Chapter 16
John watched as the first group of pirates rowed to shore in the wooden dinghy that had once been lashed to the portside deck. The small boat seemed to be making slow, steady progress, but to John it felt like the first lading party had already been gone for an eternity. He took in the pristine island view and felt a sudden urge to feel the stability of land beneath his feet.
Blanquilla was a tropical paradise. Banana, mango, and coconut trees hugged a golden, sandy beach. But most importantly, the island was well known to be uninhabited by people, and so it was the perfect place to have a private pirate party.
As soon as the dinghy settled on land, the first group jumped out and set to their task of collecting wood and dry tinder from the jungle floor. Black Sam had instructed them to build several large bonfires, so they would have plenty of hot charcoal for when the beef arrived.
John watched as the rowboat made her way back to the Sultana. Another fifteen pirates had begun to crowd around the top of the rope ladder, waiting to descend. At this rate it'll be midnight by the time I get to go, John thought. He glanced over his shoulder toward the captain's closed door.
Waiting was not something he was good at. John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He could've tried to get passage on the first boat to the island, but the captain hadn't woken up yet and he wanted to be nearby when he did.
John briefly entertained the notion of waking up the captain, but then quickly thought better of it. If the captain's headache hadn't gotten better by then, he would likely be in a sour mood. Best just to leave him alone, John thought.
As the rowboat prepared to launch for a second time, John felt another strong compulsion to join the next group.
The golden sand of the serene beach beckoned to him. He desperately wanted to run barefoot into the surf and dive into the crystal clear, unimaginably blue water. He watched enviously as the second boatload rowed slowly towards its destination.
"We're here," a familiar voice said from behind.
John spun around, and almost hugged the man who had become like a father to him.
"Are we going to spend the night on the island?" John asked, his voice brimming with excitement.
"Aye," the captain said. A gentle smile crossed his lips. His sparkling, blue eyes looked out over the waves towards the beautiful tropical paradise that awaited them.
John noticed for the first time that the color of the captain's eyes was the same shade as the ocean close to shore. Black Sam's unusual eyes had an unnerving magical quality to them, especially at twilight when the setting sun made them glow.
"That hat looks good on ye," Black Sam said. "Can I see it?"
"Aye," John said. He took the hat off and handed it to his captain.
"I wasn't aware that thar were any children on board the St. Michael," he said as he inspected the well-worn hat.
John shrugged. "It’s a little too big for me."
"Well then perhaps it was made fer a small man like Wilson," Black Sam said nodding towards the four foot man who was in charge of swabbing the decks.
Wilson was a quiet man, and John had little reason to speak to him. John made a mental note to try to get to know the tiny pirate. I wonder how he came to be on this ship. His story was most likely an interesting one.
Black Sam plopped the tricorn hat back onto John's head and playfully pushed it down as far as it would go. The brim of the hat stopped at his eyebrows, pressing John's unruly auburn hair into his eyes.
John pushed the hat up with the tips of his fingers and brushed his hair off his forehead, tucking it into the band of the hat. He was grateful that he had something that would help pin his hair back so it wouldn't be hanging in his eyes all the time. A bandanna would be nice, too.
"Yer looking more an' more like a pirate everyday lad," Black Sam said proudly. "An' acting like one too. Have ye given much thought to yer pirate name?"
"No," John said. "How did you get yours?"
"It’s a borin' story," Black Sam sighed. "Back when I started out in the 'sweet trade' there were two Sams on Hornigold's ship. The men started calling me The Black Sam 'cause the other was a blond man an' the name jus' stuck."
"You're called Black Sam because you have black hair?" John said in an incredulous tone.
"Aye."
"Humf," John said, wondering what his pirate name should be.
"An' what about yer name? How about John the Red?" Black Sam said, clapping John on the back with an open palm.
John shrugged, not feeling very keen on the name.
"Bloody John or something of that sort," Black Sam suggested.
"Hmmm … maybe, I'll think on it some more," John said, not wanting to commit to anything just yet. When he took on his pirate name, it would have to be perfect.
"We should get our bedrolls ready. I plan to be on the next dinghy," Black Sam said as he turned to go.
John hadn't thought about what he needed to bring with him. Now he was glad he had waited for the captain. He followed Black Sam back to the cabin, where they unhooked John's canvas hammock from the wall. Black Sam took a thin wool blanket from the wardrobe and showed John how to wrap up his bedroll, using the hammock's cords to lash it together.
Black Sam made a bedroll for himself with a blanket from his bed and another wool blanket from the wardrobe. He used two handkerchiefs tied together to bind the material into a manageable package. Then he tucked the bedroll under his arm.
"Ye should bring our eating utensils with us as well," Black Sam instructed as he left the room.
John quickly collected their dishes and stuffed everything into his net bag. His bloody shirt lay crumpled in a heap on the floor where he had left it. He picked it up and pressed it to his nose, so he could smell the fabric. The shirt had a slight musty odor and was beginning to smell like a dead animal, but he decided to bring it anyways. He had heard other pirates talking about washing their clothes with water and beach sand. I should do the same, he thought. He collected the rest of his dirty clothes and stuffed them in the net bag, too.
Dragging the heavy bag behind him, he flung his bedroll over his shoulder and hurried to join the captain on the deck with the other pirates. John pushed his way through the crew until he reached the railing, eager to see how much progress the dinghy had made.
The rowboat was just reaching the shore with the second boatload of men and cargo. A few of the pirates leapt from the boat to help drag it onto the sand so the others could unload the cargo without getting wet. John scanned the beach. Some of the pirates were hard at work building a bonfire, while others were busy digging a massive pit in the sand with wooden-handled shovels.
"Why are they digging? Are we going to bury treasure here?" John wondered out loud.
Black Sam laughed loud and hard. "That's where we're goin' to cook the beef," Black Sam answered. He stood behind John and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"In a hole in the ground?" John said in disgust.
"Aye."
"But won't the food come out all dirty?"
"Nay, it'll be safely wrapped in banana leaves. That pit is what's called a ground oven. It'll be lined with rocks and hot embers, an' then be covered with fresh green leaves. The wrapped beef will be laid over top. Then, it'll be covered with more leaves, an' more sand, then we'll leave it be till the morrow," Black Sam explained.
"Oh!" John said. The rowboat left shore and headed back towards the Sultana. He watched enviously as some of the pirates took a swim in the refreshing looking blue water.
"When I reach the shore I'm going for a swim too," John announced.
"Aye an' then ye can help collect rocks fer the oven," Black Sam said.
"Aye, aye captain," John said, surprised that he'd have to work while on shore leave.
As the rowboat came closer to the Sultana, the pirates around him became restless. The two men onboard the small boat were making excellent time since the boat was now much lighter without passengers. The crew
around John, anxious to begin their shore leave, began crowding around the top of the ladder once more.
"We're on the next one," the captain announced nodding toward the quartermaster.
"Aye, captain," Mr. Noland agreed waving for the captain and John to come forward. To keep order among the men, the quartermaster stood next to the rope ladder, regulating who went next until the boat had reached its capacity.
John looked down the rope ladder to the water below and wondered how he was going to manage the climb when he was carrying so much. The rowboat crept up slowly beside the Sultana, stopping only when one of the pirates on board grabbed the ladder. The man tied the mooring rope to an iron loop that hung off the side of the pirate vessel, and then he looked up while lifting his hands to the sky.
The captain threw his bedroll down to the waiting man and began to climb down. Once the man had stowed the captain's bedding under the bow-seat, he reached up for the next item, impatiently clapping his hands together.
John threw down his bedroll and the net bag before beginning his descent. When his feet reached the last rung, he realized he couldn't reach the bottom of the rowboat no matter how far he tried to stretch his leg. He tried to climb down one more rung, and hung his legs down the side of the Sultana's hull towards the rocking boat beneath him. But still, he couldn't reach.
"Jump, lad," the captain ordered.
John looked over his shoulder to get a better look at where he'd be landing, then looked up to see that another pirate had already begun coming down. The man showed no signs of stopping and would soon be treading on his fingertips, so John let go and hoped for the best.
When he landed, the boat moved, causing John to stumble backwards. He would've gone overboard if the captain hadn't reached out to steady him. Once John gained his balance, Black Sam directed him to the stern, where they both sat down.
It didn't take long for the rowboat to fill up with passengers and soon they were on their way to shore. John's excitement grew with every stroke of the oars. He could hardly wait to feel the sand beneath his feet.
The other men on board were showing signs of excitement too. They talked loudly, fidgeting impatiently in their seats like school boys. One of the men had brought a fiddle onboard and began to play a merry tune. The other men began to clap and stomp their feet as if they couldn't wait for the festivities to begin.
Then one of the men began to sing, "Ho, heave, ho, hoist up the jolly flag. Oh, ho, ho, we're off to loot n' plunder. Ho heave, ho, stuffed to the gunwales our ship will sag. Oh, ho, ho, we won't be torn asunder. Ho, heave, ho, hoist up the jolly flag. Oh, ho, ho, 'tis no wonder, thar's nothin' but the sweet trade fer me."
Other men took up the song as well and soon most of the pirates in the rowboat were singing. They repeated the song many times, giving everyone in the boat a chance to join in.
John smiled, and began clapping and stomping along with the men. He was so caught up in their merry fervor he barely noticed when their boat came ashore. The two pirates who had been rowing jumped out and pulled the rowboat out of the water until the hull scraped noisily against the sandy beach.
Along with the rest of the men, John stood up and jumped out of the boat, forgetting about his cargo. He tripped when his feet hit the ground and landed on his hands and knees.
"Oi! Lad!" the man who had stowed John's belongings yelled.
When John didn't answer, the man threw John's bedroll and net bag off the boat. John stood, realizing his mistake, and thought briefly about collecting his things, but the call of the luscious blue water was too great.
He took an unsteady step towards the waves, wondering why he suddenly felt so off-balance. It was as if he were still on a rocking boat, pitching and yawing with the waves. After a few moments of staggering, John began to adjust, walking with more skill than before, but now he felt dizzy and stumbled a few times as he made his way towards the place he had chosen to swim.
He found a spot on the beach where the surf had created a natural deep pool in the sand. Running like a drunk at full speed, without bothering to take off his tricorn hat, shirt, or knee breeches, John plunged forward into the cool, refreshing water. He stumbled for a moment as the surprising strength of the waves threatened to knock him off his feet. Then, laughing with abandon, he threw himself forward, performing an awkward belly flop.
He sunk below the waves, and felt the cool water envelope him as he relaxed and let his body float. John's hat came free, its absence reminding him that it was there. He planted his feet in the sand and jumped upright. Standing waist deep in the waves, he rubbed the salty water from his eyes. When he could see again, he looked around for his hat, which was floating towards shore.
John leapt for his hat, capturing it in one wide swoop of his arms. He plucked it from the water and dropped the sopping wet hat back onto his head. Streamlets of cool water trickled out of the hat and down his face and neck. He had forgotten what being clean felt like. It felt good.
Grinning so wide he thought the corners of his mouth would split, John walked back to the beach to look for his bedding and net bag. He found his possessions easily and retrieved them. Then, he began looking for where the captain had placed his bedroll. He found a pile of belongings set under the shade of a big banana tree and placed his there, too.
It's time to get to work, he thought dismally, as he turned to face the ocean again. His swim had been much too brief. But the sun was setting, and he didn't want to be wet when the air cooled. I'll swim more tomorrow, he thought as he began looking for rocks along the edge of the jungle.
While he searched, he noticed other men were returning to the beach with arm loads of large round rocks. John traced their footprints in the sand back to a rocky stream bed. At the sight of the rushing water, John suddenly realized he was thirsty. He collapsed to his hands and knees near a clear pool of fresh spring water, submerged his lips, and began sucking greedily. It had been over a month since he had last tasted fresh water untainted by rum. Back at the plantation he had taken fresh water for granted, thinking it would always be plentiful everywhere he went.
Once he had drunk his fill, he found three large rocks and began making his way back to the spot where the pirates were busy working on the ground oven. As soon as he threw his rocks down beside the pit, they were picked up by one of the workers and placed carefully along the bottom of the pit with the rest of the cooking rocks. Only half of the pit had been covered with rocks, so John left to gather more.
As he trudged back towards the stream, he heard a great cry ring out from the men on the beach and the men still onboard the Sultana. He turned his head wildly, scanning the beach, wondering if something terrible had happened. A second, two-masted sloop had dropped anchor near the Sultana. John realized with a rush of relief that it was the Marianne. Her pirate crew had finally come to join them.
John had forgotten they had been sailing with another vessel. He hadn't had many dealings with the men on board the Marianne, and only knew the name of her captain, Palgrave Williams. Black Sam often spoke of Palgrave during their leisure time. Not long ago the two men had struck out together from the shores of Cape Cod with the dream of making their fortunes as treasure hunters. Now they were both pirate captains in their very own two-ship fleet.
John watched the first rowboat set off from the Marianne. By midnight there'd be at least three hundred pirates drinking and singing across the beach. We're going to need more wood, John thought as he continued trudging through the sand.
When John returned with more rocks, he tried counting the number of men already on the beach. Although he couldn't be sure, it seemed as if there were already close to one hundred men moving about. And at least half of them had dedicated their time to constructing the huge ground oven. The project would be done in no time.
John turned toward the trees and realized even more men were tromping around the tropical jungle collecting wood. Twelve large bonfires were lit along the beach, and groups of pirates were
beginning to collect at each one. John scanned the crowd and saw only strange faces.
A chill began to invade John's extremities. Over half of the beach was now under the shadow cast by the jungle. John was still wet, so he stood by the closest bonfire to dry off and get warm. The construction of the ground oven was well underway. There seemed to be an over-abundance of rocks for the workers to choose from, so John decided he'd rather explore than collect more.
With his back to the flames he continued to scan the faces of the pirates and tried to spot Black Sam. Many other men had begun collecting around the bonfire as well, drinking and visiting. As the crowd thickened John began to feel cramped, so he left the fire to take a walk along the beach.
With each step, he savored the feel of the luxuriant, soft sand caressing his calloused skin feet. He stepped closer to the waves and cool, soothing mud, squished up between his toes. John picked up an old, broken clamshell embedded in the sand. There were many like it scattered amongst beds of flattened seaweed and they were easy to see in the dusky twilight.
John threw the shell into the waves with a flick of his wrist, sending it skipping across the water three times before it sank. The tide seemed to be heading out; it receded with each wave, slowly lengthening the beach.
I wonder what else I can find, John thought as he set out to explore. While he walked, he overturned rocks with his toes, discovering a plethora of creatures that ran for cover. He picked up a coin-sized red crab and placed it in his palm so he could examine it more closely. The crab scurried out of his grasp, falling to the sand and disappearing under a piece of weathered driftwood.
John continued onward, finding all kinds of shells. His favorite was a pinkish, cone-shaped snail shell. These were the type that usually had hermit crabs hiding inside them. He collected a few and stuffed them into his pockets as he walked.
Night was falling quickly and it was becoming difficult to see. He turned to look back, and saw how far he had come. The pirates' fires flickered like candles in the distance.
On his way back he spent less time looking at the sand and more time gauging how far he'd have to walk before returning to the warmth of the fire. It was creepy all alone on the dark beach with the wide black ocean on one side, and a mysterious tropical jungle on the other. John's ears picked up the sound of something large moving through the long grass under the trees. I wonder what kind of creatures lurk through the jungle at night?
In a sudden rush to return, he quickened his pace, only to stub his big toe on something sticking out of the sand. He tripped and fell face first. Acting on instinct, he flung out his hands to brace himself against the fall. His palms pushed unharmed into the soft sand. Only his lips and chin hit the ground.
Sitting on his bum, spitting sand and rubbing his sore toe, John looked for what had tripped him. Something long and round stuck out from the sand at an angle. On closer inspection, John realized it was a wine bottle.
John grasped the bottle by the neck and pulled it from the sand with one good yank. Then, consumed with curiosity, he carried it to the water to wash off the dirt, hoping to get a better look at it. As soon as he had picked it up he could tell there was something inside. He shook the bottle and heard a gentle tink as the mysterious item moved. But even after he washed it, he still couldn't see what it was. I'll have to look at it in the light.
As he carried the bottle to the nearest fire, he ran his fingers up and down the smooth glass. The wine bottle was sealed with a cork, its inside void of liquid, of that much he was sure. He could hardly wait to get a better look inside.
When he reached the fire he held the bottle up to the light so he could look through the green-colored glass. The item inside seemed to be a rolled up piece of paper. A scroll, perhaps.
John took his small flip-knife out of his pocket and used it to pry the cork loose. The rotten material came out in pieces, so it took him a few frustrating minutes to remove it. When the bottle's neck was finally clear, John tipped the bottle upside down. The scroll didn't come out. He tried shaking the bottle, smacking the bottom, but the rolled paper stopped where the neck narrowed. Then it suddenly occurred to John that the only way he'd get it out was to smash the glass.
John stood up and trudged back to the stream, where he could find a rock suitable for the job. He found a large round boulder near the edge of the stream and threw the bottle at it with all of his strength. When the bottle struck the rock, the glass smashed into hundreds of pieces, leaving the scroll exposed.
John picked up the paper, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass. As he unrolled the parchment he could tell there was something written on it, but he couldn't read the words in the dim light of the rising crescent moon. He ran back to the fire and held the paper in the light of the flickering flames.
At first he couldn't make heads or tails of the document. On one side there was a drawing in black ink of a triangle with a chain of small, oblong-shaped objects near the bottom edge, and a strange squiggly line running up the left side of the paper. In the center of the triangle there was an X.
On the other side of the paper was an inscription in Spanish, and a detailed drawing of a circular object with many irregular shaped pieces inside it. John stared at the circular object, turning the paper around so he could examine it from every angle.
In the top right corner of the paper was a drawing of a chest with a top and front view. A large cross covered the top of the chest, and continued down the front. There was an arrow drawn from the chest to an area on the edge of the circular design, accompanied by another detailed description in Spanish, a language John didn't understand.
"Thar ye be," Black Sam exclaimed as he hunkered down beside John. "What do ye have thar?"
John handed the paper to Black Sam, thankful for the company. "I found it inside a bottle," John answered.
"Hmmm, it's in Spanish," Black Sam mumbled as he eyed the inscription. "Looks like a treasure map."
"It does," John said, grabbing the paper and looking it over with renewed interest.
"An' this here's the Devil's Triangle," Black Sam said, pointing at the triangle.
"What's that?"
"It's a patch of cursed water where many do not dare to venture. An' certainly not to the center where that X has been drawn."
"So you wouldn't want to go there?"
"Thar's nothin' to be seen out thar. It's just endless water."
"Oh," John said, sounding disappointed.
Black Sam got up, brushing the sand from his knees. "I'm layin' out m' bedding near a fire that's more central. Yer welcome to join me if ye like."
John jumped up and followed the captain back to the banana tree where they had left their things. The captain scooped up his bedroll and walked to the bonfire at the center of the beach, where he laid out his blankets close enough to the fire to benefit from the heat. John did the same, laying his hammock beside the captain's, but instead of sitting on his wool blanket as the captain did, he chose to wrap it around his shoulders.
The captain lay down on top of his blanket, folding his hands behind his head. "I suggest ye keep that paper close to yer heart while yer sleepin' unless ye want to lose it," Black Sam said as he turned over to lie on his side.
John stuffed the scroll inside his shirt and into the waist-band of his breeches. Then he clasped his hands behind his head and lay down. It was a clear night. The stars were a captivating sight, sparkling like faceted jewels thrown over black silk.
John stayed up, and listened to the pirates laughing and singing all around him. His mind swirled with thoughts of the possible treasure that could be at the center of the Devil's Triangle.
I'll have to find someone who can read Spanish and somehow I have to convince the captain to take me to this spot. John closed his eyes and pictured what the treasure would look like. It was a chest filled with gold doubloons, jewels and fine necklaces. As he imagined running his fingers through the treasure, John fell into a deep slumber.
/> While he slept, his mind conjured up dreams of ghost ships and damsels in distress.
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