Black Ocean
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The ship is in sight, but we cannot yet see the flag. It has been a long time since I have seen a ship at sea. We are too far from home for that to be possible without being seen. But this is a strange ocean, and the ships of the west do not sail upon it with regularity. They will be surprised when they find themselves in a battle.
It seems as though the enemy is still moving. There is no sense of urgency on their part; there are few sails out now save ours and theirs. Perhaps he wishes to draw us into his trap before showing himself. The French must be watching him closely.
They know he could not hope to defeat such a force if he were alone, and yet they allow him to continue undisturbed. He is a bold one, that man. And an ambitious one, I would venture to guess.
There are so many things I do not understand. How did my father end up here? Why does Captain Aubrey command such a powerful fleet? What will happen if he fails—if all our plans fall apart like a house of cards?
What happens to me, what happens to those dear to me, when that happens? Is there any chance for me to live out my days with friends, with family? Is there even any place for me to belong anymore?
I wish I could tell you what happened next. That I am still sitting here, waiting and wondering, while others are fighting and dying in front of me. But I cannot. I don’t know how much more time remains to me, or how much of that time is truly mine to spend as I please.
I can only tell you about my last few hours aboard Victory. About the moments that came after I was told that Captain Aubrey had gone over the side.
***
“What’s this?” Jack said when he saw it on deck. “A new ensign? I haven’t seen this before.”
Stephen stood by the mainmast with Tom, looking at the new flag. At first glance, it might seem a simple variation of the old British red-and-blue cross: a single star above three white bars. But that wouldn’t mean much to most people, not even to sailors, not unless they’d been paying attention during the long years of war.
It took a close inspection to appreciate what it meant. In fact, the design was so subtle that even Stephen, who had designed the thing, found it difficult to describe it. “Well, it looks just like our Union Jack,” he finally said.
Jack nodded but made no other response. He didn’t like change. Especially when it concerned his flag.
Captain Aubrey’s orders had arrived just in time; by noon the next day, Stephen was back belowdecks, preparing for the battle that lay ahead. A number of men had died since the previous night, others were ill, and a great deal of food had been consumed.
Stephen knew he couldn’t feed everyone indefinitely, and there weren’t enough men to man each gun; some guns would need to remain unmanned, although that would leave them vulnerable to boarding and capture.
Stephen was working at his desk, reviewing the situation as best he could—it was impossible, given the chaos and confusion, to get all the facts—when he heard someone at the door. It was Mr. Baret.
Stephen glanced up and smiled, glad to see him again. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t expected to see anyone else in the next few minutes. “Good afternoon,” he said, standing. “May I help you?”
Baret shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said. Then, looking uncomfortable, he added, “I came to ask—”
He stopped himself. This wasn’t the right place for such a conversation.
“You can ask me anything,” Stephen said. “In my cabin, if you like.”
Baret hesitated, then nodded.
Stephen led him into his stateroom and offered him a chair, which he politely declined, taking a seat instead. The two sat quietly for a moment. Finally, Stephen spoke.
“How may I be of service to you?” he asked.
“I want to apologize for what happened earlier,” Baret replied. “When I realized that you were a privateer, I should have let you go, but I was—”
“That’s quite all right,” Stephen interrupted gently.
“Thank you,” Baret said. “But now I’ve come to ask you something.”
Stephen nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Shall I fetch you a drink?”
“Thank you,” Baret answered. “If you will.”
Stephen poured them both a glass of brandy. Baret took his first sip carefully, not used to drinking at all these days; then he looked around, noticing Stephen’s papers, his books, his maps; everything that belonged to him. “Where is your flag?” he asked.
“Why?” Stephen laughed. “It hasn’t flown yet.”
Baret shook his head. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m afraid not,” Stephen agreed, smiling.
“Then why is there no flag flying over the ship? Or did you lose it?”
Stephen chuckled. “Do you think I would dare fly a British flag over this vessel?” he asked.
“No,” Baret said.
“And why not?”
“Because this isn’t England anymore, Mr. Aubrey.”
“Ah!” Stephen said. “Now I understand.”
“What do you understand?”
Stephen leaned forward. “Tell me, Mr. Baret, where are we bound?”
The captain frowned. “We’re headed north toward St. Kitts. We’re making for a small island called Nevis, near St. Kitts—that’s all anyone knows. That’s why no one wants to sail with me.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“And do you know what you’ll find there?”
Baret shook his head.
“I suspect,” Stephen said, “you’re about to learn.”
There was a knock at the door, and Stephen jumped. He quickly straightened. “Come in,” he called out.
Mr. Smith entered carrying several charts, a compass, a sextant, and a book. “Here you are, sir.” He handed a chart and the sextant to Baret, then sat down on the stool next to Stephen’s desk, opening the book to display several pages. “This is a map of the Caribbean Sea. You have a copy?”
“Yes,” Stephen said.
“Good.” Mr. Smith pointed to an area near Puerto Rico, where many of the Spanish vessels that had sailed from the Caribbean to the West Indies and the South Seas met their demise.
“That is what they call El Monito del Mar, the little marlin of the sea,” he explained. “A Spanish treasure galleon sank there centuries ago.”
“Centuries?” Baret said.
“Oh yes, sir,” Mr. Smith said. “It sank in 1714, after its captain, Diego Gomez, lost his way during a hurricane. All hands abandoned the sinking ship, leaving Gomez alone—for he was the only one who knew how to navigate it.”
Baret stared at the diagram of the Caribbean Sea that showed El Monito del Mar located near Puerto Rico. “I wonder why anyone would ever sail near the spot?”
“Well, sir,” Mr. Smith answered, “that’s easy enough to figure out. When a ship sinks near land, there’s usually more than just treasure waiting for the greedy pirates who come upon it: there’s also food, fresh water, and even slaves. So the Spaniards always put a lot of effort into protecting their ships when they were anchored.”
“So, the men who sunk the galleons left behind food, water, and slaves?” Baret asked. “Why would they do that?”
“Because they were afraid that the pirates would take everything and leave nothing,” Stephen said. “That’s why so many pirate stories involve people finding food or women, as well as gold.”
Baret frowned. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone want to sink a treasure galleon that held slaves along with gold coins?
“You must think I’m crazy,” Stephen said.
“No,” Baret said. “I understand what you’re saying.”
“Good,” Stephen said. “Because that’s exactly what happened in 1714 when the Spanish galleon sank. A large group of British privateers found the wreckage of the San Felipe de Jesús and looted the ship, taking most of the gold and food.
The crew abandoned the ship and set off for another part of the Caribbean where they planned to find other Spanish ships that might prove easier targets.”
“But if the men abandoned the ship and left the gold on the sea floor—the privateers should have found it all,” Baret argued.
“And that’s exactly what they thought,” Stephen said. “However, because they had not scoured the ocean bottom, they never discovered the gold coins.”
“But why?” Baret asked.
“Pirates believe that when a ship sinks,” Mr. Smith interjected, “its passengers and crew disappear forever, leaving the treasure intact for those who are fortunate enough to discover it.”
“How is that possible?” Baret asked.
“Some say it’s because the dead souls of the crew don’t want to return to Earth,” Stephen said. “Others believe that when they die they leave their bodies behind for someone else to claim, but somehow their souls remain trapped in the ship’s wreckage.”
“What makes you so sure the ship was sunk in 1714?” Baret asked.
Stephen tapped the table with his finger. “It wasn’t hard to confirm the date,” he said. “All we had to do was look for the wreck of another Spanish treasure ship that sunk somewhere around the same time, which was also carrying gold.”
Mr. Smith leaned forward in his chair. “Do you mean to tell me,” he began, “that this shipwreck contains more than gold?”
“Oh yes,” Stephen said. “We’ve already uncovered two chests filled with gold. And according to a Spanish sailor who served aboard a galleon, there are six more chests still buried under the sand.”
The excitement in the man’s voice was evident. It reminded Baret of his own feelings when he’d discovered that the Spanish Treasure Fleet was real; however, there was a difference: he was no longer searching for a shipwreck. He was in one.
Baret felt a sudden surge of hope, knowing that the money to fund his plan was closer than he’d ever imagined. He wondered if any of the men aboard his ship would consider themselves lucky.
After all, it had been his own greed that led him here—a greedy desire to become as rich as he could—yet now, for once, he hoped someone might be grateful for having such wealth fall into his hands.
If the ship’s contents were indeed the reason why Captain Rhett wanted them back, Baret knew they wouldn’t be able to resist taking some of the gold and jewels—not if they wanted to continue living.
For years he’d dreamed of the day he would finally have the money to free those aboard his father’s ship from slavery. Now at last, it seemed he might have that opportunity—and soon. Perhaps before he even arrived home.
The End