Chapter 3: Stranded In Time
Jeff paddled the kayak slowly along the shore, searching the jungle for any homes or other signs of life, but there was nothing. He knew that Roatan wasn’t the most developed place in the world, but it seemed strange that there was so much prime beach front real estate that remained untapped. In any event, the island was only 35 miles long and if he kept paddling the same direction he knew that sooner or later he would find help.
As he passed through a stand of mangroves, Jeff spotted something in the distance. There was a large sailboat anchored outside the reef! As he looked closer, he realized that it was actually an old-style sailing ship. “It must be that pirate adventure ship they do the tourist cruises on,” he thought to himself. Jeff paddled harder, not wanting the ship to pull anchor before he could get to it. He could see people on deck and he started yelling to them. “Hello!” “I need help!”
The occupants of the ship apparently had heard him as there was a great commotion on the ship. Jeff paddled the remaining few hundred yards to the side of the vessel and grabbed hold of a cargo net that was hanging down. Things were now quiet up on the deck. “Hello?” Jeff called. “Can somebody help me?” he shouted. He looked up and saw a hand hanging out over the side of the railing waving him upward. Jeff thought it was a strange way to greet someone calling for help, but shrugged it off. He tied the kayak to the end of the net and started to climb.
When he reached the top of the net, he looked over the top rail and found himself looking into the barrel of a pistol held by a large man with a thick, scraggly beard and a long scar running down the side of his face. “Get aboard and do not be makin’ any sudden moves,” the gravelly-voiced man holding the gun ordered. Jeff swung his leg over the railing and stood up on the deck of the ship. In front of him were several grimy-looking men in tattered clothing. Some held flintlock pistols while others brandished knives or short swords.
“Wow, you guys really get into character!” Jeff exclaimed.
“State yer business!” the scar-faced man growled.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your tour,” Jeff said apologetically. “I was out in my kayak yesterday when a storm came up and swept me down the coast. I’m totally lost. Can you help me get back to Sandy Bay? I don’t have any money with me, but I’d be happy to pay you when I get back to my guest house.”
The man turned toward his shipmates and asked, “What gibberish he be talkin’?” They all just looked at him blankly and shrugged. “Methinks he’s had a bit too much rum!” he laughed.
Jeff was becoming annoyed. “Look, I really need some help. I know you’ve got a show to do for the tourists, but could you step out of character for just one…” Jeff paused as he looked around and realized there were no tourists on the deck. As a sinking feeling came over him, he realized that this was no tourist ship. “Uh, yeah, too much rum!” Jeff nodded. “I really don’t remember much. Where am I?”
“Ye be on our fine ship, the Wandering Wench,” the scarred man replied.
“And where is this?” Jeff said, gesturing out at the land.
“The island of Roatan. More precisely, around that point be Port Royal,” came the gruff reply.
Although what Jeff was thinking was impossible, he hesitantly asked the question that was screaming in his mind, “Would you tell me what year this is?”
“Ye hear that mates, he not even be knowin’ what year it be! Well, me drunken friend, it be the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and eighty-eight.” Some of the men snickered as the words registered in Jeff’s brain.
“1688! Um, yeah, of course it’s 1688,” Jeff said, hoping he was dreaming.
“Now who might ye be?” the scar-faced man asked, bringing the pistol closer to Jeff’s face.
“My name is Jeff…”
“Be ye English?”
“No, American…”
“What?!” the man growled.
“I mean, yes, I’m English! American is my, uh, it’s my last name!”
“What be ye doin’ in yer skivvies, Mr. American?”
“My skivvies?” Jeff quickly realized that his swim trunks and t-shirt were a little unusual for 17th century attire. “Oh, yes, I fell in the water during the storm and had to take off my other clothes so I didn’t get pulled down.”
“What be yer business here?”
“I, uh…”
“Might ye be here to spy on us and steal our booty?”
“No, no, definitely not! I’m a traveler and I got caught in the storm...”
“Methinks ye be a spy! Gentlemen, secure the prisoner in the hold and the Captain can decide his fate when he returns from Port Royal.” Several of the other men advanced on Jeff and dragged him below deck, shackling him to a beam before leaving him in the darkness of the ship’s hold.
“What the hell is going on?” Jeff thought to himself. He figured he must be dreaming, but it was all so real! He could hear the men up on deck going about their work and water lapping at the sides of the wooden hull. Thin lines of sunlight shined through the spaces in the deck planks above him. Nearby he could hear the scuttling noises of what he guessed to be rats moving around him in the cargo. The best case scenario was that this was indeed just a dream, but as much as he wanted to believe that, he knew deep down that this was all real. He somehow had been transported to 1688, and he had no idea how to get back to his own time. An even more pressing concern was that if the ship’s captain thought he was there to spy on them, there was a good chance he’d be killed! These thoughts occupied his mind for quite some time until he heard the men arguing on the deck above. He then heard footsteps coming down the stairway to the hold. The door was unlocked and several of the crew seized him, unlocked his shackles and dragged him up on deck.
As two men held him on either side, the large scar-faced man from before stepped up in front of Jeff and said, “We decided not to wait fer the Captain. It be me judgment that you be a spy. Ordinarily, we be hangin’ ye straight away, but methinks ye shall provide us with some entertainment first!”
Jeff started to plead, “I’m not a spy, I’m just…”
“Silence!” the man boomed. “Ye shall be given a chance. All ye have to do is be victorious in a fair fight and ye shall be spared.” Turning to the crew, he yelled, “Lads, who wishes to fight our spy?” A huge uproar ensued, with nearly every crew member vying to be selected. The scar-faced man looked from man to man and finally settled on one. “Mr. Harrison it is!” he yelled to a round of cheers from the crew.
Harrison was a tall, muscular man who stepped in front of Jeff bearing a menacing smile and a sword as the rest of the crew backed up, forming a large circle around them. “Get the spy a means to defend himself!” ordered the scar-faced man. With that, one of the crew pulled a mop from a bucket and threw it head first into Jeff’s face, eliciting a burst of laughter from the others.
The dirty water stung Jeff’s eyes, but his adrenaline was pumping and he quickly grasped the mop as a fighting staff. “You call this a fair fight?!” he yelled, as Harrison began making cuts in the air with his sword.
“As fair as it gets for a spy!” the scar-faced man shouted back. Jeff knew that pleading with them was hopeless, and realized his best hope of survival was to use the fighting skills he had developed in his several years of martial arts training. He also knew that surprise would be his best ally, so he decided to look as pitiful as possible wielding his mop and hope that Harrison would be caught off-guard.
Jeff held the mop head out in front of him as Harrison advanced, slicing the air repeatedly with his sword as he neared. As Jeff had hoped, Harrison’s first attack move was to slice the head off of the mop handle, leaving a reasonably good fighting staff. But Jeff had no illusions. Harrison’s blade was razor-sharp and he was obviously an experienced swordsman. Jeff moved his grip on the mop handle so that he could attempt to block a
nd parry with both the middle and ends of the staff. Harrison moved in with his sword blade over his right shoulder and directed a downward slice. Jeff raised the mop handle just in time to deflect the sword enough to avoid being cut, but the blade easily cleaved the handle in two. Jeff stepped back holding half of the mop handle in each hand as the pirate crew laughed. Harrison was looking very pleased with himself with a big smirk on his face, but his expression was about to change.
Without hesitation, Jeff lightly tossed the two pieces of mop handle into the air in front of him and caught them at the ends. Harrison raised his sword, but it was too late. John quickly closed the distance between them, jamming Harrison’s arms with the stick in his left hand and striking the other hard against Harrison’s temple. He immediately followed with an elbow to Harrison’s face, as he pivoted to disarm the swordsman. Jeff pushed Harrison’s arms down to meet his knee coming up. With a sickening crunch of bone, the swordsman dropped his weapon as he let out a scream of pain. Jeff pivoted again as he shot the ends of his sticks upward at Harrison’s head, catching his throat between them as if caught between the blades of a giant pair of scissors. Jeff pushed forward and the pirate stumbled back as the circle of his ship mates scattered behind him. Harrison’s back came to rest against the wall of a cabin at the rear of the deck. Jeff simultaneously lifted up and squeezed the ends of the sticks together to place pressure on the pirate’s carotid arteries. As Harrison slumped to the deck unconscious, Jeff heard the sound of guns being cocked behind him.
Jeff raised his arms above his head and dropped the sticks as he slowly turned to face the pirate crew. There were 4 men aiming flintlocks at him and the remaining 12 or 15 crew members on deck all held bladed weapons of various kinds. “It looks like I won the fight…” John suggested hopefully.
“Ay, but I said we’d spare ye if ye won a FAIR fight!” the scar-faced pirate in charge growled. “Ye cheated! Ye be a spy and a cheat, and the punishment be hanging!” “String him up!” several of the crew yelled as they advanced on him.
Jeff tried to fight them off, but it was to no avail. They quickly had his hands tied behind him and one pirate was tying a noose in one end of a rope as another tossed the other end over the lowest boom on the main mast. As they slid the noose around his neck, several men took positions on the end of the rope to prepare to hoist him. Jeff closed his eyes and prepared to die. “All right men, on the count of three… One…Two…”
“HOLD!” an unfamiliar voice boomed out. “Mr. Crabtree! What is the meaning of this?!” Jeff opened his eyes to see a distinguished-looking man in a blue coat along with several new crewmen climbing over the deck rail.
The other pirates stopped what they were doing and fell into a line as the pirate who had been in charged stepped forward to answer. “Captain, we captured this spy and we be proceeding to hang him, sir!”
“A spy, Mr. Crabtree?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Mr. Crabtree, there is a small, odd canoe tied to the cargo net. Is this how the spy arrived?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Mr. Crabtree, how exactly did you capture this spy of yours?”
“Well, Captain, he paddled his canoe up to the ship and be callin’ fer help and I had him climb aboard.”
“I see. Mr. Crabtree, have you ever known a spy to announce his presence?”
“No, Captain. But…”
“Be silent, Mr. Crabtree, I’ll deal with you later. We will not be hanging this man unless I say so. Is that clear, gentlemen?” “Aye, Captain,” the men muttered in unison. “Remove the noose and bindings and bring this man to my quarters immediately!” the Captain said as he turned to walk to his cabin.
The pirates removed the noose and cut Jeff’s hands free before escorting him to the Captain’s quarters. The Captain was already seated at a large desk and gestured for Jeff to be seated across from him. Several of the crew lingered behind him and the Captain looked up at them with irritation. “Begone!” he yelled at them.
As all of the other men withdrew, one lingered and spoke up, “Begging the Captain’s pardon, but this man is dangerous. He nearly killed Harrison and…”
“Is this true?” The Captain asked, looking at Jeff.
“Yes, Captain, but I was just defending myself.”
“Bravo! Harrison is one of my best men! You must be quite skilled with a sword!”
“Actually, I only had a mop…”
“A mop?! Bravo again!” The captain looked up at the lingering crewman and repeated his order, “I said begone!”
“Yes, Captain,” the man said as he exited and closed the door.
The Captain returned his attention to Jeff. “My apologies for the way you’ve been treated. It is so hard to find good men these days! I believe proper etiquette is for me to introduce myself. I am Captain John Coxen.”
“THE John Coxen?! As in Coxen Hole?!” Jeff exclaimed before thinking about what he was saying.
“I’m pleased that you’ve heard of me, but what pray tell is Coxen Hole?”
Jeff immediately realized his mistake. The Roatan town of Coxen Hole would not get that name until long after Captain Coxen’s death. “Um, did I say Coxen Hole? I have no idea. I must still be a bit loopy from everything that’s happened!”
Captain Coxen sat back in his chair and laughed to himself for a moment. “I see.”
“So, from when do you come?” the Captain inquired of John.
“Uh, I come from the… colonies! I think that’s what you would know them as,” Jeff replied.
“I didn’t ask from whence, I asked from WHEN!” the Captain said with a knowing smile.
“What do you mean?” Jeff asked cautiously.
“You have odd clothing, an odd manner, an odd way of speaking, and you arrived on an odd canoe made of some strange material I cannot identify. In my many years travelling the world, I have come across only one other like you – or at least somewhat like you. He was a man out of time, as I suspect you to be as well. Allow me to show you something…” the Captain said, reaching into a desk drawer. He pulled out a package wrapped in cloth and slid it across the desk to Jeff. “Open it.” Jeff leaned forward and picked up the package, which was quite heavy for its size. He carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal a handgun. Jeff was no gun expert, but he guessed it to be a .45 caliber pistol of the type commonly used as a military sidearm. The one thing he was sure of is that it wasn’t something that should be present in the 17th century!
“A fine weapon is it not?” the Captain asked.
“Yes, of course, but how…”
“As I said, I came across another not unlike yourself. Many years ago I was navigating this very ship around a storm in waters far to the North and East of here. It was no ordinary storm. Like the one yesterday, the lightning was of many colors and quite intense. As I made my way around the outskirts of the storm, I spotted a strange object that appeared to be falling from the sky. It made an odd humming noise until it reached the surface of the water not far from my location at which point it made a report equal to 20 cannon firing at once. I set course for it and found the water to be on fire with strange debris floating in it. While I was trying to figure out what to make of it, a man literally fell out of the sky suspended by a large piece of cloth and landed on my deck. He wore strange clothing – different from yours, but strange in its own way.”
The Captain stood up and walked over to a chest in the corner of the cabin. He retrieved a key from his coat pocket before bending down to open the chest. “Here’s part of it,” he said carrying a leather jacket over and handing it to Jeff.
He immediately recognized it as a vintage military pilot’s jacket. “Captain Stivers,” Jeff read the name on the jacket aloud. “That name is familiar to me, but I can’t place it.”
Captain Coxen returned to his chair. “Sadly for him, when
he landed on my deck, he broke his leg. He was in quite a bit of pain, and the broken bone pierced his skin so he developed blood sickness. He died a week later, but in the short time we had together, he told me of many wondrous things. Since he was a Captain, I asked about his ship. He said it was a flying craft and he had been with other flying craft before he crashed. I believe he said he was part of something called ‘Flight Nineteen’.”
“That’s where I’ve heard of Captain Stivers! Flight 19 is famous for disappearing in the Bermuda Triangle just after World War II!” Jeff exclaimed.
Captain Coxen nodded, “Captain Stivers told me of this World War. I would not have believed a word of it if not for that weapon. It is truly a pity that I ran out of ammunition for it. If not for him and that weapon, I would not know what you are – a man stranded in time!”
Jeff nodded, somewhat relieved by the Captain’s recognition of his circumstances. “Yes, my time is actually more than… 60 years further in the future than Captain Stivers’ – the early part of the 21st century.”
“Remarkable,” Coxen said with a smile. “Do you have any idea on how to return?”
“No,” Jeff said, shaking his head. “All I can figure to do is wait for another storm and hope I can somehow ride it back to my time.”
“I’m afraid you may have a long wait,” the Captain said gravely. “I have sailed these seas for over 20 years and I have only seen such a storm twice – in two locations and a great distance apart.”
Jeff’s heart sank. “I suppose I may be stuck here…”
“If it is any consolation, you shall be an honored guest aboard my ship until you choose to leave,” the Captain offered, extending his hand across the desk.
Jeff shook the Captain’s hand, “Thank you, Captain, I appreciate that.”
“I will warn you that I am planning some raids and we will be setting sail in a few days. If you choose to stay on this ship while we are conducting our business, your life may be at risk. I will be happy to deliver you to Port Royal if you choose, but on your own, you may not be much safer there than with us. I will take you into town with me tomorrow so you may see for yourself, if that will make your decision easier.”
“I’d like that Captain. Thank you,” Jeff replied with a nod.
“Very well. Now then, you must be hungry after your ordeal,” the Captain said.
Jeff had been so occupied he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the Captain mentioned it, but was now immediately aware of his hunger and thirst. “Yes, very much so.”
“Good! You shall dine with me tonight and tell me tales of your time.” The Captain rose and walked across to the cabin door. He quickly opened it and three members of the crew who had been listening at the door fell at his feet. “Did you get a good earful, lads?” the Captain’s voice boomed. The men sheepishly scrambled to their feet.
The Captain stepped past them onto the deck and addressed the crew, “Since you all no doubt know my business now, be advised that…” he paused and stuck his head back into the cabin – “What was your name, sir?”
“Jeff, Jeff Greene,” he replied.
The Captain turned back to the deck and continued, “Mr. Jeff Jeff Greene is to be our honored…”
“Uh, Captain, my name is Jeff Greene, not Jeff Jeff Greene”, Jeff interrupted.
“Very well,” the Captain said with some annoyance and started again. “Mr. Jeff Greene is to be our honored guest.”
“He told me his name be Jeff American!” Crabtree shouted from the far end of the deck. The Captain turned back to the cabin and arched an eyebrow at John.
“That was a misunderstanding. My name is Jeff Greene.” he assured him.
“Once more,” the Captain bellowed, “Mr. Jeff Greene is to be our honored guest for as long as he wishes to stay aboard the Wandering Wench. Anyone treating him poorly shall answer to me. Am I understood?”
“Understood, Captain!” the men shouted back.
“Good! Mr. Robinson, make ready the evening meal. Our guest is hungry!”
“Aye, Captain!”