Marathon Gold
By Chris James
Chapter Three
"There were thousands of pirates throughout the Caribbean from the early 1600's all the way into the middle 1800's. The beaches, rivers and islands of Florida are thought to contain millions in stolen wealth, buried by men who never got the chance to return and claim it.
"Millions of dollars in treasure have been recovered from underwater wrecks, ships that were sunk by these pirates or unfortunate vessels that fell prey to the storms that swept through the area. The Spanish galleons that followed the coast before sailing across the ocean to Spain were the choice targets of Florida's pirates.
"Here in south Florida, and throughout the Keys, a notorious pirate named Black Caesar captured a great deal of treasure. In 1805 he began to prey on the Spanish fleet of treasure ships, capturing half a dozen filled with silver and gold which he is known to have buried, probably on the north end of Key Largo... "
Jimmy was having great fun, referring to his note cards only to search for the details. He had been giving this same speech for three weeks now, sometimes five days a week. It was easy when there was such a captive audience of parents with their kids sitting in the cabin of the Marathon Queen on the way out to the fishing grounds.
Many parents looked grateful, this kept their kids entertained. Even the older teenagers seemed entranced by the stories, especially the ones about Black Caesar, Jimmy's favorite. Beyond the basic facts of the pirate's deadly work, Jimmy gave character to their lives. Sure, he embellished the stories whenever he could, but that time in history was always fascinating.
When he finished his little speech he always got polite applause, and then the questions began. He had to explain that the Spanish kept accurate records of what was loaded on their ships and so when the treasure vanished they could publish the loss. It was also true that many of these pirates were eventually caught and told the authorities about their careers, bragging before they were hanged. Jimmy had decided not to include that little detail.
And finally Jimmy would excuse himself to go prepare the bait with Nelson and they would become just a head boat once again. Hal had been amused from the beginning since he could hear everything that went on in the cabin. It didn't take long for him to see that he ought to respect Jimmy's knowledge on the subject of pirates and their loot, the customers quickly did.
The novelty of having a youngster tell these stories gave way to thoughts of dollar signs as the reservations mounted up. His charter had the highest head count of the whole fleet on the island, and here it was the off season. Hal knew Jimmy was making better tips, sometimes equaling his daily rate of pay, and so he started to give Jimmy a full crew share and no one complained.
Nelson and the boys had also been amused; until they sat down to listen to the speech. Pretty soon Jimmy's hardest questions were coming from them, they were hooked. It was apparent that the customers were caught up in the pirate fantasy. They could tell by the way folks leaned over the railing, as if they could spot a wreck sitting on the bottom.
They had worked a full week with almost thirty customers on the boat each day. Fortunately they would be off tomorrow, it was a Monday and even better, it was the Fourth of July. Hal always met with his church group that morning and then threw a great yard party the rest of the afternoon. Jimmy was invited to attend and bring a friend so Gene had agreed to go.
The north side of the island was filled with little roads laid out by developers who had hoped to have housing built by now. That meant Jimmy could keep his promise of staying off the highways on his motorcycle. It made for a zigzag route, but just spending time on the cycle was all the fun Jimmy had hoped it would be.
The Fourth was always a great celebration. Fireworks shot up over the marinas, parties and picnics abounded, and the cops ignored most everything unless it got out of hand. The Fourth also meant something special to Jimmy. Mr. Clark would return in a few days and Jimmy could resume his education.
Since the beginning, Clark had been the source of the best pirate lore. They had spent hours in talk, and even the current book he had on the subject came from the Old Man's library. Now Gene had a patched up sailboat which they were dying to put in the water, but Jimmy had wanted to wait for the old sailor's opinion. It would wreck their hope if they took the boat out now and it sank.
But once the holiday was over they all plowed back into work and so it wasn't until Thursday afternoon that Jimmy had the chance to ride by and see if Mr. Clark had returned. Gene had come along with some photos of the sailboat and the patchwork he'd applied. Except for the sheet of aluminum carefully screwed to the outer hull, there was no indication that anything had been weakened.
The big blue sedan sat in the driveway, a sure sign that Clark had driven in from the Miami airport. Jimmy took a slow steady approach around the circular drive and parked the cycle in the shade of the porch. The front door opened and Evelyn stepped out. She held a finger up to her lips as a sign for them to be quiet.
"He's taking a nap," Evelyn said. "How you boys been?"
"Just fine, did you have a good holiday?" Jimmy asked.
She grinned. "We sure did, I think Alfred enjoyed himself immensely. He has a new granddaughter so that makes eight grandkids. He sure did enjoy seeing all of them."
Jimmy had never figured out Evelyn's role in the Old Man's life. They weren't married and he knew nothing about her family. Clark had three children, all of them living up in New England where he had once lived. But Florida was his home now, and Evelyn came with the deal.
"That's great," Jimmy said.
"We stopped at the market this morning on the way in, Mrs. Brown showed us your flyer, that was impressive," Evelyn said. "Alfred knew right off it was you boys put that together, I wonder why?" She laughed.
"Evelyn?" A voice called out from inside the house.
"Goodness, now I've laughed him awake," She said. "You might as well come in."
Jimmy and Gene followed her through the door and saw Mr. Clark reclining on the couch.
"Alfred, your pirate friends are here to see you," She said, and laughed as she walked down the hall to the kitchen.
"Boys... Jimmy... Gene, come on in," Clark said.
"Hello, Mr. Clark," Jimmy said.
"Hello, Admiral," Gene said.
Clark laughed at the surprise on Jimmy's face and the way Gene blushed.
"Admiral?" Jimmy said.
"Yes... yes, I was once, in my other life," Clark said. "Gene, we were supposed to keep that our little secret."
"Sorry, sir... it kinda slipped out," Gene said.
"My oldest daughter told Gene's father the last time she was down here, I guess he passed it along. I was just a silly little Admiral in the Navy back in the war, that was all a long time ago."
"Did you see combat?" Jimmy asked.
"I was stationed in the Pacific, we all saw combat there," Clark said. "So I saw your flyer, you working for Hal now?"
Gene pointed at Jimmy. "He is, and everyone is calling him Vaughn the Pirate now."
Jimmy frowned and that made Clark laugh. "The real question should be is Hal getting any business from your pirate stories?"
Jimmy grinned. "He's swamped with customers."
Clark levered himself up off the couch and smiled. "Let's go out to the porch. It's a hot day but I'm sure Evelyn will come up with something cold to drink and you can tell me all about your adventures."
They sat with a frosty pitcher of lemonade and Jimmy talked all about getting his job on the boat, the motorcycle, and how he'd come up with the pirate idea to boost Hal's business. Clark paid close attention as Jimmy described the stories he was telling the customers and nodded in agreement.
Then it was Gene's turn to describe the sailboat and how he had fixed it. Clark looked at the photos and declared it a job well done, then he looked at both boys.
"I suppose you'd like to put the boat in the water? My dock sure looks empty, I could keep an eye on it for you, providing it doesn't sink."
Gene laughed. "We were kinda hoping you would check it out before we sailed off and it sank under us. Uh, in fact, Admiral... neither of us knows the first thing about sailing."
"I guessed that much," Clark said. "Bring it on over and we'll see if she floats. The inlet is pretty calm water so I can give you some pointers on how to sail. But you need to try it for yourselves, that's the best way to learn."
Jimmy looked at Gene and they both nodded. "I don't suppose you'd mind if we went looking for more of those coins while we were out sailing, would you?" Jimmy asked.
Clark sighed. "I'd go with you if I could. Pirate treasure is the stuff of dreams, and in some very rare instances it's real." He stopped for a moment and stared off towards the horizon across the expanse of water. "I never got the chance to chase my dreams. By the time I moved down here I was too old to go diving for treasure, or dig up the entire island. I know it's out there because... because I have proof."
Gene sat up straighter. "You do?"
Clark nodded. "Many... many years ago I found a journal in an old bookshop up in Groton, that's in Connecticut in case you don't know. A town steeped in the history of our nation, a shipbuilding town. It sits on the Thames River which opens out into the ocean and allowed ships to sail the short distance to New York or Boston.
"I was just a young Lieutenant in those days, fascinated with naval history and the shipyards where I was stationed. To gain perspective I began to prowl the area for old books about the town and sailing ships. The shipyards there had supplied many of the vessels for our navy, even before the War of 1812.
"Well, across the river from Groton is New London town where they have a college, and a row of shops to serve the students. I found an old bookstore there with an attic filled with ancient tomes of knowledge. There in the stacks was this leather bound book of an odd size, more like an accountant's journal. But when I opened it there was a crude drawing on the inside cover that I immediately recognized as the Florida Keys.
"I had spent many a happy week down here as a child and so anything about Florida fascinated me as well, especially since this book was sitting on a shelf a few thousand miles away from here. Page after page of small closely written script filled the journal, it was all but impossible to read in that dim light so I carried it back downstairs.
"Needless to say the shopkeeper asked me if I had found something I liked and on impulse I handed him the book. He didn't recognize it, said it was probably some child's diary after thumbing through a few of the pages. I gave him ten dollars for it and didn't even ask the price. I'll be right back," He said.
Jimmy was excited. Clark would never have mentioned this book unless it was something important, and they had been talking about treasure. Gene looked at him and shrugged just as Clark returned with a box in his hand which he set on the table.
"The journal was indeed a child's diary of the most unique kind. I doubt if there is another book in this world quite like it. The writing is most difficult to read since the ink has faded in many places. But I have spent years deciphering the contents only to discover that I was too old to follow through on what the book reveals. And now you are here, the dream comes alive again."
Clark carefully opened the box and removed a narrow leather bound book. He opened the cover very carefully and Jimmy could see the paper was dry and brittle.
"It hasn't aged well; it was in much better shape when I first bought it."
But there on the inside of the cover was a sketch of the Florida Keys and some funny lines.
"Do you see the lines?" Clark asked.
"Yes... but what do they mean?" Jimmy asked. Gene was crowding in, looking at the drawing.
"It's a map... a travel map," He said.
"Exactly right," Clark said. "The journal explains the voyage of the person who wrote this document. His name was Michael Burns. He spoke English, Spanish and a little French. His father was an American sea captain in Boston; his mother was Spanish, the daughter of a famous man in Cuba.
"You see this line coming up here? That's the voyage he and his mother took from Cuba on their way home to Boston, but they never made it there. You see the line ends just about on the southern tip of Florida, that's where the pirates attacked them and captured the ship. The rest you can read for yourselves."
"I can't... I mean this book is too old and valuable," Jimmy said.
"I know, and my eyes were crossed from reading all that tiny little script. This journal went to war with me and damn near sank to the bottom of the Pacific off Saipan. But I read it and copied it on my typewriter. I was a Captain by then, didn't have a lot of spare time," Clark laughed. He reached in the box and pulled out a bound book. "All the typewritten pages are here, I had this made up to preserve them. I want you to read it and tell me what you think."
Jimmy smiled as Clark handed him the book and then placed the journal back in the box.
"Is it real?" Gene asked.
"I don't know. The story fits together flawlessly so if it's a work of fiction then someone worked very hard to fool us. My instinct says it is real, but you tell me what you think when you're done reading it. After that we'll talk treasure."
"Oh... this Michael Burns was a pirate?" Jimmy asked.
Clark smiled and shook his head. "No, he was just a ten year old boy when they were captured, but he grew up fast."
"Who should read it first," Gene asked. "It better be Jimmy since it takes me forever."
"A wise decision," Clark said. "Jimmy will probably enjoy it the most... it's Michael's journal, but the story is all about that dastardly pirate, Black Caesar."
"Oh, wow," Jimmy said, and he gripped the book tighter.
"Now you boys go on, I've had a long day and it will be dark much too soon," Clark said. "You bring that sailboat by anytime and the fun will begin."
Jimmy and Gene followed Clark back through the house to the front door. Just before Jimmy stepped outside Clark put a hand on his shoulder.
"I hope you don't stay up all night reading, but you probably will. There are some terrible things in that book, things maybe a boy your age shouldn't read. I hope it doesn't give you nightmares. Just remember, anything you read is our little secret."
Clark waved good-bye and then turned back into the house. Jimmy placed the book behind him and Gene pressed it against his back.
"You will stay up all night, I know you too well," Gene said.
"I have to work in the morning," Jimmy said. "Damn."
Gene laughed as they took off down Clark's driveway, he just hoped Jimmy didn't fall overboard tomorrow. They cut across some vacant lots until they reached the cluster of scrub pines behind Gene's house. Gene tapped the boy on the shoulder and he pulled the cycle to a stop.
"This is good enough," Gene said. "No sense rubbin my mother's nose in this motorcycle business."
"You didn't tell her you ride with me?"
"I did... sorta... kinda, but I don't think she was listening," Gene said. "Later, gator."
They slapped hands and Jimmy slid the book up under his shirt. "While, crocodile."
Jimmy took the book to his room, and then sat down to eat dinner with his family. He told them he was tired after a long day's work and took his shower. By eight-thirty it was growing dark and he went to bed, turned on the bedside lamp and settled back with the journal on his lap. He told himself he would read for only two hours, a promise he just could not keep. He opened to the first page and began.
* * * * * *
I am fourteen years of age today, a happier man than most of my fellow creatures aboard this ship because I survived to begin writing this journal. My joy and thanks to Captain Farnsworth's clerk who gave me this ledger and a pot of ink to begin my story. And what a story it is, I can hardly believe the events that occurred. But I have spent considerable effort in thought and now it is time to pen these words.
The year is Eighteen hundred and twenty-three; at least that's what they tell me. I have not felt the need to keep track of time since we were removed from the civilized world. Now that I know the date I can say my life changed but four years ago, and yet it seems like a lifetime.
I was a child of considerable girth at ten years of age when we left Cuba for home in Boston. My grandfather had indulged me with sweets, chocolates and sugar cane was my undoing. My aunt and cousins could not believe we were such close kin as I looked nothing like my mother. The dark eyes and crown of black hair had passed me over in favor of my father's Celtic features. It always gave me a secret thrill to know I carried courageous Viking blood, and I was later given to understand that it probably saved my life.
Our merchant ship sailed from Havana harbor in late spring with the assurance that the dreadful storms one hears about would not befall us at this time of year. A sturdy craft named the Mystic Lady was to be our conveyance across the short stretch of sea to Florida and thus up the coast. Charleston, Baltimore, New York and then Boston were the planned stops.
My father had insisted we take a fast American merchant ship since for years the Spanish ships had been the merciless targets of pirates along the coast. The design of American merchant craft made them faster, while the heavy Spanish ships were captured time and again. In most instances the Americans could outrun a foreign naval warship. This had been proven many times as the British still chose to provoke conflict with the former colonies.
The Mystic Lady had limited cabin space for passengers. Mother and I would be closed up in a tiny space for days at a time if there was bad weather, but there was none apparent to us. And that is why as we began to round the horn of Florida, the appearance of a singular small boat was a curiosity to Captain Terrill. Crammed aboard this tiny craft with tattered sails were sixteen men who looked about half dead.
They waved shirts and cried out for help in English and French. Aboard were several black men who slumped in the bottom of the boat in chains. To all appearances they were slaves, and not the first I had ever seen. All of them wore ragged clothing and looked fairly miserable as the boat rode so low with this heavy load that it looked in danger of sinking. The ship slowed until it was nearly at a stop, and the small boat closed with us.
Captain Terrill demanded to know from what ship they hailed, and the English voice called out the name Katydid, a whaler out of Gloucester, Massachusetts. The man explained the slaves had been rescued from a deserted island in the Antilles, survivors from a wreck upon the reefs there. Terrill was of a mind to toss them a rope and tow them to land, but the man replied that they would surely sink.
Terrill allowed the boat to approach and told the armed crew members to stand down and lend assistance. Those in the boat seemed grateful, coming aboard and falling to the deck as if weak and helpless. The slaves were helped over the side, their chains clanking with fearsome regularity as they dropped to the deck. Mother and I stepped forward with a bucket of water and a dipper to succor the poor creatures.
But Terrill had no sooner turned back to his duty when the spokesman for the survivors pulled forth a large pistol hidden in his clothing and shot the Captain in the head. The others sprang up, including the slaves whose chains fell away revealing the duplicity of their character. More shots were fired and my mother threw me to the deck and laid her body across mine. The merchant crew managed to fire off a few shots before they were cut down in a bloody short battle with a clash of swords.
When finally the merchant crew was subdued one of the slaves stood forth and began giving orders. This was my first glimpse of Black Caesar. His name I would learn later on for I had no knowledge of who he might be. But his real name was Henri Caesar, and he would prove to be the scourge of my life and the most violent creature I have ever known.
He was a huge man with large appetites, for food, gold and women. Upon hearing his voice I judged him to be of Haitian descent. His vocabulary was of mixed English, French and something else, a slave's language I could not always understand.
Some of the crew tore the hatches off the ship and dropped into the hold, while others held pistols on the remaining ship's crew. I had no idea what was below decks, what form of mercantile business Terrill was conducting was unknown to me. That mattered not, Terrill was dead and his body tossed over the side.
Men emerged from the hold with bags of sugar and spices. Caesar looked at it all and shook his head. It was then that he turned to my mother who cowered against the bulkhead with her arms around me.
"No gold, no treasure on this ship?" He asked with a heavy accent.
My mother shook her head. "I don't know what they have, this ship came from Havana."
"Toss them overboard," Caesar ordered.
Two of his men came for us and my mother screamed as they reached to take me away.
"Please... my father will pay a ransom in gold," She yelled.
Caesar held up his hand and the men dropped me on the deck. He leaned over and grinned in her face.
"What would he pay for your life?"
"I... I don't know," She replied.
Caesar reached out and touched her long black hair. "Maybe... we will see." And with that he slapped her across the face and then ripped open the front of her dress, exposing her breasts. "Such beauty should not be damaged," He laughed.
In a moment of pure insanity I screamed and jumped on him, pounding on his muscular chest with my tiny fists. Caesar toppled over on the deck and I felt vindicated in my actions until I heard him laughing. The more I pounded on his body the harder he laughed. I was totally beaten and now facing certain death.
Caesar snatched my wrists in his huge hands and kept on laughing as he watched me struggle. His head turned towards my mother who dared not move, her face was a mask of fear.
"This is your son?" Caesar asked, and she nodded.
"Such a little wild man," He said and then he grasped my head and pulled my face to his until I could only look at the dark madness in his eyes.
"You protect you mother... I respect that. We shall keep you as well, it might prove useful. But you have attacked the captain, for this you must be punished."
He set me down and had one of his crew lash me to the foot of the mast. It was from this vantage point that I saw his men throw the crew overboard. Many were still alive and would certainly drown as we were far from land, Caesar showed them no compassion. It was the moment I knew my fate was tied to this man and that he was the worst kind of human being, he was a pirate.
His men swarmed over the ship and set the sails until we were moving once again. I could only judge the direction because it was afternoon and the sun was sliding into the western sky, we were headed northwest. I had no idea where we were going but I said nothing, even as I saw Caesar pull my mother to the companionway that led below.
I know now what happened below deck that afternoon; it was a mercy that I did not right then and there. I suppose I was still in shock, but then I had never given myself over to hysterics and crying for my lot. But I could feel the sun upon my face and knew quite well that after a few hours I would be burnt to a crisp.
I heard no screams from below deck, and I am now sure my mother didn't wish to distress me as Caesar raped her. It was hard to judge the amount of time they were below, at least three hours. I make that assumption because after what appeared to be an hour, a man came by and dumped a bucket of salt water over my head. My skin stung for minutes after that and the dousing happened several times, followed by laughter.
I was in pain, my face felt like it was on fire, but there were none who dared release me until the captain ordered it. Sleep was the only way to avoid the pain that was building, and even that failed when another bucket was splashed over my head, only this one didn't sting. I tasted the water on my lips and it was fresh so I looked up and saw Caesar leaning over me.
"Punishment end, did you learn?" He asked.
"Yes, Captain," I replied and he smiled.
The ropes came off and he pulled me to my feet. For the first time in hours I was able to look over the side of the ship and I saw land fast approaching. Caesar laid a hand upon my shoulder and I winced, the burn was bad there as well.
"Go to you mother and see she is packed, we be ashore in an hour." It was the first command he gave me that I obeyed, it would not be the last.
The land was flat and yet was filled with trees and grasses. From the sea there appeared to be little in the way of habitation on shore. I assumed we were off in some remote area. But out from the trees came dozens of men pushing small open boats which they ran out into the water and then proceeded to row towards us. Soon the deck was swarming with a mixture of races, fierce looking men and a few women as well.
My mother appeared unharmed when I went below, and she was busy re-packing our bags which had been thoroughly searched. Her face was pale and drawn and when I appeared she clasped my hands and knelt before me.
"We must do whatever they say, Michael... do you understand me?" She said.
"Yes, Mother, I know that... "
"No, Michael, listen to me. Whatever they say, without question, or they will kill us."
I nodded and she seemed relieved. I look back now and know she was telling these things to herself more than me. If I had known what Caesar had done I would have looked for a chance to plunge a dagger into his heart. But I was weak and young; such foolish thoughts would have killed us both.
We had two sea chests in the hold but those were never returned to us. Mine had contained assorted books for study during our six month stay in Cuba. The master of my school in Boston had chosen them for me carefully so that I might continue my education. I was now to get lessons of an entirely different kind.
My grandfather had given me fine leather boots and a whole wardrobe of nice things before we left. They were probably the first things to be thrown overboard during the looting as the pirates went through the ship's holds. We stood on deck with our bags and awaited direction, but all were engaged in shifting bags of sugar and other items to the waiting boats.
Finally Caesar came on deck wearing Terrill's dress uniform coat which would not close about his massive chest. He had on a tall dressy tri-cornered hat with a huge plume of feathers spilling down to his shoulders. His crew roared with laughter and then bowed and scraped as if he were their king, which I suppose he was.
My mother and I were finally loaded on a small boat which took us towards the beach. I sat on the stern bench beside her and watched as Caesar's crew threw all the spare lumber off the ship. Every ship carried stacks of lumber for repairs and even a few spare masts when possible. These were valuable things and I figured they would drift into the beach where they could be salvaged.
We approached our landing and the boat beached near a considerable stack of goods that had accumulated on the sand. A swarthy looking man came towards us and motioned at my mother to follow him. I picked up our bags and followed along but the man shook his head and made strange sounds with his mouth. I was to learn later on that he had no tongue.
He motioned for me to set the bags down and made my mother pick them up. Then he pointed a finger at me and then motioned back down to the water where the cargo had been stacked. I stood still and didn't know what to do as I saw my mother being led away through the trees.
"Boy... come here," A voice called and I turned to see a young man gesturing to me. He was as ragged as the others but he didn't look more than a few years older than me. "Grab something and carry it up to the storehouse," He said. "Everyone works around here except for Caesar's whores."
I stumbled to the pile and selected a sack I didn't think was too heavy, hoisting it up on my shoulder. The young man laughed and hoisted two large sacks on his shoulder and began to walk up the beach. I followed him, up across the white sands and into the trees which concealed the pirate's village.
From the beach, the dozen or so buildings and huts could not be seen; the screen of small trees concealed them quite well. We carried our loads over to a small shed and dropped them in the pile outside the door.
"My name's Tickle... what do they call you?" The boy asked.
"I am Michael... why do they call you Tickle?" I asked.
In a flash a knife appeared in the boy's hand and he held it against my throat. "You disobey me and I'll tickle your neck with my blade," He said, and then he grinned. "You look well cooked, mate... going to be a painful night for you. I'll see if Mama Koobo has anything for that."
We made a dozen trips to the pile before I fainted from the heat and exertion. I'd had no food since breakfast, and worse, no water. Slowly I awoke to the feeling of water being poured down my throat and I choked, coughing and gasping for air.
"He be jus' fine," A woman's voice said.
I opened my eyes to see a huge black woman leaning over me while Tickle stood quietly in the doorway of the hut. Her eyes were large and warm, and her face split into a smile revealing a row of broken and blackened teeth.
"Ya... you thirsty little man," She said.
I nodded and she cautioned me to take just a little water at a time. Her hand held a clay jar and when she removed the cover the room filed with a wonderful smell. She dipped her hand in the jar and lifted the gooey aromatic contents on her fingers, smearing the balm across my forehead, down across my cheeks all the way to my neck.
"I be Mama Koobo," She said. "Caesar got his hooks in you, he such a bad man."
"He doesn't know what's going on," Tickle said.
I looked at him and nodded while Mama spread the paste across my skin. Like magic the burn was gone, leaving a cool, soothing feeling whenever she touched me.
"You be on de island," Mama said. "Nasty men not gonna let you go, 'fraid you be tellin' someone 'bout dis place. You come with you momma, I sees her... pretty lady. She be his now, stay with his women."
I was not so foolish as to question her words or ask her what she meant, not with Tickle looking me over. I judged him to be the biggest danger to my person at the moment, but it seems Mama held sway here. I was safe for the moment.
As the son of a sea captain I had learned a lot of things in my short life. The past five years had been about education, most of it from books and teachers. But I had spent weeks aboard ship amongst my father's crew and learned about life from them.
A sailor's lot was hard work, poor food and just enough money to get in trouble. But they shared a fast camaraderie like no other bunch of men. Sitting with the crew as they ate or after their watch on deck was over opened my eyes to so many things. No one could expound upon the workings of the world like a sailor.
The stories they told, the joys and fears they shared were all new to me. There was a way to do anything, guided either by experience, tradition or superstition. The crew knew they could overcome any obstacle because facing the God above or the gods of the deep was all the same to them. If you kept your mouth shut and did your job well you survived. This was the most important lesson I learned, and now was glad I had.
Mama told me to stay out of the sun whenever possible. She judged my fair skin with her eyes and ran her stubby fat fingers through my straw colored hair. Finally her large brown eyes settled on mine and she nodded.
"You gots eyes like de color of de ocean from my home, you never been Haiti."
I was to learn she never asked questions. Either she assumed something about you or had insight that gave her answers. Many believed she had the second sight, but I knew nothing of witchcraft or voodoo then, that would come later.
Mama clapped a large straw hat on my head and laughed. "You be island boy now." Then she turned to Tickle and gave him a look. "You watch him."
Tickle led me across the village. There were six or eight huts for the men and a large wooden shack with a thick heavy door and bars on the windows. I knew this had to be Caesar's dwelling. It was probably where he kept his loot, and my mother.
We walked into the cooking shed where I was introduced to Wills, the cook. He only had one leg, the other being a wooden stump. But he smiled and then hobbled over to a large pot hanging above the fire. The bowl of food was steaming as he placed it on the table and then he handed me a slab of hard bread to go with it. I could see pieces of chicken floating in a gruel made with rice, and it was hot, spicy hot.
Tickle left the table and came back with two tankards of something, placing one of them in front of me. I took a gulp and almost choked, it was my first taste of the homemade brew they made from cactus plants.
"Where ya from?" Tickle asked.
"We sailed from Havana heading for Boston."
"Boston, never been there," Tickle said. "Been all over the islands though."
I plucked up my courage to ask, and maybe I shouldn't have. "Are you on Caesar's crew?"
Tickle grinned. "I am now that I've growed some. I get to man the watch."
I knew what that meant. Each ship had two if not three watches, groups of men that manned the ship round the clock. I didn't judge Tickle to be an able seaman so he probably meant he was on watch literally. That meant he had to climb the tall masts and sit in the crosstrees to warn of approaching ships or land.
I knew most of the ropes and shrouds on a ship, my father's three-masted schooner could fly before the wind but I had never been allowed aloft. From the deck I could see the men swarming the shrouds, setting the huge sails and reefing them in bad weather. I longed to climb up there, but at the same time it terrified me. For some reason I never told Tickle about my sailing experience.
"You didn't go out with Caesar this time; will you sail on the Mystic Lady now?"
Tickle didn't answer. "Eat up, we have work to do," was all he said.
It was back to the beach to tote and carry once again, only now I felt strong enough for the task. Caesar was there, just landing another small boat on the beach. He saw me carrying the goods and nodded my way. But just as Tickle and I reached the trees there was a huge explosion and I turned to look out to sea. The Mystic Lady was sinking fast. Her masts had been toppled and the bottom blown out. Ten minutes after the explosion she was no more.
Tickle grinned. "Did that answer your question? We don't need a big ship like that, too hard to hide from the men-of-war who are always out looking for us."
I stumbled along with my load and realized Tickle was right, Caesar had no ship. There was no harbor safe enough to hide a large vessel; it would give away their position. Now I was left with a feeling of dread as I realized that the Mystic Lady was gone, and with it any chance I had of escape from these pirates.
It seemed hopeless, I was stuck here. I could never leave without my mother, we were both prisoners. Caesar would never ransom us off to my grandfather. For all anyone knew we were both dead, just like the Mystic Lady sitting on the bottom, dead and gone.
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