The Delirium Passage Page 4

  Marion leaned over his face and said quietly, “Neville dear, it’s me, Marion. There were no such pirates when we were home in Jamaica only a few years ago, as you remember. These old pirate stories were told to scare young sailors. We are on our way home to wed. We had to stop by Baltimore to see if father might be there, remember?

  “Pirates they are, Marion, and slowly catching us,” mumbled Neville.

  She moved her leg on the edge of the bed to be more comfortable, and something hard poked her in the leg. “Ow, what’s this? Oh, a book. This might explain some of it, Ellen. It’s the one he’s been reading – his copy of ‘A General History Of The Pyrates’ by Captain Charles Johnson.”

  “Excuse me ladies, but I have something else to try,” said Dr. Stortford. “This might be a good time for you to seek some nourishment.”

  7: Capture (1717)

  Neville awoke to the normal sounds of shipboard life: water running swiftly along the side, just beyond the timbers by his berth, the creaking of the ship’s timbers as she rolled over wave upon wave, unintelligible men’s’ voices, and so on. He didn’t wake quickly but took time to review his surroundings. He woke more rapidly after he made one major observation: This certainly is not the sick bay of Speedwell. It looks more like the master’s cabin of a merchant ship, Surely, Master Carstens didn’t put me in his own cabin, but I do hope yesterday’s conversation with strangers was a dream. He had no intention of getting up and rummaging through someone else’s things and so decided to wait for the doctor – or anyone else – to arrive. Truth be told, he really had no desire to move much at all. To say he felt lethargic would have been an understatement.

  After what seemed like an hour – although he really wasn’t sure of the time – he heard a rattling at the door. Maybe he had fallen asleep yet again. Someone shuffled toward him. “Ah, Master Burton, I see you’re awake at last,” said a short, balding fellow wearing a red checked shirt and a blue checked neck kerchief. “I don’t suppose you’ve been up, have you?”

  “Not today,” Neville answered. “Should I have been?”

  “I meant no offense, Master. Do as you please. I am happy to see you awake and talking. I shall go inform Mister Arnwell.”

  Surely not again? Arnwell… one of those from last night’s dream. I was gone three years last time. What will Marion do if it is happening again? Will she wait for me? Mary didn’t wait.

  “Wait one moment, Mister …”

  “Shorte, Master. George Shorte, Carpenter.”

  “Mister Shorte, then. Allow me to ask a few queer questions before you go, will you?” I must know. At all costs, I must know… “You address me as Master Burton. What has happened to Master Carstens of Speedwell?

  “I’m afraid I don’t know ‘im – or any Speedwell. You’ve been Master here since I’ve been aboard these last two months and some. Are you sure you’re well?”

  “I think I’m well. Maybe I’m not fully recovered. Tell me the year, if you please.”

  “The year? Why, it’s the year of our Lord 1717, Master.”

  Again, he gives me the same… the dream may not be a dream. “Are we aboard Neville’s Return?”

  Shorte chuckled. “Wherever else?”

  “Does… do I keep rum here, somewhere? I feel quite forgetful.”

  “Aye. In the cupboard there.” Shorte pointed a previously-broken digit at a small blue-painted door on the larboard bulkhead.

  “Thank you, Mister Shorte. Ask Mister… Arnwell, if I have it right, if I might have half an hour before he comes to see me, if you please.”

  “I will, Master. If you don’t mind me saying so, I’m well chuffed to see you awake. Maybe we won’t be going in to Charles Town, after all. I don’t personally like the place.”

  “No? Well, yes, maybe not.”

  Shorte closed the door behind himself when he left.

  I should take a large tot of rum. I’m walking well enough… and then I shall rummage about in the master’s – or my – things. Arnwell… My First Mate of the dream is apparently named Arnwell

  He poured himself a large draught of rum and tasted it. Hmmpf. Not bad, but not like a nice Stillwater rum. But there can’t be a Stillwater in 1717, can there? I suppose this master (Oh, yes…me) must have a preference for rum. The British Navy changed from wine, beer and brandy to straight rum sometime in the 1700’s, but we merchant Masters may do as we please, I suppose. Where’s his – my – desk?

  He moved to the diminutive, but well-shined desk and opened the drawer. Ship’s papers and log book. I’ll have to spend some time with those. He opened the log only to discover, to his escalated distress – it was written in his own hand. Damn. He slammed it shut. His stomach tightened, almost to the point of nausea, and he couldn’t suppress a tear in his eye. Gone? All my future changed? Well, if I learned anything in my last visit to the past, it is that I must live in the day. There is no reasonable choice other than madness. The only silver lining is that I might see my father again. What’s this? A letter for me?

  He picked up the envelope with his name and the words “Open once under way” on it. The seal was unbroken. Once opened, the letter inside displayed the letterhead of the Burton Shipping Company.

  Burton Shipping Company

  Norfolk March 18, 1717

  Dearest Neville,

  This is your first sail to Jamaica since the death of your fiancée, Maria. I have been able to keep you on voyages to England and the Americas, but we have been in Desperate Straights to ship these Basic Essentials to the needy of Jamaica – since our King in England is so slow to do so – and our other ships are not expected home for months. We have spoken of this, and I understand your pain, but we both know of your need to move beyond this Tragedy. Your new ship, Neville’s Return, is, as you requested, a swift Ship that should be able to outrun the Most Dastardly sort. Jane and I wish you the best, God’s Love, and wish you Swift Sailing.

  Your devoted father,

  Elliot Burton

  I remember none of this. I don’t remember seeing Father; certainly not after the death of Maria, as I was cast back to my own time after she died. What sort of ship is this, anyway? I suppose I shan’t need to ask, for I will know the moment I step topside. Anything else in here? A sack of coin, some pencils and quills, and a spare blotter. I’m a simple creature, it appears.

  A knock on the doorsill brought Neville to his senses. A voice called, “You wished to see me, Master Burton?”

  “Yes, come in, Mister … Arnwell.”

  “Thank you. I must say, I am pleased to see you standing.”

  “Thank you. So am I, I think.”. “How long have I been asleep, Mister Arnwell?”

  “Several days I’m afraid. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “Oh, sorry. We are crossing the great stream eastabout, north of Spanish Florida, outbound from Charles Town, where we had been intending to set in yesterday.”

  “Are we not taking this cargo to Jamaica?”

  “We are, sir, but stopping in Charles Town was for your health, you remember. We despaired of you for several days and finally decided we should take you to a doctor in Charles Town since it is the last friendly port north of the Spanish and the Seminole. Your first order, once you were awake, was to change course sou’-east. We have done so, and here we are.”

  “I am indeed awake, it seems, and I have no desire to see Charles…Town. Keep this course sou’-east, if you please. We will pass well east of the Bahamas, will we not?”

  “Certainly, Master. I have no interest in giving the ship over to pirates.”

  “Thank you, Mister Arnwell. I’ll be up shortly.”

  “Aye, Aye, sir.”

  What stuff. I must make my appearance despite the rain; nay, in obvious defiance of the rain. We can’t have the Master shirk from a bit of water falling from the sky. After several days of despairing of my life, the men must see me walking. He rose from his chair and lifted a boat cloak fro
m its peg by his door. There beneath it hung a belt with a pistol and powder flask. Now there’s an antique – but I believe I still remember how to fire it.

  He threw the cloak ‘round his shoulders and ventured into the dim light of a rainy day. He looked up and about, surveying both the weather and the ship. Arnwell had become independent, he realized. Although the man had not come to ask permission for a sail change, the sails were set and drawing as well as wet sails can. The fellow’s initiative pleased him.

  My word! It’s a square-topsail schooner. If I didn’t know better, I would say it was my old ship, Superieur. That would signify. If I had asked my father to build me a swift trading ship, this is what I’d ask for. Simply replace sixty men with a cargo hold, and here we go.

  Arnwell approached him. “Sorry, Master, but it seems I’ve forgotten command.” He looked almost embarrassed for his indiscretion. “Despite the rain, I’ve ordered more sail as we’ve gone before the wind, and I believe this gusting breeze is nothing more than gusts… no storm, or even a gale. We’re fairly close in to the coast in the great bight of southern Carolina, and there…”

  “Not to worry, Mister Arnwell. I am pleased to see I have a second who can take command. What do you think of her?”

  “She’s a joy, verily. And being new, her polish is icing on the cake.”

  “I agree with your assessment of the weather, and your sail change is to my liking, as well.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” He respectfully stopped further utterance.

  “Quite lightly armed, I see. Do we have powder and ball? Have the men practiced? How many men have we? I see only six.”

  Arnwell seemed to puff up proudly when he said, “We’re sixteen, Master, counting the two of us, Mister Stevens, and Mister Shorte, and we’ve shot one round per gun since we stood, if you remember, sir.”

  My God. We can barely sail and man the guns at the same time. “Remind me, please; who are Mister Stevens and Mister Shorte? My memory of the last month or so seems to entirely fail me.”

  “I can believe it, Sir. You took quite a knocking. Stevens is the cook. You remember his collops, certainly. Mister Shorte is the carpenter and something of a bo’sun and doctor.”

  “Collops. How could I forget? If my maths are correct, we have only twelve on each watch. While we’re on the subject, Mister Arnwell, who stands watch?”

  “We’ll be better now you’re with us again, Master Burton. You, me, and Mister Shorte. We can have our senior able man on if need be.”

  “You must be a bit tired, then.”

  Arnwell seemed to project an emotion of shame for showing a weakness. “Verily, Master. With only me and Mister Shorte, it’s been a rough go this last week. We called our able only once. But no matter. Take another day to recuperate. I’m sorry, sir, that didn’t come out right. I mean to give you no orders.”

  Neville couldn’t suppress his smile. “I knew there must be a reason I chose you, Mister Arnwell. Put me on for first watch, and I’ll get what recuperation I can before then. I’m quite fond of seeing the stars.”

  “Aye, Master, as do I. I’ll be happy to see fewer of them though.”

  * * * * *

  Neville ate his supper and went straight to bed. A man came to wake him, as he expected, and he stood his watch peacefully under stars shining in a now-clear sky. When his last glass ran out, he sent a man to wake Mr. Shorte, and retreated again to his bunk.

  Neville’s morning treat, collops a la Stevens, did not disappoint. He discovered why Stevens was known as the master of this dish. He also looked forward to coffee from Jamaica, although he had no real complaint about that from stores.

  When he awoke and went on deck with hair combed and a clean shirt, a sour Arnwell greeted him. “Good morning, Mate. How goes your day?”

  Again, the emotion showed. “Not well, Master. Look there.” Arnwell pointed aft, chewing his lower lip and fidgeting the fingers of his left hand. “We’re outside the Stream now, and these buggers have appeared as if from thin air. They might have come out from some slimy cove in the southern Carolinas, filled with drink and salivating over the scent of us. I thought we’d lost them yesterday. Our men were already gossiping about their fear of pirates, and here we may have their fears in the body before us.”

  “Why do you think they are pirates? And if you do, why have you not called for more sail? Do you suppose we cannot outrun them?”

  “She may not be pirate, I know. She might be a trader out of Charles Town. And after my indiscretion yesterday, I thought I might request the Master’s orders on sail. If you had not so recently been ill, I would have woken you, but…”

  “We shall assume she’s a pirate, then. If she’s not, running off does no harm. We have no need to speak her. Let us take the opportunity to see how Neville’s Return will crack on, shall we?”

  Arnwell’s grimace turned upside down. “Here’s our Master back again,” he said. He was obviously in for the game.

  “What do you make of the breeze, Mister Arnwell?”

  “Force three, Master,” he said after a moment’s study of the sea.

  “All sail, then. Course well to west of the Bahamas, if you please.”

  “All we have in the lockers; west of the Bahamas, aye,” Arnwell said with a grin.

  Following the flurry of activity necessary to raise more sail, the company of Neville’s Return settled down to an uneasy routine, ready to jump at any order for even the slightest sail changes. The entire ship’s company kept a nervous eye aft as the day wore on. The ship behind them grew smaller, slid hull down, and finally disappeared, even to Neville’s best glass.

  “Keep course sou’-east, Mister Arnwell. If they follow, we must see them. They won’t tack south in the Florida Channel, so their options are either to turn back into the hole they crawled out of or follow us for days.”

  “They have the Great Atlantic available to them.”

  “Of course, and they can go wherever they damn well please out there. It doesn’t signify to me. What would you estim…”

  Mr. Arnwell’s expression had instantly turned sour, and he did not hide it.

  “My most sincere apologies, Mister Arnwell. I shall see to correct my sailorly language.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  Shall we shorten sail a bit to see if they reappear?”

  “Excellent idea, Mate. We know we can outrun them now, so it might be good to know if they are still dogging us.”

  * * * * *

  Five days later, at the calculated point well out into the Atlantic Ocean, Neville’s Return made her course and sail change onto the line they had drawn south to the Windward Passage between the ‘salt islands’ and Inagua. The ship behind had never reappeared.

  “We’re keeping a sharp eye, and all sail ready, Master Burton,” commented Shorte. “The salt islands are known as a den for scores of those thieving pirates.”

  “I suppose they might be. I haven’t been in these waters in some years.”

  As if Shorte had conjured the specter, the lookout yelled “Sail Ho.”

  “Where away, man?” called Neville.

  “Just south of east, Master.”

  Neville had already retrieved his glass from its bracket, and now put it to his eye. She’s bigger than I expected. I thought most…

  “Most of these criminals sail crude little craft, Master. There are a few luggers and cutters, but most are not much better than rowing boats with sails or the Indian periaguas,” observed Stevens. The cook had managed himself a break in his work and had come topside for a smoke and some fresh air.

  Neville had not seen much of this man before now and was a bit surprised at his forwardness. He reminded himself that this was not a navy ship. “You may have the wrong pirate this time, Mister Stevens. It’s no canoe or rowing boat; I can plainly see full topsails.”

  “Mister Arnwell, how do you judge our intercept?”

  “Worrying, Master, although Spanish is most likely for a larger ship,
and we’re not at odds with them. If such she be, she ought be heading for the stream and a run up the Florida Channel... supplies for the rebuilding of St Augustine, perhaps.”

  “If not Spanish – pirate or French?”

  “Yes, and if we can go south, she can, too - and with the wind behind her from the west, she might fly.”

  “What options have we? Run to hide in the Bahamas? To Nassau, maybe?”

  “Forsooth, Master, Nassau has been the pirate homeland for years now.”

  “I haven’t paid proper attention, it seems.” What excuse could I give? “I’ve had no need to study these things on my voyages to England. All the way into the Florida Channel and run north, then? We might not be able to outrun her. Turn and fight?”

  “Fight? If you wish to see the pearly gates, I suppose. She’ll have ten men to our one, and all armed. If they aren’t drunk, they can handle a gun better than our best day, as well.” Arnwell chewed his lip again and continued fiddling the fingers of his left hand.

  “Let me try one clever move, then. We’ll circumnavigate Little Inagua, leaving the island to larboard – at night, if possible, but taking care to let her see us sail between the Inagua Islands, before we keep ourselves hidden around the little island. Then, we shall run south, to the east of Great Inagua, with all haste. If she smokes our trick, we might still be able to run west toward Florida. If she does not, we should be south of Inagua, and our pirates will find themselves to the west of us, if they see us at all, with no chance to beat back east in time to catch us. We will have a better point of sail into the Windward Passage, as well. May I have your opinion, please?”