Pirate

She was tall for a woman, but fell several inches short of my height. Her scent pleased me, and I turned to her and noticed that she had bathed. Her hair was blonde, and her skin glistened in the moonlight. She caught me off guard when she turned to me and smiled.

“Just planning our next move,” I said, and picked up a stone from the beach, wound up, and released it. The small rock skipped once and disappeared into the dark water.

“I never thanked you for saving me,” she said, and skimmed her stone. It skipped three times before dropping.

The feeling of insecurity when she was close enveloped me again. There was something about her that jump-started my heart and put a lump in my throat. “Anyone would have done the same,” I said humbly.

“Well, thank you just the same.”

We continued our unspoken contest in silence, the rocks making the only sound as they hit the water every few seconds.

“We should be out of the lake in a few days and into the river of grass.” I threw again. “How is Rhames?” The first mate had been wounded right after our initial escape from the Navy. I had done my best to care for him, but he had relapsed yesterday. Now under the care of the pygmy woman, Lucy, I had kept my distance and let her doctor him.

“He was up and ate dinner. That’s a good sign. The woman knows her medicine.”

I thought back to our chance encounter with Osceola and his offer for weapons and the two pygmies in exchange for the diversion we had created, allowing him to attack the Indian village. “And Blue as well,” I said, knowing that we would likely be dead without his tracking skills.

We were nine now; six of the original pirates plus Rory, Lucy, and Blue. A smaller group would be easier to manage, but the additions of the escaped slaves and Rory each brought their own benefits. With four canoes, we had ample transportation, but I worried about the loaded chests making the boats top-heavy. The canoes were the ideal vessel for the river and, from what I suspected, for the river of grass as well. But the lake was bigger than any of us had imagined; the other side invisible. Even the light wind had driven small waves across the water, and I knew a larger blow would create waves large enough to capsize the unstable boats.

As the sky lightened across the water, a thin mist was visible on the lake. I suspected that as soon as the sun hit the water that fog would roll in. We spread palmetto leaves on the sand and sat, watching the sun rise.

“We better get on with it,” I said, and rose after a few minutes of silence. She followed me back to the camp. Blue was awake, whittling a branch into the shape of a paddle. I pursed my lips, realizing that I should have thought of that and had the men fashion paddles last night. Right after we had entered the lake, the poles we had used to push the boats through the river were lashed to the canoes, and we had been using our gunstocks to move us through the water.

Rory went to Lucy, who was huddled over Rhames, a pot of steaming liquid by her side. I walked over to Blue and watched for a minute as he worked the wood, picked up another branch from the pile, withdrew my dagger, and started copying his movements. Soon the other men rose and started to stir the embers of the fire. Red and Swift joined us and, as the smell of food drifted over to us, we had fashioned four crude paddles.

The group worked efficiently and by the time the fog lifted and the sun warmed the clearing, we were fed. The boats were loaded and, with each of us holding a crude paddle, we pushed off and climbed in. Rhames walked under his own power and pushed the last canoe into the water, where he got in with a grunt. Shooting us a look to ward off sympathy, he grasped an oar and started paddling.

The landscape had changed in the last day, as we continued south along the west bank of the river. It was our third day on the lake and we were moving swiftly. There had been no sign of pursuit, or any man for that matter, and the group fell into an easy rhythm. The trees had thinned, the cypress and scrub oaks still prevalent, but between the gaps in the woods we could see open space. That night we made camp knowing the next morning we would leave the lake and enter the river of grass.

As the men set up camp, I took stock of our supplies. The only thing left from the turtle we had caught was the shell, although there was what looked to be two days’ worth of gator meat. I sat down, and Rory came over as I studied the map.

“Looks like about the same distance to travel as the lake,” she said, as she leaned over my shoulder.