Annalea, Princess of Nemusmar

As agreed upon, each vessel attempted to set itself a heading that put it a league west of its starboard-side neighbour. Following such a tack would soon enough spread our small "fleet" across the waters: each one out of eyesight from every other. You might consider it smarter to have hung together for protection and mutual assistance, but it would've been folly to attempt. First of all, only the ketch and the yawl were crafts that were truly maneuverable and somewhat capable of crossing the high seas on a set course. To have attempted to keep all of those floats together would've been a disastrous waste of energy and time. 'Twould also have made it easier for the British fleet to discover and destroy us, all at once.

  Separation was necessary for survival–of as many as possible. Considering the mortal dangers we faced–from man and nature (and God, if we were not in His good stead)–only the youngest, most innocent children on that voyage would have expected that all could live through such peril. It was given to the company of each vessel, should they be captured, to provide a convincing yarn about the recent–most anguished–demise of all the others. We knew all our people capable of presenting and defending such a ruse–even under threat of torture or death–to protect their compatriots.

  Our immediate object was for me, in the ketch, and Higgins, in the yawl, to make with haste for the nearest island inhabited by friendly natives with who we'd traded–and who we could trust. In such craft it would take most of a day to make the crossing; but that was far sooner than any longboat could achieve–if it should make it at all! The plan was–if Higgins and I made it, either one or both of us–to quickly make arrangements with our native hosts to provide security for our people, offload, and head back across the sea in search of survivors in smaller craft. We'd repeat this process–sweeping and surveying the waters 'twixt Nemusmar and there, 'til we were absolutely certain there was no one left to redeem from the sea! Those on longboats and smaller vessels would need to avoid the Royal Navy, struggle with unpredictable seas and endure harsh weather–mayhaps for several days.

  Our crossing was bad enough. Less than half the way across, we ran up against a gale that threatened to push us all the ways back to Nemusmar–or peg us to the bottom of the ocean, if we resisted! I was grievously concerned for the welfare of our people, left behind to buck the waves in those tiny floats–like so many leaves against a stiff wind. But I was most urgently concerned about Higgins and that lot, riding out there somewhere on me tail and heading that light boat into the brunt of this angry storm!

  We passed most of that night fighting against raging winds and high waters. Sadly, we lost a few souls, overboard. At one instance, two small children were swept away–and their mother, who tried to grab them. It happened so quick, no one could even respond 'til they were already full lost from view. 'Twas as if God just snatched 'em up to heaven, in the blinking of an eye. Least, I hope He did. And two of me mates–Hartshorn and Wiggins–gave up their lives while trying to arrest sheets in the savage wind.

  It was almost too much for me. I'd not slept in what seemed a fortnight–and could not find memory of the last time I'd eaten. But I commanded that vessel; and I was responsible for all the lives onboard. Aye, I was responsible even for those lives that were lost. I shall always carry the guilt and shame of it. I was determined to lose no more.

  A ketch is no grande ship of the fleet, with sturdy, elegant cabins and various thick-hewn, plank decks 'twixt you and the sea. But we had a sturdy deck and bulkhead, and yards and yards of rope available. I made those people kiss the deck, with the smallest, lightest adults on the bottom. Curled betwixt them, were the children. Then, layered in a crosshatch pattern–as to allow air through, and prevent smothering–the heaviest adults went on top. Meself and a handfull of mates, as were necessary to man the ketch and try to keep her afloat, tied ourselves to beams–allowing each man eight yards of line. Afore we fastened ourselves, we literally lashed our people to the deck: creating a vast net out of crosshatched lines pulled snug over the similarly patterned pile of their bodies. The poor souls. They looked for all the world like a fisherman's most abundant haul!

  By dawn, we'd broken through the storm, with no more lives lost. Me mates and I unharnessed ourselves and set free our catch of human "fishes." Annalea and Mam' set to helping and comforting those in need. Some had been badly banged, bruised and scratched. A few were severely cut and in need of bandaging. Most were just completely spent from the whole, damned experience: all of it–from that last, peaceful eve on Nemusmar, 'til that bright, hopeful dawn. 'Twas good to feel you could breathe, again, but the voyage was not yet finished. And the future was all uncertainty!

  The sheets reset, and all put in as right order as possible, I leaned back against the mastpole and shut me eyes, to rest them from the bright sun and salt air. I'd not intended to, but I must've dozed. I must've dozed a long while! For when I awoke, the ketch was pulling into port. And not some island port. Methinks 'twas Bristol. I know 'twas England! We'd made it back to England! I was elated beyond words!

  As we pulled up to the dock, Annalea said to me, "Oh, Papa, you've brung me home! You promised you would, and you have. I'm home! Thank you, Papa! I love you, Papa!"

  I looked down to see her holding me hand: me sweet, beautiful, golden-haired angel with the beaming smile. Annalea looked to be about five years of age. We stepped down the planks and onto the dock.

  There was a tumultuous crowd there to greet us, and they were cheering us, hysterically. At the forefront of this host of well-wishers were the captain and Mam' and Orke and so many other familiar faces. From the midst of this sea of faces came Estaban–Don Estaban, a full grown man! He picked up Annalea, kissed her and hugged her and then twirled her around. He put her down, gently, afore me, and suddenly her bright smile turned to pallor, from fear.

  She began to cry and then to scream. Someone pushed out of the crowd and snatched her up! It was Pankhurst! The crowd seemed to melt away, allowing him to flee with the screaming child. Naturally, I gave chase, but seemed unable to advance–or even get me bearings. 'Twas as if I was running in place in a scorched, ravaged, desolate land. I looked down and spied a crushed flower. I reached down and picked it up. It disintegrated in me fingers. I looked about me at the ruin and desolation in that place; and I knew I was back on Nemusmar! Save for me, there was nobody–nothing–there.

  I fell down on me knees and screamed, "ANNALEA!"

  "Papa! M'God! What is it? You are scaring me. You are scaring us all! Are you alright, Papa?" 'Twas a full grown, soiled–but still beautiful–young woman what brought me back to me senses: back to reality and me responsibilities.

  Again I was surrounded by a crowd–this time, a real crowd. A crowd of concerned faces.

  "Papa, you look so pale. What is it? Do you feel ill?" Annalea's concern for me was constant, and heart-warming.

  I attempted to dismiss this concern as promptly as I could. I affected a sheepish grin and with mock laughter, I responded, "Oh, you know how it is, pet. An ol' codger like me can't seem to keep his eyes open. And when I doze on me feet, I must dream I'm still fighting the enemy."

  "But you were screaming, Papa!"

  "Well, I was dreaming I was fighting, love. I didn't say I was winning!"

  "But you were screaming me name, Papa!"

  "Hmm, fancy that, me dear. Fancy that. I guess I was missing you. And here you are! So all is right in the world!"

  I never told Annalea the true details of me dream–nor anyone else–for some time. But I knew it was a message–from God, or from me own guilt-ridden, crippled soul. I knew it must mean something, but I could not fathom what. I was not a man given to nightmares. When I dream, it is nearly always of combat or wenches. And I am all ways victorious in these. Well, at least in me dreams. But this was like travelling in time, as well as in place. This was not merely a dream!

  I was spared any further explanation to the unsatisfied inquisitors who then
plagued me, by a most imperative distraction: a loud voice proclaiming, "Land, ho!" Everyone scrambled for a view; but there was not much to see–not yet! The dot on the horizon grew larger but gradually. After all that gusting from before, now there was barely a draft to move the sails toward shore. Nonetheless–the rest of the way, all were on their feet in expectation.

  As we approached to a point where the island most filled the horizon, there was a visible, smoky haze hovering just above it. It appeared too dense to be from cooking fires–and too thin to be volcanism. What the hell was happening out there? I wondered this; but I did not speak it aloud. Our people had enough to be anxious about. I was reluctant to project unfounded concern upon those overburdened with worry. When a couple of me mates commented on that peculiar circumstance, I said I could not explain it. Mayhaps it was the output of some distant volcano or woodland fire that drifted out to sea and hung over that island. But whatever it was, it really didn't matter. We'd be soon upon that island, and I was not concerned. Least, that was what I told them.

  They all seemed appeased, for the time being. All save Estaban. Did I not mention he was aboard? With Annalea on me vessel, where else would he be?

  He got me alone and said, as quietly as possible, "Señor Crockett, I do not wish to alarm you, but something is amiss on that island."

  I returned the whisper, "I know, lad. But I don't know what it is. Do you?"

  "No, Señor."

  "Then we'll talk no more of it. But stay alert. I may need your assistance in organizing something when we alight, on shore."

  Our ketch was gradually drug toward shore, riding the crests of sporadic waves, in a somewhat jerking motion. Soon enough, I was able to drop off a small landing party. I did not like what I saw from onboard. The haze-like shroud which hung over the island was, in fact, composed of dissipated smoke. But I was far more concerned, at that moment, by what I did not see–people!

  Now that was unnatural. The natives who inhabited that isle had a well-organized society. They were vigilant, protective and wary of strangers; but they were not shy. If they recognized you as friends, there'd be a welcoming party on the beach to greet you. The bucks would be unarmed; the older women would have fruit to offer, and the young native girls–in all their naked beauty–well, they were just so welcoming!

  'Course, if they did not recognize you, there'd be a different party on that beach to greet you: a war party. And you best be able to make fast friends, as they'd little patience for strangers, and no patience for procrastinators. But, to put no one on the beach? Something must be very wrong. At the snail's pace with which we'd approached that isle, even the most unobservant would eventually have spied us. Surely, they knew of our presence. They must be hiding. But why? Cowardice and fear were contrary to their nature.

  I was, thus, gravely concerned for the safety of our landing party. I feared ambush and massacre awaited them. I'd've wished to put down another landing party, with more firearms to protect them, but I could not risk it. Me first obligation was the defense of those on board. So those few set ashore would have to find me some answers, and fast–at the risk of their own lives. For if they became truly imperilled, 'twould be unlikely I could save them. 'Twas more likely I'd have to weigh anchor and head back out to sea.

  And–of course–all this time, thoughts of me second obligation were constantly on me mind: to return to those waters where our valiant compatriots were struggling for survival–hopefully, still. These obstacles and distractions (if you would) all amounted to time ill spent.

  "Oh, Cap'n," I thought to meself, "time shall never be our ally; time is our enemy!"

  Now, more time would drift idle while I awaited answers. Being naturally impatient, and somewhat impetuous, I'd've as soon been down there onshore, meself, seeking me own answers. Yet me duty restrained me. Under protest from Annalea–who sensed me uneasiness–I delegated command of the landing party to Estaban. He alone I felt confidence in to perform this mission in me stead. 'Though, frankly, I feared for the outcome–and for the eternal contempt in which Annalea might hold me.

  The landing party moved across the beach, up and over an embankment, and out of sight. I ordered all armed men to keep their weapons at the ready and their eyes trained on that embankment. Now, there was naught I could do but wait. And when duty hounds at you, and you need to be elsewhere and you are anxious for results, every moment lasts an hour. Unavoidably, me anxiety spread to me crew. Gusting sand and blowing brush spooked seasoned campaigners into seeing imaginary attackers near everywhere. And they'd aim their firearms at these ghosts–always a breath away from shooting needlessly into the dunes. This tension was too dangerous!

  I kept a glass to that embankment, and when finally I spied human figures topping it–'though I knew not, yet, if they were friend or foe–I shouted, "Hold fire!"

  As the front man came sharp into focus, I saw it was Estaban. And as the men all cleared that embankment, I found the count to be the same as I'd despatched: no less–and no more. So the mystery would continue.

  Those on board gave up a thunderous cheer for our returning explorers, in gratitude of their safe return–and as a normal release of tension. They anxiously pressed to disembark and make to shore. But I'd not have it 'til I'd spaken to Estaban. I'd expected the lad to return to the ketch and report his findings, but instead, he signaled a request for me to join him on shore.

  I prepared to shore, thinking to meself, "More secrecy: this does not bode well!" I was right on the mark; Estaban had wanted to consult me alone, so's not to alarm the others. And the tale he told was quite disturbing. That shroud of smoke was the result of a lush, tropical island being scorched to cinder! The native village, all their structures, and every living, growing thing–all were burned away!

  "Where are all the people?" I asked him.

  "That is the tragedy!" he replied. "They all are dead! We could find not one living soul!"

  He described for me a scenario sadly reminiscent of recent events on Nemusmar. He said there were native carcasses strewn everywhere: shot up, cut up and burned up. It was evident to him that the slaughter was performed by white men with firearms. But what white men: English, Spanish, French–soldier or brigand? He could not say! He found not one white corpse, nor any other telltale evidence about–anywhere!

  There was just no time for further investigation–or procrastination. I looked hard to Estaban's countenance and asked the one question that needed answer. "Is it safe to land our people?"

  "There is no present danger to any of us," was his reply.

  Under those circumstances, that was all I could hope for. I ordered our people be disembarked–orderly, but hastily.

  When all were assembled on the beach, I gave it to be known that, in me absence, Estaban was their military leader. This brought about some grumbling from amongst the older campaigners. But I had no time for delicacy, for assuaging fragile sensitivities–old friends, or not! I warned them that any man–regardless of tenure–who fails to accept Estaban's authority, or attempts to subvert it, shall–upon me return–be set out to drift at sea alone in a small boat, with but one day's rations and water.

  To Estaban, I said aloud (for the benefit of others), "Should anyone's conduct jeopardize the safety of the rest, just shoot him on the spot. There'll be no questions asked!"

  I also gave it to be known that in all other matters, Mam' and Annalea shall make binding decisions. There was no debate on this. Then–as I was anxious to return to sea–I conscripted the two loudest "grumblers" to assist me on the ketch, and–with kisses for Annalea and Mam' (for I knew not whether I'd see them again, in this life)–I made haste for the boat. I'd've preferred to have several more hands to aid with the voyage–and fight the good fight, if necessary–but I felt it more important to leave every able-bodied man possible, for the security of our people. At that moment, those were the only of our "tribe" I knew to be still alive
; and I meant for them to stay alive!

  We pressed the sails hard on that ketch, to move in the winds at the greatest–'though not necessarily the safest–speed possible. The weather was vastly more favourable for this crossing; and visibility was outstanding. Higgins should have followed roughly the same tack I'd taken. And with the blessing of clear skies and calm seas, we'd spot 'em–if they were anywhere in these waters.

  I anxiously scanned the horizon. Me concern gnawed at me gut. Granted, the yawl was a small, slow vessel, but with all the time spent in delay at that island, they should have caught us by now. Something had gone wrong, I knew; but I could only imagine what it might be. Could be their boat was sunk in the storm; or, mayhaps, they were all right but blown far off course–or any of many possibilities in between.

  So we sailed and searched. Hours passed this way: straining to see what, evidently, was not out there. Finally, I spotted something that appeared to be floating, far across the waters. I put the ketch hard a-port, and made a beeline towards that sighting. Our approach brought us quickly to see it was wood debris floating on the water: mostly split planks and timbers. And on some of the planks and timbers were human bodies. I feared the worst had happened. There were very few bodies, considering the number of souls what had been on that yawl. And some of those bodies were floating betwixt the wood–face down!

  But, of the bodies on planks and timbers, they were grasping and clinging to the wood; they were still clinging to life! We plucked those wretched but hardy souls out of the sea in the quick-to. Higgins had made it, and half-a-dozen of our old salts. Only three of the women and four of the children had survived. I let the ketch drift a bit, while we worked to resuscitate the haggard but fortunate few.

  I personally attended Higgins, so as to get his report all the sooner. Just as soon as he was able to breathe, regular, he began to talk. "Arrgh... unggh... Mr. Crockett... it was the most awful...! I just.... I couldn't prevent it!"

  "I know, man. I truly know." I sought to quiet his excited nature with expressions of sympathy and understanding. And I was quite sincere in this, being still burdened by the pangs of guilt from the lives I'd most recently lost. Yet he'd lost so many more! His anguish must've been immeasurable. Even so, I could not accept his being inconsolable. I needed him calmed down. I needed a complete telling of what happened. I needed to know if there might be any possibility of other survivors adrift out there, somewheres. And I most urgently needed to set me mind and activities towards those long left in peril–back out in those waters off Nemusmar!

  With a bit of patience and a calming voice, I brought him to the point where he could relate specifics of their tormented night: the losing battle against the high seas and hurricane winds, the wrecking of the yawl, the plunge into the dark, cold, tumultuous waters, and the desperate attempts to save oneself and others. He told how he and the rest of our lads what had survived the original plunge into the sea had struggled desperately to grasp something to cling to, only to repeatedly loose their grips on safety to return to the waters in attempts to drag others–mostly women and children–to safety. He said many lost their lives in those attempts, when their own strength and endurance gave out and they could no longer fight the savage sea.

  Tragically, they sacrificed their own lives in vain. Higgins told me that as the night and the horror dragged on, and weariness and discomfort turned to fatigue and chill, all but a few of those once saved, gave up their grips, surrendered their lives, and slipped silently–and finally–under the sea. Such a sadness gripped me, I had difficulty keeping the tears clear of me eyes. I remember thinking, "Thanks be to God that Annalea is not with me, here–now. For certain, her heart would burst from hearing about the sufferings of her beloved people!"

  Having brung the survivors back from the threshold of eternity, I spared but a few more minutes, while–in the silent company of them aboard–I recited those few prayers I know, word for word, for the benefit of those cherished lives that had endured so much, only to be taken from us at this transformation point in our communal journey through life. I cleared me throat, and all morose thoughts that diverted me attentions from me duties, and shouted the orders to set the sails for a course back to the waters off Nemusmar. The weather still was with us; the waters were sparkling, and the winds–now up a bit–were in our favour. Were I a man given to belief in omens, I'd've taken these all for good signs. But–at heart–I believe we make much of our own luck; and this is fabricated from instance, object, perseverance, clear thinking, insight and timing.

  I'd a firm grasp on most of that, but I still was troubled by the last; time–in any form of definition–seemed only to work against us! In relating such matters, I do have this tendency to emphasize the concerns what influence me thoughts and decisions. However, me attitude–in practice–is never to allow concerns or contradictions to delay necessary activity. Even if I was convinced that the ultimate outcome of a venture must be disaster, I would continue those actions that might delay or prevent that disaster, right to the end, accepting–in me stride–whatsoever may come!

  By the time we'd distanced ourselves half the way 'twixt the wreck of the yawl and Nemusmar, I had all aboard on nerves' edge–from me own anxiety. Soon, now, we'd know for certain the fate of all our remaining people. And–at any time–we might be overwhelmed by ships of the Royal Navy. When finally we entered those waters where last I'd seen our people, on so many floats, I found nothing: no vessels, no flotsam nor jetsam, nor signs of any kind–nothing! Now, the worry in me gut was eating me up. I stomped up and down that deck, looking desperately over the railing and repeatedly shouting, "Where in the hell are they?"

  As if in response, Higgins shouted, "There! Mr Crockett! Look there!"

  Sure enough, he'd spotted a ship moving fast towards us. And soon, seeming to bear down on us. Damn the omens; this was not a good sign! Our people had no ship. British navy or other, this could only be trouble!

  As their approach closed, I could tell by her lines she was not Royal navy. Come a bit closer, I could see she was a merchant ship: and very heavily armed–and aimed right for us! Why? I ordered me meagre crew to battle stations. Whomsoever they may be, if they wanted a fight, we'd give 'em one; 'lest they blew us out of the water, straight off! But that ship, she just slid alongside us, her port to our starboard. And much too close for sane use of cannon fire. I shouted to me mates to prepare to repel boarders.

  I heard the voice afore I saw the face; but I knew it was him. Could be no other! "Crockett's face is repellent enough to prevent anyone boarding that 'dinghy!' 'Tis why I chose you for command, Mr. Crockett: for your repulsive qualities!"

  "Thank you, Cap'n! Thank you very much! I am truly grateful. I know it takes an uncommonly arrogant bastard to tolerate a repulsive subordinate!"

  "Well, Crockett, uncommon is–"

  "Enough, Cap'n!" I had to cut him off. I was tired and frustrated, puzzled and impatient. "What in the name of Christ are you doing upon that ship?"

  "Crocket, you should see and hear yourself. You have the bewilderment of a child. 'Though it is not so charming in an old sea horse such as yourself! Now, come aboard me ship, and I'll explain all to your satisfaction."

  Once aboard, the captain acquainted me with days and nights of disaster, disappointment and daring do, similar to me own experiences. And 'though the tragedy I'd witnessed on me vessel was compounded on Higgins' boat, 'twas still exceeded by the great numbers lost in those waters off Nemusmar. It seems the storm we'd fought had, indeed, cut across the sea and into those waters, destroying all those floats the captain was unable to rescue, at a great cost in lives lost. It must surely have been terrifying for those lost souls–and their deaths must've been anguished.

  But, mayhaps, the blessing was that they escaped capture by the British. For the whites, this would've meant humiliation and death–for the blacks, slavery and a fate worse than death. Black and w
hite, alike–I was certain–would have chosen a watery grave over surrender! But as to that ship....

  "A recent purchase of mine, Crocket–like it?"

  Sarcasm. For me, it is a reaction to annoyance. For the captain, it is just another facet of his ongoing dialogue with life. Aye, talking to and at others is his means of analyzing and expounding all matters in life. And–sometimes–it is annoying.

  And–sometimes–I respond sarcastically. "This is the best you could do?" was me retort. If he didn't wish to tell me how he came by this "bark," then he needn't (damn him)!

  I chose to move the conversation along. "So, Cap'n, what about the military threat? Did you, in fact, hear an explosion from our booby trap? Did it, in fact, signal the resurrection of our enemy? Did they, in fact, come after you?"

  "'In fact,' Crockett, an affirmative answer to all your questions. You were several hours gone from me sight when I heard that unmistakable roar: the echo from a tremendous blast of gunpowder. The noise boomed out over the waters–faint, at a distance, and then broadening to fill the air around you, as it passed your ears. 'Twas an unmistakable sound.

  "I allowed we likely had a few more hours before any British ship might reach these waters and discover us. Mayhaps they'd postpone, 'til dawn on the morrow, to set out on a search. But hours or days, it did not really matter. 'Twere naught we could do about the situation–or to help ourselves in any way. We could but float, and wait–and hope to God. For fate had delivered us into His hands.

  "And the Lord's hands seemed to me, at first, to be as rough as those of a shipwright! That weather that had nearly toppled you–and had decimated Higgins' lot–started pressing in our faces. As we tossed about in the waves, desperate in mind and desolate in spirit, God put forth a gentle hand. Riding majestically over those choppy waves–pretty as a picture–come this well appointed ship, on whose deck we now stand.

  "I watched her approach with eagerness in me heart. I had not the least concern as regarded that mysterious vessel bearing down on us. It never, for an instant, occurred to me that she might be British navy. I knew, instinctively, she was provided by God. And, by God, what a timely gift she was!"

  "'Twould appear, Cap'n, time is now your ally!"

  "What, Crockett?" The captain was quite noticeably annoyed by me impertinent interruption in the midst of his thought. 'Twas as if I'd taken the wind from his sails.

  "Nothing, Cap'n. I apologize; pray continue."

  Still somewhat rankled, he proceeded, raising his arm to gesture grandiosely toward the sea, raising his voice to project his performance for all within earshot. "Well, as she glided gracefully through those storm waters, destined for our mark, I advised Orke and the other lads how to prepare for her arrival. As they came along side, their captain shouted out for our attention, and to identify who was in charge. I responded with pleas for succor and a brief, but descriptive explanation of how our ship was overladen and went belly-up in this storm, a few miles out (where I assumed it was more savage, still). Fortunately, I said, after the masts cracked and the sails came down, we were able to load up and cast off in these longboats afore the ship capsized.

  "I told him I was master of a ship on consignment to deliver slaves, merchandise and other sundries from market to an island plantation. This seemed to convince him and, mercifully, he invited us aboard–to save us from the fishes. The storm continued to grow around us, as our people were hauled on board. The ship did seriously list, now, and the longboats (for there were, then, two of us, together) were pitching, dangerously, in the rough waves. I'd already cut loose the rafts we were towing, for fear they'd drag us to the bottom of the sea. Damned shame, for there was a king's ransom in gold, on each one!

  "I insisted that our lads hoist up all the chests from the longboats, 'though, afore abandoning them. This brought a burst of angry words from their impatient captain, who wanted to escape the full wrath of the storm–and who'd been none too happy about having us to begin with. It was his master–a compassionate man who owned this vessel (and was, hisself, aboard)–who insisted we be saved from certain death. I begged the indulgence of that captain, informing him that there was considerable value in those chests; and half of it would be his reward, for saving it all. He became a more patient man, and set his crew to assist us.

  "Once on board, I was introduced to our true benefactor, one Mr. Hiram Oglethorpe, and his beautiful daughters; who, at present, are below deck in the custody–I mean company–of Orke and a few lads. While I'd reasonably assured the safety of those who accompanied me, I was gravely concerned for the rest of our people. Knowing you as I do, Crockett, I am certain you suffered this same angst. So, you understand, I could not long postpone me move.

  "The Oglethorpes were most cordial, but that captain and his mates were most concerned about all these blackies milling about, unshackled. I told him they were largely house and stable servants and were most trustworthy; that there was no reason for his concern. But he was quite insistent that no blackies–especially the bucks–were going to have unfettered access to all decks of his ship. He ordered them removed to the hold, under guard.

  "This would not do! I needed Orke and the others to execute me impromptu plan. I don't have to tell you, Crockett, there is no greater lure for a man's attention–no better bait for his soul–than the awesome glitter of abundant gold! As that captain's men made their move to implement his orders, I made me move to implement me plan. I cracked open the largest of those chests, exposing the riches within, and exclaimed, 'Do what you must, sir, but first feast your eyes on your reward!'

  "They flocked 'round like so many starving seagulls who'd discovered a solitary, beached fish. That was me moment, and I gave me signal! Producing our weapons, we seized control–and, ultimately, the ship. In a heartbeat, Orke had a lock on their captain, I'd grabbed poor Mr. Oglethorpe, and our mates held his daughters. 'Twas a bit awkward for a few moments. One can never be certain, in such a situation, if it shall resolve by word or by deed. They did outnumber us in armed men: free to act, but loyal only to the commands of their captain. And we would certainly not surrender! For us, it could have ended there. But it would be a blood bath, for certain!

  "Oglethorpe implored their captain to surrender, for the sake of his daughters. But that captain dismissed his pleas, stating that we were pirates and would only kill them anyways–after raping his daughters. I would not be demeaned by this insufferable bastard, any longer. I raised me pistol to shoot his face off!

  "But Orke twisted the man in his grasp slightly, placing hisself 'twixt that captain and me intended shot. Wordlessly, he was warning me that me shot would resolve nothing, and would ignite a powder keg! Those armed sailors would be on us afore the smoke cleared. I continued raising the pistol 'til parallel to me forehead, and used the muzzle to cock back me cap–as if that benign gesture was all I'd intended. I smiled at that captain, struggling to make me demeanour appear conciliatory.

  "Not so easily consoled, he spit out the words, 'Damn, you should be hanged, brigand!'

  "But Oglethorpe was adamant; the ship was his property, and the captain must surrender it, for the safety of all! For me own part, I suggested to this captain that under current circumstances, he would most definitely die. Yet should he heed Mr. Oglethorpe's pleas, his personal risk of dying would be offset by a reasonable chance of living. And I added–'though I doubted it had any currency for him–me personal word for the safety of all his people and passengers, should he order his men to stand down.

  "Very reluctantly–no doubt with an eye towards securing his own longevity–he gave the order. Our men moved swiftly through his crew, removing every firearm and blade and bludgeon from their custody. The tension had passed. The look of defeat was on that captain's countenance, and a sorrowful look of bewilderment played on the faces of his crew.

  "I reinforced me promise that no one would be harmed, so long as no one interfered with us.
To ensure there were no mishappenings, I had that captain and his crew locked away in the hold and the stores. Mr. Oglethorpe and his daughters were confined to their cabins. Now, with a sturdy ship under me feet, and our own lads under me command, we could ride through that storm and comb these waters for our people!

  "The bluster from that storm was actually a blessed aid in moving us towards the shores of Nemusmar at a breakneck pace. 'Twas as being privileged passengers transported by the power of a cyclone! Approaching the cove at Nemusmar, Crockett, just as near as was safe draught for this heavy and laden ship, I headed up the coast and began sweeping those waters for survivors. All guns were manned and the men fully alerted for action. I quite expected to run up against the British fleet at any moment. Surprisingly, 'though, during the first sweep, there was not a sign of them. Constantly scanning the horizon with a glass, I did not catch so much as a smudge of a ship's outline in the distance.

  "With each pass, I gauged our alternating course to ensure me vision of the seas overlapped those waters just visited. Finally, we begun to spot survivors. As we did, we plucked the poor wretches and their cargo from their floats, sunk their vessels to avoid detection of their rescue, and moved swiftly on. Sadly, there was no time to mourn or pray over the dead. Crockett, I hit every point on the compass in me search, and scrutinized every patch of ocean possible. I had to accept that those I'd rescued were all that could be rescued. Increasingly, I was finding nothing but wreckage and debris–and less of that, as time and distance passed.

  "'Twas on me final pass, back along the coast of Nemusmar–watching for signals from survivors who might've been swept back onto shore–that I finally was confronted (and then surrounded) by warships of the British fleet. You can imagine what ensued, Crockett. With all they endured at our hands (and deservedly so) these Brits were neither cordial nor patient. I'd prepared for the eventuality of this meeting as well as I could. Obviously, 'twould be futile–suicidal–to initiate a battle. Therefore, we must take the opposite tack and be seen as most compliant. Everyone had a role to play–everyone, save that captain and his crew, who remained held below, with pistols to the officers' heads.

  "For Orke and the other blackies, 'twas necessary to clap themselves in ship's irons and assume the sullen demeanour of slaves in transport. The irons were not truly locked, of course–allowing them access to the weapons they sat upon, if needs be. This display was necessary, since now there were far too many of them to pass them off as house servants traveling with their master. So, the story was that they were part of a squire's estate, and they were being transported on commission, to be auctioned in Kingston for the benefit of the bereaved widow. Most touching–don't you think?

  "As to the rest of me 'flock'–well, there were far too many (and some far too scurrilous of appearance) to make any pretence of passengers or simple pilgrims in transit. Hell, Crockett, with all bodies on deck, it looked like we were moving an entire nation across these waters! So–discomfort and inconvenience put aside–we crammed every soul possible below decks, in the unjustifiable hope that we could avoid a full search by the Brits, and convince them to hastily depart, afore our army of stowaways ran out of breathing air! Some children, wenches and our more reputable looking mates were assembled on deck, to provide a comforting illusion of the familiar: loyal British subjects, colonists, anxious to arrive at their destination.

  "The last ingredients needed to complete this offering were suitable attire to present meself as the captain of this floating enterprise, and the cooperation of Mr. Oglethorpe. The suit of clothes was stripped right off their captain's back. And Mr. Oglethorpe's assistance was, graciously, forthcoming. Thankfully, Oglethorpe is a righteous and a decent man. Aye, he is a confirmer! You know what I mean, Crockett; a virtuous man–'though seldom found–once met, confirms your belief in the fundamental goodness of mankind. And such was evidenced in him from the first we started pulling our wretched folk from out of the brine. I had Oglethorpe and his daughters released and brought on deck, in the hope I could appeal to the feminine sensitivities of the young ladies to aid us in comforting the sorrowful women and children–chilled and drenched–as they were plucked from their floats.

  "The girls were quite compassionate, but it was Oglethorpe who set hisself to seeing about everyone's needs and comforts. He has the natural humanity of a missionary tending to the sick and downtrodden. I thought to meself, 'This is a man I can trust and admire. This is a man I can do business with, to the benefit of us both.'

  "So as we worked at our rescue, we discussed a scheme of mutual advantage. 'Twould seem friend Oglethorpe, formerly a gentleman farmer, had divested hisself of all his holdings in England, under the persuasion of his brother-in-law–whom he described as a businessman of shrewd repute. Together, they'd invested in this sturdy merchanter with intentions of using the man's business connections to establish a lucrative commercial enterprise in the West Indies. Expecting soon to recoup his investment–and with a lifetime of profits projected–Oglethorpe intended to realize his dream: to become a West Indies planter, on a large scale, and provide a life of advantage and refinement for his daughters, that would be far above their station, back in England. With the untimely demise of the brother-in-law, plans and circumstances changed; and all of the connections–impressed by that partner's business acumen–were unimpressed and disinclined to enter upon commerce with some bumpkin farmer.

  "Having naught but that ship and a small cache of currency–by which he was able to man and supply his ship–he embarked from England to the islands in hopes of contracting services and building a trade. I'm sure you'd agree, Crockett, that a man of common sense would be still back in England, haunting the harbours, desperately seeking a buyer, and quite prepared to graciously settle for a portion of the ship's true value–if tendered in genuine guineas. But an optimist, such as Oglethorpe, would never consider such an option. A setback, for a pragmatist, is an unforeseen opportunity, for an optimist.

  "The upshot of all this is that Oglethorpe had something we needed; and we had something he wanted. And what each could provide for the other was a means to an end: gold to purchase his dream life, in return for this sound ship to carry us to our new life!"

  "But Cap'n," 'twas time to interrupt this long voyage of words, "the gold.... How much gold did you promise him?"

  "Do I detect a rekindled fondness in you, Crockett, for that 'whore' metal?"

  "It is not fondness, Cap'n," I retorted, "it is concern I voice for the needs and welfare, and proprietary claims, of our people!"

  "Crockett, the words you utter to me, sometimes, I would consider–if from any other man–to be what some call 'fighting words;' and I would respond accordingly. But I always remember that your heart is better placed than your mouth! Our first, and greatest need–for all these people on board, all the people we've saved, and all those awaiting us on that island–is a sound ship: a ship of salvation! Aye, we could take this ship: offloading Oglethorpe, his daughters, that captain and his crew, directly into the waters, below–thus removing much dead weight and preserving our fortune. But that is not our way.

  "That has never been our way. For certain, we've been compelled to do things that others have called dastardly. And many have called us pirates. But we've never considered ourselves pirates. We've always held that those we've fought and those we've robbed–regardless of station or title–were the true villains, and were known to God as such. We have always treated decent people decently. We shall do no less for these good and decent people!"

  "Of course, you are absolutely right, Cap'n! So, how much?"

  "It shall take most of the treasure on board this ship to accomplish the purchase. And some of that needs be given over to that captain and his crew, to buy their cooperation and silence, for a time. There'll be a small amount left, to take with us, not to mention what you've landed, with our people."

  "What made it to the island was not much, Ca
p'n. And, as you know, what was on the yawl with Higgins is now scattered on the ocean floor."

  "Rest your mind, Crockett. Of most importance is that those of us still alive can make a life. We've put off our enemies, financed our future, and still have enough treasure left for the short haul. With a ship such as this, we can always procure more. And then there is what was left behind, buried on Nemusmar. I vow some day to return and retrieve our fortune!"

  "Aye, Cap'n! Aye... aye.... Uh... you started to tell of British 'visitors'–sometime, afore?"

  "Come, Crockett! Surely you've gathered the gist of it all. We are standing on the deck, not hanging from the yardarm! How think you it turned out?"

  "Well, I mean, Cap'n–I don't know. I mean, well I do know, but I don't know how. How?"

  "Crockett, I must admit, 'twas smoother and simpler than I'd expected. When requested–at gunpoint (as it were)–permission for them to board was graciously granted. Several officers and a company of armed soldiers soon crowded our deck. As earlier I mentioned, they were far from cordial; and curt is too kind a word to describe their behaviour. But it was tolerable and there was no danger of a resort to violence.

  "The officer in command of the troops was bellicose in the extreme; but the naval first officer was a normal sort, most what you'd expect of a seafaring man. Upon demand, Mr. Oglethorpe and I presented the documents he had at hand, defining our persons and purpose and justifying our presence in these waters. Then we told our tale of fighting the raging storm, spotting this island and heading toward land, for safety. We spake of how grateful we were to escape that storm and how relieved we were to happen upon a British patrol–fearing, as we did, there might be pirates in these waters or on that island.

  "Our inquisitor pressed hard to know what we'd seen during our sojourn into these waters: especially, any sighting of a ship, or ships. I told him there were no ships, just ever increasing flotsam and jetsam–and then floating carcasses among the debris, as we approached these waters. He seemed satisfied. The same, no doubt, was all they'd found. That was when the naval officer spake out and said we were right to fear pirates about.

  "He told of how this island had been 'infested' with pirates; but through the uncommon zeal of one of the king's loyal subjects, these 'traitors'–this threat to crown and commerce–had been discovered and most vanquished. Wishing to know all, Crockett, I latched onto that word, 'most,' and asked why he qualified this statement. He seemed a bit embarrassed for the telling, but tell he did. According to him, 'some' pirates who, no doubt, were already aboard two warships when the island stronghold was decimated, intended to slip 'round the island and strike a counterattack. They knew this because of the superb 'intelligence' they received from their own troops. They'd actually pulled the fleet out to sea to allow the pirates to believe they could enter the harbour, unmolested! They thought then to snare them there."

  The captain's words tickled me so very much, I could barely stop chuckling to say what I needed to say. "Damn it, I love you Cap'n! Your plans fall into place like all the other players were marionettes: their actions dependent on your pull of the strings. Now, I no longer wonder what took them so long to recover and seek us out. It took'em that long to complete the process you'd set in place for'em. And, 'twould seem, their apprehension increased with every step!"

  "You've not heard the best, Crockett. According to this 'informant,' when no pirate ships appeared–after allowing considerable time for a possible delayed arrival–they again resorted to their trusted 'intelligence' and set the fleet rampaging towards Kingston, for which they 'knew' the pirates were destined once they'd slipped away. The warships that had surrounded us were a detachment sent back to survey these waters 'just in case.' The main fleet is still pressing toward Kingston!"

  Now we were both laughing so hard we were doubled over!

  "Well, Crockett, now you know the gist of it–and the jest of it. But it is time to reunite our people. We should not tarry much longer in these waters. I don't want to incur another visit by those Brits. After all, we are running out of explanations–real or fanciful. And there must be some limit to their ignorance! Now return to your vessel, Crockett. We set sail for our new home, immediately!"

  "Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

  Chapter XVIII

  "Our New Home"