Pirate Latitudes

For the next five hours, they battled the wind and the rain to get the cannon in position and safely lashed down. When they were finished, every man on El Trinidad was exhausted beyond endurance; the sailors clung like drowning animals to stays and railings, exerting every last ounce of energy to keep from being washed over the side.

And yet, Hunter knew, the storm was just beginning.

…

A HURRICANE, THE most awesome event in nature, was discovered by the voyagers to the New World. The name - hurricane - is an Arawak word for storms that had no counterpart in Europe. Hunter’s crew knew of the awful power of these giant cyclonic events, and responded to the terrible physical reality of the storm with the oldest sailor’s superstitions and rites.

Enders, at the helm, watched the mountains of water all around him, and muttered every prayer he had ever learned as a boy, while he simultaneously clutched the shark’s tooth around his neck and wished he could raise more canvas. El Trinidad was struggling with three sails at the moment, and it was unlucky to sail with three.

Belowdecks, the Moor took his dagger and cut his own finger, then drew a triangle on the deck with his blood. He placed a feather in the center of the triangle, and held it there while he whispered an incantation to himself.

Forward, Lazue threw a casket of salt pork over the side, and held three fingers into the air. Hers was the most ancient superstition of all, though she knew only the old seaman’s tale that food over the side and three fingers in the air might save a foundering ship. In fact, the three fingers represented the trident of Neptune, and the food was a sacrifice to the god of the oceans.

Hunter himself professed to despise such superstition, yet he went to his cabin, locked the door, got down on his knees, and prayed. All around him, the furniture of the cabin crashed back and forth from one wall to another, as the ship rocked crazily on the seas.

Outside, the storm screamed with demonic fury, and the ship beneath him creaked and groaned in long, agonizing moans. At first, he did not notice any other sound, and then he heard a woman’s scream. And then another.

He left his cabin and found five sailors dragging Lady Sarah Almont forward, to the companionway ladder. She was screaming and wrestling in their grip.

“Hold there,” Hunter shouted, and went up to them. Waves crashed over them, smashing against the deck.

The men would not look him in the eye.

“What goes here?” Hunter demanded.

None of the men spoke. It was Lady Sarah who finally shrieked: “They’re going to throw me in the ocean!”

The leader of the men seemed to be Edwards, a rough seaman, veteran of dozens of privateering campaigns.

“She’s a witch,” he said, looking at Hunter defiantly. “That’s what it is, Captain. We’ll never last this storm if she’s on board.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hunter said.

“Mark me,” Edwards said. “We’ll not last with her on board. Mark me, she’s a witch as ever I saw.”

“How do you know this?”

“I knew it first I seen her,” Edwards said.

“By what proofs?” Hunter persisted.

“The man is mad,” Lady Sarah said. “Stark mad.”

“What proofs?” Hunter demanded, shouting over the wind.

Edwards hesitated. Finally, he released the girl, and turned away. “No use talking of it,” he said. “You mark me, though. Mark me.”

He walked away. One by one, the other men backed off. Hunter was alone with Lady Sarah.

“Go to your cabin,” Hunter said, “and bolt the door, and stay there. On no account come out, and do not open the door for any reason.”

Her eyes were wide with fright. She nodded, and went to her room. Hunter waited until he saw the door to her cabin close, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he went on deck, into the full blast of the storm.

Belowdecks, the storm seemed fearsome, but on the main deck it exceeded all preparation. The wind tore at him like an invisible brute, a thousand strong hands pulling at his arms and legs, wrenching him away from any handhold or support. The rain struck him with such force that at first he cried aloud. He could hardly see in the first few seconds. He made out Enders at the tiller, lashed firmly into his position.

Hunter went over to him, holding to a guideline strung along the deck, finally reaching the shelter of the aft castle. He took an extra line and looped it around himself, leaned closer to Enders, and shouted, “How fare you?”

“No better, no worse,” Enders shouted back. “We hold, and we’ll hold some while longer, but it’s hours. I can feel her start to break.”

“How many hours?”

Enders reply was lost in the mountain of water that surged over them and smashed down on the deck.

It was, Hunter thought, as good an answer as any. No ship could take such a pounding for long, especially not a crippled ship.

…