
“Well, then, if you’ve coin, I’ll accept it. Climb down and we’ll take you to shore.”
I looked back at the crew, who nodded. I started to descend and, as I reached the last rung on the rope ladder, I looked up and saw Rory following.
“Don’t be looking up my skirt. And don’t be thinking I’ll trust you to go alone.” She hurried down the ladder and reached the boat before I or the men aboard could react. We sat and watched the harbor in silence as we were rowed to shore.
Without a word, the black man spun the boat with a hard back-paddle and pulled toward the pier. We reached the wooden structure and climbed onto the dock. The well-dressed man led us to a small building located where the pier met solid land, and we entered what I expected was his office. I couldn’t help but notice a brand-new American flag hanging on the wall. Curious, I thought, the last I had heard the island was in Spanish hands.
The room was cluttered and dim, with light filtering in through shuttered windows. I expected it would be hot in the summer, but this time of year it was comfortable. His desk was cluttered with papers and logbooks, and a small monkey clucked and strained against its chain in the corner. He motioned us to the two chairs in front of his desk and cleared a small space, where he placed his beefy hands.
“Are we in America now?” I asked.
“Just last month the bloody Spanish pulled out and my boss, fellow named Simonton, bought this rock and probably overpaid at two thousand dollars. Now, state your business and cargo. I’ll need to know the crew as well,” he said, as he struck a match and lit a pipe.