Pirate

On our past trips to the farm, we had stopped for the night at a small village named Punta Gorda, where I knew we could get food and water. To complicate matters, the near shore was totally exposed. We would have to row the two miles across open water to reach the southern shore and the small islands that would offer us protection. If we were to hug the north shore until dusk and then make the crossing, the landmass would hide the angle of approach of our pursuers. Once we reached the far shore, we could use the cover of the islands and the full moon to reach Punta Gorda, where several of us could sneak ashore and steal water and food. Thus provisioned, we would make for the mouth of the river and seek the aid of the captain’s lady friend.

With nothing to do but pull on my oar, I started to think ahead. Word would spread fast, and the lure of the treasure we carried would bring out every bounty hunter in Florida. I also feared traveling overland through the territory; a war between the Americans and the Seminole Indians was brewing, making the land as dangerous as the ocean. The size and weight of the chests would necessitate a horse-drawn cart, which was slow and noticeable. With only ten men to defend it, the treasure would be in jeopardy before we started. I looked back at the open water, thinking it our best chance for escape.

4

Wind-blown spray flew over the bow of the boat as we pulled to our limits, crashing through the waves in our path. We were soaked, and despite the hard work, I was shivering. It was hard to tell how Rhames fared, as he stared straight ahead and rowed. The waves were capped with white foam, some high enough to block our view of land when the boat fell into the trough. With the help of the outgoing tide, the crests stacked up in the entrance to the bay, so close together they slammed the boat continuously. I chanced a glance at the other boats in our convoy when we crested a wave, and they were struggling as we were. At least to this point, we remained together.

With every glimpse of land, our situation looked worse. The island we were making for seemed to diminish in size. Was it possible the current was moving us backwards? I thought about asking Rhames, but his skill lay more with the pistol and cutlass than navigation. No, this was my call. I looked toward the sky for a sign and what I saw changed our course. A dark line of clouds was approaching. Not the huge, puffy clouds with their dark anvil bottoms that wreaked havoc during the summer, but a long, dark line etched across the horizon. There was no way to know how quickly it would hit us, but when it did, the wind would be fierce and would likely last for several days. All I knew was it was not visible several hours ago, meaning it was moving fast. We were in no way prepared for the rain and chill that accompanied these winter storms.

“Rhames,” I yelled over the wind. He turned toward me. “We need to go back.” I nodded my head toward the line of clouds that seemed even closer now.

“Aye,” he replied and started to back his oar.

That was about as much as I could expect from him, but I needed to make sure the other boats knew our plan. I yelled at the top of my lungs, but the wind threw my words back in my face. Rhames noticed and yelled with me. His voice was lost as well. We had to signal the crews, or the current would scatter us. I noticed the pistol stuck in his belt and yelled for him to fire. Without a word he withdrew the gun, pointed toward the sky, and fired. The blast was deafening, and I turned to see if the other boats had heard. The sound had carried and heads turned. Now that we had their attention, I focused on the maneuver that was so simple in calm water, but dangerous with the present conditions.

I continued to pull forwards as Rhames back-paddled, trying to time my strokes with his. The boat started to turn and I braced myself for the crux, when we would be beam-on to the waves and in danger of capsizing. I closed my eyes and froze, not wanting to watch as we turned, and the wave came over the boat.

“Row, dammit. Whatever happens—row harder,” Rhames yelled.

I woke from my stupor and pulled as hard as I could. Finally, the boat broke free from the friction of the water, but paused as if hanging on the wave. We were stalled, about to fall backwards and in danger of capsizing when we glanced at each other and, with a furious attempt, we both pulled at the same time. I pulled again, feeling only air, and exhaled as we found ourselves on the crest of the wave. Having passed through the dangerous quarter, the boat moved quickly toward the island we had just left.