The Delirium Passage Page 8

  “You ain’t heard? Gold!” he said. “She’s carrying a fortune in gold! And there’s some silver, food for their entire passage, and thirty barrels of brandy, wine, and rum. Hoorah for Captain Hornigold, Aye!”

  Looting was in progress. Boats from all pirate ships passed back and forth, at first with relative efficiency. As alcohol consumption increased, drunkenness took its toll. When one boat carrying a sack of gold coin overturned and drifted off to the south, no one bothered make any attempt to save those guilty of the loss. They simply replaced it with one of the Spanish boats.

  Over the following hours, the rain decreased, and the waves, which had been steadily beaten down by the heavy rain, were now generally only long swells of about three feet. Ranger moved closer and grappled onto Barcelona’s starboard side. Adventure grappled to her larboard. Rattler tied a long cable to her stern to avoid drifting away from the festivities. This arrangement decreased Barcelona’s rolling and allowed a far quicker removal of her barrels of spirits and other provisions. Owing to the volume of goods to be moved, they also needed half of the next day to complete the job. The pirates reveled through the night, keeping the Spaniards locked in emptied holds, and were in poor condition by the time the ships all disconnected by middle of the afternoon watch

  Espiritu Barcelona sailed south the moment they were released, and the pirates clumsily raised sail and set a course north. The rain had stopped altogether, and the sails were drying. Men littered the decks as Ranger slogged forward in a now-lazy sea.

  “Sail Ho!” yelled the lookout.

  The call startled Neville. He had drunk one glass of rum. It seemed improper not to join in the celebration to some extent. His morals gave him no unease about stealing gold from the Spanish government, but he hadn’t expected anyone to be sober enough to man the lookout’s perch.

  It appeared to surprise Hornigold, as well. He’d had more than one drink, himself. He looked slowly upward to see the man pointing forward. “Where away, Mister Summers?” he shouted.

  “Three points a-larboard. Small brig.”

  Soon before dusk, within sight of the coast of Honduras, they came alongside it – another merchant ship. The captain of this one had waited almost to the last before raising his colors – an American flag. After having chased the brig for hours, the sight definitely annoyed Hornigold. He considered capturing an American ship an improper seizure. But he and his men were not recovered from the previous night’s drinking, working through the morning to unload the Barcelona, and then starting their drinking again during the chase.

  Several passengers stood in a group at the center of the Carolyn’s weather deck, whispering nervously amongst themselves.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, ladies and gentlemen,” Hornigold said. “I am the famous Benjamin Hornigold, English privateer.” He slurred an occasional word. “Only today we have captured a Spanish ship and removed supplies they would have been used against us.”

  “Hey Misther, can I have yer hat?” hollered an obviously drunk sailor somewhere forward.

  No reply came from Carolyn. Hornigold looked ‘round for the interrupter of his speech.

  ‘Oi,” yelled another, “Kin I have that red ‘un?”

  “Oh, bother,” Hornigold said. “I have no quarrel with you,” he spoke to the Carolyn, “but since you gave me no notice of being an American ship until almost we had you, and you’ve caused me considerable inconvenience, your only penalty shall be to surrender your hats.”

  He turned to his men. “This is a great prize, is it not?” he announced. “New hats, men. Share them ‘round when they come over, ha, ha, ha.”

  He turned back to the Carolyn and said, “Here, Master, hand yours up. I shall enjoy it.”

  Piles of hats were quickly passed up the side of Ranger, the grapples were withdrawn, and Ranger raised her mainsail. Passengers and crew of the Carolyn stood on the deck staring in disbelief as the men of Ranger threw their old hats overboard as she sailed away.

  Neville had begun keeping a journal. Although some might consider him gone daft, how could he omit such a ludicrous event? But the following events were included without question: Ranger captured a ship carrying one hundred twenty barrels of flour not far from the Cuban port of Havana, allowed two British merchant ships – probably out of Jamaica – to sail by undisturbed, and was chased away from the southern part of the Florida Channel by the British HMS Winchelsea.

  Neville leaned on the larboard rail staring off at the distant horizon. Ranger made reasonable headway north on a long tack toward the Carolinas. One of the crew sidled over to him and leaned on the rail beside him. Neville looked, being surprised to see someone so close. He was a typical sailor / pirate in his hair and beard style, sun-ravaged complexion, and his attire – or lack thereof. “May I have a word, Doctor?”

  Crewmen normally did not speak to him. He assumed they held him in some high regard, though he wasn’t part of the normal chain of command, nor did he have much in common with them. They saw he didn’t drink much, but rather kept to his books and writing. Some occasionally brought him a book from a looted vessel. “Yes, Mister…?”

  “Roose,” he said, “James Roose.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Neville said. “May I help? Are you ill?”

  “Oh, no, Sir, not ill. Nuffin like ‘at.” He spoke quietly. “I knows ye din’t choose this life, did ye?”

  “No, Mister Roose, I did not.”

  “I din’t neither, doctor. I was forced, like several others here.”

  “And…?”

  “And nuffin… I thought mebbe ye might keep it in mind. Nice weather, ain’t it?”

  “Yes, quite.” Neville returned his gaze to the west. How could I possibly escape? Even if I had jumped off Ranger into the sea to be picked up by the Winchelsea, they might hang me as a pirate – or deserter. My escape must therefore be something of my own doing. Maybe Mr. Roose’s idea is worth some thought. If there are more men… enough to steal a boat and sail off, where do we go? Jamaica, of course. I may still know someone.

  Mr. Roose left as quickly and quietly as he had come.

  As odd coincidence might have it, the next person who walked his way was Captain Hornigold, probably on a break from routine after his dinner. He also stopped for a brief chat.

  “What are ye thinking today, Doctor?”

  “Wondering, Sir. Why do you not attack the English ships?”

  “You’ve been talking to the worst of them, I see. They think of nothing but their purses, rum, and women ashore. Don’t listen to them, or it won’t go well with you.”

  “No, Sir. I haven’t spoken with anyone. I simply watched those two ships go by, probably with great wealth in molasses and rum, and maybe slaves from Jamaica for the colonies to the north. This ship is capable of taking any other it wishes, other than the navy. Why leave them alone?”

  “You can see a bigger picture than most, I suppose. I figger this way: I’m an honorable man, Doctor. I remain careful to attack only my old enemies, and not British-flagged ships. If ever the British Navy do catch us, I have a good legal defense as a privateer operating against England's enemies in the Spanish War. And the French? Poof. Who cares?”

  “An interesting mental exercise, for sure.”

  “Well, you are right on one score, Doctor. I think the men are getting more upset about it. I haven’t learned who it is keeps stirring them up over it, though. I’ll have his head one day, I will.”

  Hornigold added a surprising statement. “I like you Doctor. You’ve a good head. You haven’t tried any silly buggery, and the men like your work. If ever you want to stop being a doctor, we’ll find another, and you can join us proper-like. Think on it.” He walked away, leaving Neville to his thoughts again.

  I’m not completely sure what to make of this Hornigold fellow. Yes, he may be a disaster for merchants, but not so much for English or Americans, and he doesn’t hurt the crews of captured ships. Add to that the preposterous pirate approa
ch of operating a ship democratically. Sure, he does kidnap a few people he needs, including some blacks, Frenchmen, Germans, and the like, but for most, he asks for volunteers. I feel quite conflicted about subverting him. I don’t mind taking treasure from the Spanish or French, though. I should bide my time.

  Also, I have pondered the bigger question of how to return to my own time – to Marion – for many a month now. In the past I have been sent flying through time when a terrible near-death incident has befallen me. Could I escape this whole thing by creating my own near-death experience? Take tremendous risks? But I must think it through carefully. I suspect being stabbed or shot to death would not qualify; I might actually be killed.

  Notes to journal; June, 2017:

  June 7, 1717: Captain Napin met with Hornigold and Blackbeard today and, having convinced them his holds were full, departed for Nassau where he would await their arrival for sharing out.

  June 17, 1717: Today we took 100 barrels of wine from a sloop out of Bermuda. We had no resistance.

  June 20, 1717: took cargo of spirits from a Portuguese vessel; no resistance

  June 21. 1717: took cargo of white Madeira wine from a sloop sailing to Charles Town from that island; no resistance

  June 22, 1717: The crew has taken note of several American and British vessels passing with no challenge, and despite our holds being almost full, grumble they should have engaged.

  June 23, 1717: took cargo of Jesuit’s bark from small French trader; no resistance

  June 26, 1717: another great prize for Ranger: Spanish ship similar to the one we took in Panama – carrying silver from Potosi. Heavily armed but gave no resistance. Blackbeard boarded first, wearing the most devilish costume I have ever seen. He braided his beard into pigtails and tied them with a number of knots of bright ribbons. Into those he stuck lighted slow-matches, causing his head to be encircled with smoke. Knowing him, I thought it hilarious, but I suppose to the unfamiliar, he must have appeared the most terrorizing fury from hell. Given his ferocious reputation, these theatrics emphasized the fearsome appearance he wished to present to his enemies, though I never heard of his ever having murdered or harmed those he captured.

  June 28, 1717: We are chasing a fast French cutter north along the Florida coast, but it looks to be a losing effort. Neither Ranger nor Adventure seem to be gaining, and the weather ahead looks as though it may turn for the worse.

  June 29, 1717: Weather threatened a full gale yesterday afternoon, which allowed the Frenchman to sail away. Hornigold was furious and, I believe, even more angry at the French than he has shown before. We took shelter in a cove known by Blackbeard, some ten leagues south of Charles Town.

  * * * * *

  “There’s nothing here to worry about, Captain Hornigold,” Blackbeard said. “Unless some curious fisherman comes in behind the island, we should see no ship for weeks… months, maybe.”

  “Our anchors are in good holding. We will ride out this blow in safety. Three days, you think?” They both looked at Neville.

  “Why do you ask me? I know nothing of your anchors.”

  “It’s not our anchors we question, Doctor. It’s your coast. Have you anchored in this place before? Is it normal for such a blow to end in three days?”

  “No – and yes. Most of my sailing has been between Norfolk and England. I know of no reason to stop here. There are no settlements… only Indians. But yes, three days is typical.”

  “I say there is reason to stop here,” Blackbeard said. “We are quite close to Charles Town. The shipping in these waters is great, and we still have some room in our holds for more.”

  “And Ranger needs some work on her hull,” Hornigold said. “There may be a place on a strand on the west of this island, where we cannot be seen from the sea, to make repairs while we wait for prey. Our search party reported tremendous oyster beds farther upriver. The men might feast on them for weeks. In a few days, Blackbeard, work your way south in search of another French bugger. Chase him in here or signal us to come out in chase.”

  The repairs Ranger needed were complete in only two days. While they waited for the return of Adventure, Neville concerned himself with thoughts of what he might be called to do if Hornigold decided to “give no quarter” to any French prize.

  “Sail, ho!” the lookout called at the end of those two days.

  “Billy!” roared Hornigold, “Prepare to raise anchor!” There were four ways this advancing sail could play out, and they all required the anchor up quickly. It might be Adventure with another ship behind her. Maybe Adventure was coming to sound the alarm to go chase. Or, it could be either an enemy or a victim.

  “Adventure, lookout?”

  “Can’t tell yet, but I think she is.”

  “Look there,” Hornigold said to Neville, Peters, and another of the crew, pointing with his whole hand, more than the bent finger at the end. “There it is again; a white scrap through those trees. Do you think it’s our Adventure, or some other creatures come to do us harm? Ow!” He slapped at his wrist. “What’s this devil, now? Not an infernal mosquito.”

  Another man forward yelped and cursed.

  “It’s a honey bee, Cap’n,” offered some minion.

  Two more men echoed their annoyance, and another bee flew past Neville’s head. Neville had noticed the occasional buzz during the morning, and a sudden concern swept over him. He’d seen this before at the little country cottage in Suffolk, England where he was raised. Bees had swarmed from the neighboring farmer’s hives and settled in the tree near his house. His mother had ushered her children into the house, where they remained captives for the next two days. He vividly remembered his imagined fear of being attacked by hundreds of bees. He knew what the stings were like. Nobody who lived in the country wasn’t stung once in a while. On the third day, the farmer came by looking for his bees. He dressed head to foot in some strange garb, made a smoky fire beneath the swarm, and later knocked it down with a long stick. The swarm seemed to evaporate, ending the ordeal.

  Do we have a swarm here?

  Most of the men were at their stations, arranging their gear for action. Neville’s eyes, making a quick survey of the scene, caught a strange motion to larboard, where one of the topmen gave a loose halyard a whip-like shake. His eye followed the wave of halyard upward to its intended target.

  “Barnes, NO!” Neville yelled at about the same time the hemp wave struck the pulsing ball of insects hanging from the main course yard. The morning had been still, but with enough breeze to hide the constant buzzing. Once the halyard struck the swarm, the sounds of preparing ship were hidden behind the noise of angry insects. The yellow-brown orb came loose of the yard. Neville watched it drop, his mind now actively considering his options. He hadn’t come to a conclusion by the time the swarm hit the deck… or rather, three quarters of it. Most of it evaporated in the air. The ball of bees landed five feet from Mr. Barnes, leaving only a six-inch circular smudge of brown where it hit. The outer layers of bees were already seeking the enemy, and they were soon successful. Men were howling everywhere on deck… and whirling, slapping and hopping. One man jumped overboard.

  That’s it, overboard. We’re not sailing. We’re at anchor in a place not far from shore in any direction. The water’s warm enough. I’m not the captain, or even a proper officer. I can fend for myself, like the others. He pulled off his clothing and threw it in a pile by the mainmast bitts. Running for the rail, his reward for delay was a sting on the left buttock. An insect struggled to free itself from his hair as he dropped toward the water, and it stung him as he splashed into the relative safety of the cool liquid.

  When Neville’s head rose above the water, two things were immediately apparent. First, the wild scene aboard ship above him only ten feet away. Men were screaming and slapping. Some were on their knees. Several more had taken to the water, but those who were more afraid of the water than they were of bees were making a fight of it. If it weren’t so serious, Neville would laugh at the a
ntics. Some wrapped themselves in sails or other scraps of canvas. Others only danced and slapped. All were yelling. A small few sat motionless, as if unaffected by the whole event. Mr. Peters and Mr. Roose were both about to jump.

  Secondly, he noticed a small gap in the vicious oyster beds and impervious reeds. A patch of sandy beach about twenty yards distant beckoned him.

  Neville took his time swimming to the beach. The day was perfect for a swim and he had no duties or remedy for the situation. The men were doing whatever occurred to them. He had no desire to return to the ship yet, nor did he have any idea when it might be safe to return. He tried to remember the various outcomes of bee swarms in his youth. Might the bees reestablish their nest on the main yard? Had their queen been killed, causing the swarm to dissipate? Had the queen been moved elsewhere, taking her subjects with her? He didn’t know; nor did he know how to determine the answer, short of waiting until dark when bees stop flying.

  He realized he should at least have brought his trousers. It would surely get a bit chilly in the evening for walking about in the altogether – not that he wanted to walk about much in the nasty-looking brush. Despite that it became far quieter aboard ship, with less movement, he decided to wait for a while.

  But not long. Adventure’s sails became visible through the trees around the bend at that very moment, as if to answer Hornigold’s last question before the pandemonium. If she had been some enemy, they would all have been finished. Adventure backed her sails as soon as her ‘flagship’ became visible, stopping dead in her tracks, as it were. Realizing Adventure’s viewpoint of Ranger, Neville could only imagine what they were thinking: Has Ranger been attacked? Did she survive? The hull and rigging were sound, but Ranger had no man aloft. Adventure expected Hornigold to be poised to pounce as soon as word was passed. Clothing and pieces of canvas floated on the water. It appeared there might even be a body afloat a few yards downstream. Otherwise – eerie quiet. The bees’ victims had made enough noise to scare any local fauna into hiding or flight.