Pirate

I took the pole and checked our course against the position of the sun. My mouth was dry, but I continued in silence, knowing the others suffered the same fate. In the distance, I could see clouds and my first thought was that rain was coming. During the summer, these clouds would blossom into anvil-based thunderheads, but this time of year I thought it might be a landmass they were attracted to. The mangrove islands on either side of us became closer and denser as we floated by them, and I felt the water change beneath us. Another hour and we were in a seam, like you find in a river, that turned us to the west. The channel was deep and clearly delineated now that the sawgrass was gone, and soon we had to lash the poles to the boats and use our paddles.

The mood lightened as the channel opened to reveal an expanse of islands in the distance. At first I was jubilant, but as I continued to monitor the river’s western course, I started to worry. Gasparilla had traveled the route from the Keys up the west coast of Florida, and this area looked familiar. I glanced at Rhames, who would have noticed as well, but he was laid out and resting, his face toward the sky. I would have to wait until he finished his shift paddling to confirm my suspicion. For now I would keep quiet. If I was, in fact, correct, we were in the Shark River, a tidal basin that emptied into the Gulf of Mexico, miles of open water away from the protection of the Keys.

I allowed the group to revel in the accomplishment of our escape from the river of grass and kept my thoughts to myself. After all, we could well be the first white men to make the journey. If there were others before us, I hadn’t heard their claims.

Rory took over at the helm, and I sat in the bow studying the islands in the distance. The water had taken a light-green color and along the mangroves I could see fish rolling and jumping. My thoughts were broken by a strange site on the horizon. Two small, vertical lines appeared over an island not too far in the distance. They were too straight to belong in nature and, as we closed, I whispered to Rory to pole toward the far bank.

We formed a semicircle with our backs to the mangroves. The group turned toward me as I looked back at the open water. I whispered in case my voice carried over the water, “Right then, we’ve gotten out of one pot and climbed into another.”

All but Rhames looked confused. He nodded in agreement.

“It’s the Shark River we’re in. The captain’s had us take refuge here before. That’s the good news. The river of grass is behind us, but the worst of it is that these boats will do us little good out there.” They followed my gaze to the west. Several fingers pointed at the top of the masts I had seen earlier. “That’s right. Back to pirating, but this time, not for the loot but for our own survival. We need that boat if we are going any further.”

Rory looked distraught. “Why don’t you just pay them off? There’s a fortune in the chests.”

The men looked at her with odd looks on their faces. “We don’t know who they are. Holed up in the river, they could be pirates, slavers, or both,” I said.

She looked down. “I’m just sayin’ we could see what they’re about before you bloody lot go and murder them.”

“Right, then,” I said. My plan was to scout them out, anyway. If that kept her happy and quiet, all the better. I organized the group and appointed Red as leader, while Rhames, Blue, and I took the biggest boat, and unloaded the chest into another canoe to make our craft lighter and faster should we need to make a quick escape. I took Rhames for his knowledge and Blue for his instincts, desperately hoping between the two men’s skill sets that we could form a plan to take the boat. We stayed against the shore as we made our way toward the open water. Rhames, the strongest, paddled, and Blue sat forward, forgoing his blow tube for a rifle. I sat in the stern, feeling useless, but even the easy maneuver to switch boats had caused my leg to revolt in pain.

I lost sight of the masts as we crossed to the island where we beached the boat, and I worried that they had raised anchor and left—until I heard the talk of men through the brush. I stayed with the craft, a rifle ready, while Rhames and Blue went inland. Minutes later, they emerged and silently crept back into the canoe. I was already at the oars, ready to move, when Rhames signaled me to move out. The boat was silent until we were across the river and out of earshot.

“It’s a schooner—a merchant from the look of her. Less than a dozen men,” Rhames said. “From the looks of it, they had some trouble in the storm and sought refuge here.”

“Can we take it?”

“Aye, anything can be taken.” He grinned, clearly healed and back in his element. “But we need to act fast. From the looks of them, they’ll be leaving on the outgoing tide this afternoon,” he said.