Pirate

My watch started at midnight and, after observing our position, I went below to check on the two men. I had lain on my bunk tossing and turning, but sleep had eluded me. Light from the waxing gibbous moon, a sliver from full, flooded the hold, and I could see the faces of the men without the need for a lantern. They were both asleep, Swift said when I relieved him of his watch, and the one man who had gained consciousness had eaten some food and drank. I went to check that the other man was still alive and could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed.

He shifted and I thought he was awake, until I realized that it was the boat moving on the sandbar below, the keel struggling to release itself from the suction of the sand. I returned to the forward hold to continue my search for a spare anchor. The light was dim as I moved forward, and I thought about going above for a lantern, but the boat shifted again. The sound of the water racing against the hull as the tide rose increased my urgency as I dug through the sails.

The boat shifted again, and I knew we only had minutes before we would be free of the sandbar and at the mercy of the tide. There was nothing in the hold, but in the dim light I could see another hatch in the floor. I went to it with some trepidation after what the last hatch I had opened revealed, held my breath, pulled the latch, and opened the wooden cover. The sound of water sloshing around told me it was the bilge, and I was just about to shut the cover and look elsewhere when a thought struck me.

I jumped down into the ankle-deep water and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The sound of the sea was louder here as I started to feel around for the ballast. I bumped into a board stuck from the floor and, not knowing what it was, moved around it. The boat shifted again and I stumbled, unable to gain footing on the uneven floor. On my knees, I ran my hands along the objects, and found a mixture of materials. With no time to look further, I grabbed a smooth, rectangular-shaped piece of metal and tried to pull it off the floor. It resisted my efforts and I scurried back to the main hold, seeking the rope attached to the boom.

The boat moved again, this time turning with the tide. “Help!” I called down the companionway to wake the sleeping men. With no time to wait, I yelled again and went toward the stern. I grabbed the rope hanging from the block and tackle, pulled the slack with me as I climbed back into the hold, made my way back to the bilge, and started to work the rope around the heavy object. Satisfied, I went back to the main hold and saw Swift and Syd standing above me.

“Pull the line,” I called, and raced back for the ballast. I could feel the rope come under tension as I reached the object and started to guide it through the ship. I hoped it had not damaged anything as it banged against the bulkheads around the lower hatch. Through the sail locker and then into the main hold, I guided the weight until it sat below the main hatch.

“What the bloody …” Swift started.

I ignored him and climbed the ladder. “Anchor. It’s all we’ve got. Hurry up and let’s get it over the side.” Together we hauled on the line, and the weight rose through the opening. I let the other men take the weight and went to the boom to swing it outboard. With a final grunt, the men hoisted the object over the side.

“Let her go and tie off the line,” I called out, as it crashed into the water. Line whipped through our hands as the heavy weight sought the bottom. Syd grabbed the bitter end and tied it to a metal cleat near the transom and we waited. The boat seemed to lift and turn beneath us as the tide lifted the keel from the sand.

We waited to see if the weight would hold, unable to do anything but watch, as the tide swung the boat. Feeling a tug, we exchanged a smile as the line came taut and the boat settled.

Before we could congratulate ourselves, we looked in shock as a man emerged from the hold. Syd and I went to him, but he shrugged us off and gained the deck under his own power.

“Mason,” he said with a heavy accent, and extended his hand.

We exchanged names and stood there staring at each other.

“I’m guessing y’all are not the men that took the ship.”

I hesitated, not knowing if he was referring to us or the smugglers. “We ran across the ship up the coast.”

“So, you pirated a pirate ship,” he asked.

Apparently he hadn’t sustained a head wound, as he cut to the quick of our situation. “Something like that. But slavers we are not. You and your friend are free men now.”

“What about the rest?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I answered, then together we went to the galley.