Pirate

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.

“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.