Pirate

“Get the guns,” I yelled to the group. While they ran to the boats to retrieve the firearms, I scanned the shores of our small island and noticed that we were surrounded. “The boats. Get into the boats,” I yelled, hoping they would provide some protection from the attack that looked eminent. I limped over to the closest canoe, sat on the gunwale, and got into the hull, as I watched the others do the same. Rifle barrels were pointed in all directions, and I couldn’t help but notice we were in each other’s line of fire.

Eyes emerged in pairs from the water, and I realized that the commotion caused by the trapped men had alerted the animals to our presence. They were everywhere.

“On my order,” I called out, and the men’s attention focused on my voice. “Guns to the south and fire,” I yelled.

A blast, loud enough to cause my ears to ring, echoed from the boats, and smoke filled the air. Several guns fired a minute later after reloading, and I called for them to cease fire. We didn’t have enough ammunition to fire aimlessly. What we needed was to clear a passage and escape. Blue blew through his tube, shooting projectiles at the creatures, but their thick skin turned the darts away.

“Turn to the east and fire,” I ordered, with the same result. We repeated the exercise to the west, and I waited for the smoke to clear.

Carcasses lay on the shores and, unfazed by our actions, more creatures were climbing over them. Several started to eat their own dead, but still they came. I had the men fire the same pattern again and, before waiting for the outcome, had them jump from the boats and push them into the water. Someone screamed, but I couldn’t see who, as I was on the far side of the group.

“Aim toward the water. We need to clear a path and get out of here. They won’t be a threat once we’re on the water.” I could only hope this was true, fearing that with one strong stroke of its tail, a beast of this size could easily capsize our overloaded and top-heavy craft.

The rifles fired again, and we pushed the canoes the last few feet toward the water, careful not to step into the mud. As one, we were in the crafts and pushing away from land. I watched the scene on shore as Rory poled our boat. Most of the gators were on the beach now, feasting on the dead animals, when I noticed the shape of a man amongst them. He was muddy and missing several limbs. I scanned our group and noticed Syd alone in his boat. Another look around confirmed it was Johnnie.

The rest of the group realized what was happening, and we sat still in the water, watching the slaughter with horror on our faces. We had seen enough blood and gore in our time for several lives, but I don’t think any of us had ever witnessed a scene like this one. The frenzy continued, with many of the beasts engaged in deadly battles, unable to curb their bloodlust.

“He’s gone,” I called meekly, feeling responsible for Johnnie’s demise. “We’ve got to get out of here before they regroup.” Each of us took one last look at the island and turned grimly back to the endless expanse of sawgrass ahead.

Without a word, we poled nonstop until dark, our only guide the setting sun, which we kept on our right. In the fading light I tried to find a place to camp but, although several of the boats had hit bottom when we first started out, there was no solid land in sight. I feared the water was rising, pouring from the lake and slowly covering the dry land. Finally, as darkness enveloped us, I called for a halt.

We brought the canoes together and planted the poles vertically in the muck, then lashed the boats to them. Still silent, we moved around our crafts, trying to get comfortable for the night ahead.

26

By the height of the moon in the sky, I guessed it was about midnight when we gave up our makeshift camp to the mosquitos. The swarming bugs, attracted by our unbathed bodies, made it impossible to sleep. The incessant buzzing of the bugs and the grunts of the gators after our close call and the loss of Johnnie unnerved us. Silently, we separated the canoes, pulled the poles from the muck, and started to float into the night. My leg ached, but I struggled to take the first turn at the pole, using a distant star to track our course.

I assigned two-hour shifts, and we took turns at the helm through the night using the stars to navigate. Despite the discomfort of the canoe, I slept fitfully during Rory’s last watch and woke with the sun. The landscape had changed overnight. Mangrove islands were visible in the distance, and I sensed the water flow had increased. I scooped water with one hand and brought it to my mouth. To my disdain and relief, it was brackish; the fresh water diluted with salt from the incoming tide. My relief was that we were close to the coast, but my worry was that we were out of water and could no longer rely on the miles of fresh water that had been around us.