ACROSS THE ISTHMUS

TIDES OF FORTUNE

STEVEN BECKER

The White Marlin Press LLC

Copyright © 2024 by Steven Becker

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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FILIBUSTER

fil·i·bus·ter

/ˈfiləˌbəstər/

A filibuster (from the Spanish filibustero), also known as a freebooter, is someone who engages in an unauthorized military expedition into a foreign country or territory to foster or support a political revolution or secession.

To read more check out this post on my StoryLines blog:

[https://stevenbecker.substack.com/p/down-a-rabbit-hole]

PROLOGUE

Van Dyke lived.

The wood-paneled office was dark, the Dutchman sprawled on top of his ornate desk. The distinctive iron smell of blood competed but did not overwhelm the odor of cigars and rum. The office was actually a cabin in one of the assortment of grounded ships in the Yerba Buena harbor in San Francisco. Like many of the myriad of abandoned ships, it had been converted into a saloon and brothel. Abandoned after the mostly misplaced sense of urgency of the Argonauts to reach the gold fields, the array of ships had become terra firma and created a new district in San Francisco.

The never-ending pounding of the steam engines as they drove the pistons that pounded the hills above the city to provide fill to be placed in and around the ships was a constant backdrop, adding to the intensity in the room.

A surgeon, arms bloodied to his elbows, probed the wound in Van Dyke’s gut. They’d thought he was dead, but somehow, the Dutchman was alive.

Two men held lanterns above the surgeon, who worked feverishly to repair the damage caused by a cannon shot. In the shadows lining the perimeter of the room were Van Dyke’s men—allies and interested parties—with more of the latter than the former. One in particular, William Walker, had an audience around him.

Some would call him worldly. Walker was the editor of the San Francisco Herald, though he was better known for surviving three duels. His position had allowed him to write his own history about his failed filibuster attempt in Mexico.

The line between the law-abiding and the corrupt politicians of the boom town was often blurred or even non-existent. Walker had gone rogue in his failed effort to extend the policy of manifest destiny to Mexico. He firmly believed that the doctrine was a God-given right and like all who believed their endeavors were righteous, was not dissuaded by his failure. Instead, his background as a physician and lawyer fueled a confidence that kindled the flame of desire to try again.

The problem was that he needed the blessing of both men who he was deep in conversation with and the backing of the unconscious man bleeding out on the desk. The former was nothing without the backing of the latter, so he moved toward the desk.

“How is he?” Walker asked the surgeon.

The man only grunted. Walker peered at the Dutchman’s innards. “If you’re a priest, he could use you. If not, step away.”

Walker had no interest in watching the surgeon work. He was only interested in the result. “Has he spoken?”

Suddenly Van Dyke’s body jerked as if he was trying to respond. The men reached for his arms and legs to restrain him until the convulsion passed. After several long heartbeats, Van Dyke’s body quieted.

The men jerked back again when his eyes flashed open.

The room tensed. Assembled were both enemies and allies, many falling into the blurred area where the difference was indistinguishable. In their quest for wealth and power, there were too many variables in their intertwined relationships and dealings to separate friend from foe.

“Tagati!” Van Dyke spat. “Tagati!”

The men froze, many wondering what he meant or if he even knew. Walker was among those who did.

“He wants the witch. The island woman,” one of the men guarding the door said.

A brief conference was held between his trusted men.

Van Dyke was not a man who straddled the line between honesty and deceit. He was a known quantity in a city where bad men outnumbered good by a large margin. With more enemies than friends, Van Dyke had hired security. They had failed when he took a shot at the dock while trying to stop Nick Van Doren and his crew from leaving the harbor.

The men formed his inner circle, though Van Dyke had no real confidants. They knew his likes and dislikes, how he amused himself. Only a few knew of his witch. Many said she was how he had survived his exodus from the Caribbean. Others said that she was secretly his lover.

Van Dyke’s family was a generational influence, a dynasty of sorts in the Virgin Islands. One of the islands, Jost Van Dyke, bore the name of his ancestor. A Captain Joost van Dyk had been a 17th-century Dutch pirate who used the area’s harbors as a safe haven from which he attacked ships passing the island on the way to Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo, and Cuba.

Many thought the man laid out on the desk believed he was the incarnation of the pirate.

Though the British had taken the Virgin Islands in the late 1600s, they ignored the Jost Van Dyke island to the point of excluding it from their maps. The fever of emancipation in the early 1800s put the island back on the maps and led to Van Dyke’s departure.

California was a free state, though it allowed people from other states to bring their slaves, with the caveat that they didn’t stay permanently. The loophole was what bound many of the men in the room together. Walker and Van Dyke were both proponents of slavery, and in a world of increasing calls for emancipation, the commonality overrode petty differences and bound them together.

Two of the men immediately left the room to search for the witch. These men understood what the Dutchman’s death would mean to their prospects.

Time seemed to stand still as the remaining men waited to see if Van Dyke would survive. They huddled within their own groups. As it always did, though more quickly than it should have considering the reason they were here, the talk turned to business.

Walker had the two federal judges cornered. He generously refilled their glasses from one of Van Dyke’s decanters and lobbied for their blessing for his next enterprise.

Walker’s filibuster attempt in Mexico had been unauthorized. That wasn’t the direct reason for his failure to colonize Baja California with the intention of making it a slave state, but it did hurt his prospects. Walker believed with the judges’ blessing, he would be able to recruit more and better men to fulfill his contract in Nicaragua.

The Gold Rush had made Central America, especially the narrow isthmuses located in Nicaragua and Panama, crucial for trade. Interest in the newly independent countries had been the cause of several civil wars, one of which was ongoing in Nicaragua. To the men huddled in a corner of the room, drinking Van Dyke’s liquor and smoking his cigars, the politics was unimportant as long as they backed the winner.

Walker had just received the blessing from the federal judges when the door burst open. The men stepped aside as a woman entered in a cloud of incense.

She went directly to the desk. The surgeon, who had all but given up, moved aside, but the men holding the lanterns stood transfixed as the witch began to chant and wave the censer over Van Dyke’s body.

The only three men not watching were Walker and the judges. With their approval, Walker’s enterprise became legal. What he needed now was the funds to recruit and transport an army of 300 men to Nicaragua. The man laid out on the table was his last chance to finance it. If he died, Walker’s filibuster would die with him.

The witch appeared to be a last resort. Walker and several other men—some vested, others just curious—in Van Dyke’s survival, moved as close to the desk as they dared and watched as the witch worked her magic.

What many of the onlookers thought would soon be a corpse slowly showed signs of life. It was not the convulsions they had witnessed earlier but a slow awakening. The witch continued her work, her chants growing louder as she called on whatever spirits she could summon.

Van Dyke’s eyes opened again, this time lucid. He seemed to look around. Pushing the witch away, he tried to rise from the desk but failed. Lying back down, panting heavily from the exertion, he turned his head and made eye contact with Walker.

Walker approached. Van Dyke’s attorneys, wanting to witness what could be the last wishes of their benefactor, were beside him. They waited a long moment before Van Dyke spoke.

“Get my revenge on Van Doren, and the money is yours.”

1

Lawlessness takes many forms. Bandits roam the land, robber barons the board rooms, and pirates the sea. Having been too often classified as the latter, I should have known exactly what to look for when scouting a harbor.

Like wind and waves, pirates were a commonality of the Seven Seas. One of them had changed my life. José Gasparilla, the Spanish naval officer turned pirate, had taken as a prize the ship transporting my family across the Atlantic on its way to Willemstad, where my father was to assume a posting as a clerk to the governor of Curaçao and its dependencies.

Prior to my abduction, I had suffered a classical education. Though I loathed much of it, I had been drawn to history and recalled that the Seven Seas were not set in stone. In Greek literature, they consisted of the Aegean, Adriatic, Mediterranean, Black, Red, and Caspian seas, and the Persian Gulf—their known world. In Medieval European literature, the phrase referred to the North Sea, Baltic, Atlantic, Mediterranean, Black, Red, and Arabian seas.

As the Age of Discovery opened the world for trade, the concept of the Seven Seas changed again. Mariners then referred to them as the Atlantic, Indian, Pacific, Mediterranean, Caribbean, Arctic, and the Gulf of Mexico.

It didn’t matter which set or subset was referred to—each one held pirates. And where there were pirates, there were safe havens. Port Royal and Nassau had been dens of iniquity during the golden age of piracy. The Caribbean had claimed the reputation and the imagination of the world as the place to be a pirate. The truth was somewhat different.

The Caribbean, Mediterranean, and Asian Pacific had long been pirate hotspots, mainly because there were places to sell their ill-gotten gains. The Pacific off the coast of the Americas was different. With the Spanish influence along its entirety, any goods pirated from vessels on the West Coast would need to be sold elsewhere. That didn’t exclude pirates from existence there; it just required a trip around the Horn or to Asia to reap the rewards of their efforts. Most were not so long-sighted.

The Pacific Coast was generally quiet. The Manilla fleet, which transited the ocean between the West Coast and Asia, had been regulated by the Spanish to two shipments per year. The whalers and fishermen were not worth the effort. Basic economics took over. There was not enough trade to make piracy worthwhile.

That all changed with the gold rush. The options to transport the wealth of California to the East Coast were limited to the dangerous trip around Cape Horn, crossing Central America either in Nicaragua or Panama, or making the overland journey across the continent. The narrow land bridges across the Isthmus of Panama were much faster than the sea voyage or land crossing but were equally dangerous.

On our voyage west, and with our fortune stored in the bilge of the Panther, we had taken the longer and more dangerous route around Cape Horn. Since then, the United States had entered into an arrangement with the Nicaraguan government to construct a canal across the Isthmus. The time frame to build it was twelve years and in the interim, the Transit Route across Nicaragua had been developed.

With the Vanderbilt fortune supporting the project, the route utilized several steamships to traverse the inland waterways as well as pack mules and carriages to finish the journey between San Juan del Norte on the Atlantic Coast and San Juan del Sur on the Pacific Coast.

Gold from the California fields had become the new currency, and with its portability, we had converted much of our gems, jewelry, and silver to bars. Our wealth was now portable, which meant we weren’t tied to the ship, and with urgent business in New York, time was of the essence.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, a steamship came into sight. We were a schooner, rigged with fore and aft sails. Our still-unnamed ship, as we were loath to name them before seeing action, had been recently refurbished and, more importantly, untested. Our previous ship, the Panther, named for the beast that had almost taken my life years earlier, was now terra firmer, part of the harbor. The new ship was sleek and elegant—and a dying breed. The newer steamboats, on the other hand, were ungainly, almost ugly. Though they had several masts, their sail plan was simple and, due to the ship's design to accommodate the paddlewheel, inefficient.

There were two parables I remembered from my youth. “The Tortoise and the Hare” and “The Ugly Duckling.” Both applied to the comparison between the craft. Our son Nate had a good deal of knowledge of steamships after running the Rattler on the Sacramento River between San Francisco and the gold fields. I noticed him watching the other ship intently.

“If only they weren’t so ugly,” I said.

“That would be in the eye of the beholder.” Nate pointed out several features of the steamship that I was oblivious to.

Shayla had brought our twins into the world nearly a quarter century ago. The boys had always been different from each other. Marc was the planner and reminded me of my father. His practical abilities were now employed as mine boss for an outfit in northern California. Our voyage was to bring the news, in person, to the board of directors in New York.

Nate reminded me of myself, which clearly had both good and bad points.

“We should invest in one when we reach the other side,” Nate said.

Steamships were the future. That much was certain. The tides and winds had ruled the trade routes since the Phoenicians went to sea thousands of years ago. Coal had ended that dependence on nature and ceded it to man. From everything I had learned about the ways of men, when there was an advantage, a man took it.

“She’s closing,” Nate said.

We’d crossed from the starboard rail where we had been observing the ship from the helm. Nate picked up the glass and studied the ship.

“She’s flying the Stars and Stripes.”

That was little surprise. Since the Mexican-American War had ended more than a half-decade ago, the United States controlled these waters. Before that, it had been the Spanish. I’d grown up in a different time and place. The Caribbean of my youth had been a chessboard for half a dozen European monarchs who controlled the region. Often used to deceive other ships, flags were disregarded. The sighting of a sail on the horizon would bring us to battle stations regardless.

“She seems in a hurry.” I could see a dark smudge rising above the ship’s funnel. A different mentality surrounded the steamships. Sailors had relied on prevailing winds, called trade winds, which were known forces but generally out of their control. The captain of a steamship had to be aware of his supply of fuel, usually coal. Though finite, consumption varied depending on speed and conditions. The nearest port where he could refill the ship’s bunkers was always on the captain’s mind.

Nate understood it. I didn’t. Where a half-dozen years ago, I would have been in the rigging, straining to see the sail plan and armaments of the other ship, I stood by Nial, who was at the wheel, and waited for Nate to finish his observation.

“She’s a pair of four-pounders on her bow. Gun ports are closed, but I count four on each side.”

The ship passed without incident on our port side just as the sun set. The meeting, or lack of one, brought some truths to the fore. We were no longer tied to the ship as we had been for decades past. Our wealth, which was still considerable, could be transported in several crates.

Our ships, first the Cayman and then the Panther, had been our home. I’d known them intimately. We’d fought, worked, lived, loved, and escaped our foes aboard them. The vessels had been part of our identity.

As time was of the essence, crossing the Isthmus had been a natural choice—indeed, the only one. Saving almost 10,000 treacherous miles of ocean, it would take months off our trip. For better or worse we were tied to the seas. Crossing the American West was never an option

The process, I feared, would change us forever.

I was unsure how I would deal with relinquishing my role as captain after all these years. Even more worrisome was how Rhames, Blue, and Lucy would take the change.

I glanced toward the mast, where I could see Rhames seated in front of the armory where he spent most of the day. He was the last of Gasparilla’s crew, surprisingly. The others had passed over time, but Rhames remained.

For different reasons and at different times, we’d been labeled pirates by every government we’d been in contact with. The term had been used as one of convenience, as we’d never plundered another vessel, either at sea or port. Our fortune had come from salvaging wrecks and finding secreted caches—which some called piracy. “Robbery” might have been the better term. There were no procedures for acquiring rights to sinking vessels. For lack of a device to stop us, governors and bureaucrats had labeled us pirates. Rhames was the real thing.

Blue and Lucy were another matter entirely. The African bushmen we’d taken on just days after fleeing to the interior of Florida following Gasparilla’s demise were family as well. Dark-skinned and diminutive, in many ports they blended in; in others, they were forced to hide. I supposed we could tell anyone with an interest that they were our slaves, but I was loath to do that.

Brought from their ancestral homes as slaves, the couple relished freedom more than any of us. As I thought of them, I heard Lucy’s inimitable cackle and turned to the stern rail, where the couple were trailing fishing lines behind the boat. It took both of them to haul the tuna over the rail. The fish glistened, its iridescent dark-blue color and yellow-tipped fins sparkling in the sun flailed on the deck before Blue dispatched it with his knife.

I wondered what would happen when we became travelers rather than adventurers. To some, that might not be much of a distinction, but to us, it was everything. Turning over our freedom to schedules and companies was foreign to me. I had Marc’s best interest at heart, though, and would do whatever I needed to secure his future at the mine.

Nial and his men were another problem. We’d taken on the carpenters in San Francisco. They’d renovated the ship and learned to sail her. We hadn’t had a discussion about their future yet, but it was inevitable. They had become a capable crew, but they weren’t seamen. Perhaps the construction of the canal would appeal to them.

There were two other members of our crew, Shayla and Janey. My wife and Nate’s companion. We called Janey that out of some kind of Puritan convention, but we all knew they were as good as married. In many cases, traveling with women aboard was problematic, and I often had to make decisions to ensure their safety. Though our journey ahead held many unknowns and doubtless threats, they were the least of my worries. Both looked forward to the trip.

That brought me back to Nate. I always knew he would take over for me. Giving up our ship would change his legacy. Without the ship and crew that were capable of generating income, I had little to leave him except gold. He would be a wealthy man, but that wasn’t what he wanted.

The ship also meant something else to me that no one else understood, and that was what I was really frightened of. It was as if we shared a soul. Leaving her in San Juan del Sur would be like cutting my heart out with a knife.

2

Shayla came on deck and stood beside me as the steamship pulled even with us and then passed. We watched her until she steamed over the horizon.

“I think I might enjoy the trip on one of those.”

I leaned in and kissed her. Over the years, Shayla had put up with more than most women would have. I noticed her watching the women aboard the steamship, clearly visible by their hats. To her, they represented a kind of freedom. I knew it was no slight against me or our life. The dangers remained when someone else was in charge. I suspected it would be harder for me to relinquish that power than for her to accept it from another. It simply meant that she could relax and enjoy a trip without being threatened by every ship along the way. To some, like Rhames, Blue, and even myself, to a certain extent, the call of “Sail!” invigorated us. To Shayla, it was the opposite.

I wondered if it wasn’t just wishful thinking on her part. Those women with their fancy hats were passengers. Shayla had been much more than that aboard our ships. From the original crew that believed having a woman aboard was bad luck to the battles we’d fought and her part in them, she had always been by my side—a true partner, as well as my wife and mother to our children.

Our minds worked differently, though. Shayla leaned toward being the nurturer while I was the over-thinker. I knew there was a tinge of madness in my efforts to control what lay in the future. For her to put up with that made her all the more special.

The steamship was long gone, but I continued to study the water ahead. Of all our small crew, Rhames and I constantly stared over the horizon. The old pirate did it for survival. My obsession was with the success of our ventures, the safety of those in my charges, and, from my recent thoughts, the legacy I would leave to Nate.

“You’re looking forward to New York?” I asked, trying to extract Shayla’s thoughts on what we would do after we delivered the message to the board of directors.

“Oh yes. There’s culture there.”

I smiled, thinking how painful this might be. “Any thoughts for after?” We had enough gold to live like royalty. But that sounded like a life of leisure, something that filled me with dread. Every morning for most of my life, I had woken with purpose. To meander through life, taking pleasure from the riches we acquired would appeal to many. For myself, I was more like Rhames, who was a clear example that if you stopped, you died.

“I’m going to check on the old boy,” I told her.

Shayla kissed me but continued to watch the now-empty water where we’d last seen the steamboat. “You’ll be alright.” She flashed a smile. “Nick Van Doren in New York. I can barely wait.”

We spoke about New York like it was just over the horizon, but there were a lot of miles and danger to face before we reached the city.

I found Rhames sitting on the half barrel, his back to the armory, a mug in his hand, and a cheroot between his teeth. Out of some innate sense of preservation, his eyes cracked open when he felt me nearby.

“Aye. We’re just two lost souls, eh, Captain.”

Despite his scarred face and many injuries, Rhames was in reasonable health.

“The rest of ’em are all excited, especially the women and your boy. What becomes of me, you, and the little bastard, I’m not sure.”

The pirate waxed philosophical, though he would never admit to it. Late in the afternoon, he was probably deep in his cups and had no idea how relevant his thoughts were. That was the thing with Rhames. He was the most unassuming person I’d ever met. Most only knew and judged him through his appearance and swagger. I knew the man from the inside out. Over the years, we had become closer than either of us would admit.

“You might be right.”

I knew his thoughts toward the future had a degree of fatalism and thought back on our unlikely friendship.

Being taken by pirates sounds gruesome, and for most is. I mourned the loss of my parents, although I was never sure of their fate. Gasparilla was said to have held the women he took on Captiva Island near his own headquarters of sorts on Gasparilla Island. I think I would prefer that my mother had passed rather than suffered that fate.

My parents were just that. I loved them in the way that children do, but I never fit their expectations, nor they mine. The ocean voyage had been the stuff of dreams for me, but I was well aware that once we reached our destination, my education, which had been intended to lead me down the same path in life as my father, would chain me to an office with a desk and ledgers.

Gasparilla was everything I had dreamed of. I had studied the classics and knew the writings of the old philosophers and historians. Their stories and their sense of duty, honor, and adventure appealed to me. Strangely enough, though I loathed most of my education, the words had struck a chord.

That fatalism that Rhames and I shared resounded in their writings. The acceptance that what lay ahead was mostly out of our control—not even directed by God, as many believed.

Accepting your fate brings a different view. Shayla was focused on New York. Rhames’ thoughts probably didn’t extend past the dangers of transiting the Isthmus. Mine encompassed everything from the next wave to what we would do after New York.

“How long until we need to provision?” I asked, mainly concerned with his rum stores. The liquor, which he hoarded, masked the physical pain and helped pass the idle hours for him. Such was his effect on the crew that without his daily ration, the ship would fall into turmoil.

“Aye, a few days if the little bastard keeps out of them.”

The little bastard was Blue, the third in our trio of soon-to-be misfits. Rhames could survive on his stories alone. I had Shayla and Nate. Blue and Lucy had nature, and without it, they would be lost.

“I’d just as soon make it to Cabo before putting in. San Diego might not be welcoming,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“You’re right about that. These new-fangled inventions’ll be the death of the likes of us.”

He was referring to the telegraph, which could transmit news, orders, or a message to stop us in minutes rather than days or weeks.

I glanced up at the sails, which, along with oars and paddles, had powered mans’ adventures at sea. The passing of time had been different then. Now, between the steamships and the telegraph, the very nature of time had changed.

For now, my biggest worry was what lay behind rather than ahead. Van Dyke, if the Dutchman had survived the cannon shot, which was likely as he was the kind of man that was un-killable and vengeful, would need a steamship to catch us. With any luck, our abrupt departure from San Francisco would have left no time to fill the bunkers. Running with the boiler wide open meant that the chase would end when the fuel ran out.

That was our advantage, and in that regard, the wind might actually serve us.

The sky darkened, which changed our view. Instead of the vast openness, the world narrowed to the ship itself. Lanterns provided the only light besides the moon and stars. Some fretted about nights at sea. I felt at home with the cloak of darkness surrounding us.

“Light off the starboard bow.”

The call broke the silence. We were far enough offshore that the source could only be another ship. I moved to the helm and was about to call out to douse the lights. Nate ordered the ship to darkness before I could. A brief smile flashed across my face, and a proud feeling pulsed through me. Nate would make a fine captain. Unfortunately, it would be of another ship.

“Can you make out anything?”

“I don’t think she’s seen us.”

The lights on the ship were visible now.

“Steamer running full speed ahead,” Nate called down. “She’s flying sail as well.”

I glanced at the chart laid out on the binnacle but was unable to read it without the lantern. “Are we in Mexican waters?” There were no landmarks distinguishing the line of demarcation between the two countries. Even during the day, the border between the US and Mexico was indistinguishable. Crossing it meant nothing other than our position on a chart. What I was really after was if we had passed San Diego.

Coal depots had become a vital source of fuel for ocean voyages. As navigators had learned the locations of fresh water and food, engineers were now required to know the location of the all-important depots. Depending on the size and level of her bunkers, the steamship, which I was now certain was chasing us, would need to either put in at San Diego or travel down the Baja coast and cross the Sea of Cortez at Cabo San Lucas to reach Mazatlán.

At this time of year, the sun set well into the last dog watch. On a larger or fully crewed ship, a bell would be rung and there would be controlled chaos as the crews changed over. With our small contingent, it was simply a matter of each man ensuring his replacement was ready. I took advantage of the short time that both crews were on deck and assembled everyone.

Most knew our circumstance from their opposite number, but I wanted to be clear.

“Right, then” I waited until they quieted. The steamship that passed us isn’t a concern.” I kept my suspicion of the nearby ship to myself. “The one behind needs a weather eye. I’m confident she didn’t see us, but we need to be vigilant. Keep the ship dark and quiet.”

In addition to the lights, the steamship’s paddlewheel churned the water into a white foam, which was visible at night. Our wake might be as well, but was smaller and harder to see. “We’ve got a favorable wind that should see us well past San Diego. Rhames will issue weapons should they be needed.” The old pirate was usually drunk enough to sleep through the night. He did have a kind of prescience about trouble, though, and would probably wake at the first sign of it.

Night actions at sea were rare but not unknown. If the steamship was indeed after us, an astute captain would pass, then lay in wait and use the element of surprise to ambush us at first light.

The meeting was about to break up when one of Nial’s men called out. “Where are we bound, Captain?”

I had expected to face this question sooner rather than later. The men knew our ultimate destination was New York, but not our route. They had volunteered for the trip, not been pressed into service, which was how many naval forces recruited their men. Everyone knew they were free to leave at any time. Nial and his men were the reason we had been able to escape Van Dyke. I owed them the truth—at least as it appeared to be playing out now.

“We’re going to cross the Isthmus by way of the Transit Route in Nicaragua. From there, we are bound for New York.”

The disgruntled expressions were clear, even with low light. Their commitment and sweat that had made the ship seaworthy would be abandoned. “We’ll disburse payments when we reach San Juan del Sol. Any that want to accompany us are welcome, but I expect to take passage on a ship rather than purchase one.”

Mention of their pay seemed to lighten the mood. Everyone knew there were opportunities ahead. The problem for most was change. Few men liked uncertainty, and that was what we faced.

The men assigned to the eight-to-midnight watch took their stations while the ones that had just finished their shift ambled about, talking quietly to each other. I expected the conversations were mostly speculation—how much each would receive and what they were going to do with it. This was not the way to hold a crew together, but I had no choice. Once we reached Nicaragua and sold the ship, the ties would be severed.

Shayla came beside me, and I felt her hand grasp mine. “Better now than later.” She understood the tribulations of my position. “Would you take them with us? It would be costly, but who knows what we will run into.”

Our voyage was as uncertain as their futures. We had a destination that required several critical steps. I knew better than to focus too far into the future, especially when I still had the feeling the steamship was after us. I needed something to take my mind off our situation, and I glanced at Shayla, hoping there might be some marital relief. She looked back at me and smiled.

Our moment was interrupted by a call from one of the men in the rigging.

“Sail!”

3

The call had come to be more than notice of another ship’s presence. It meant more than just sighting a ship. Especially after my warning, it meant danger.

The vastness of the Pacific was still new to us. Vessels along the western coast of the Americas’ sailed in a generally straightforward manner, either perpendicular or parallel to land. There was no maze of islands or currents like the Caribbean, which still had defined routes but that ran every which way. Ships on the Pacific travelled mainly north and south. The busiest route was between San Francisco and Nicaragua or Panama, where the Isthmus and crossing to the Atlantic were at their narrowest.

Spain’s Manilla fleet had brought the gold and silver of Mexico to the Asian market, returning with silk, tea, spices, and porcelain, which were highly sought after in Europe. Crossing the vast ocean required different tactics depending on direction. Those returning from Asia sailed along the 30th parallel, where the trade winds worked in their favor, making landfall along the central California coast. Heading to Asia, ships sailed from either Cabo San Lucas or Seattle. There was little else in the way of longitudinal trade routes.

The main shipping lanes ran north and south just a dozen miles from the coast. With the predominantly northern winds pushing us toward our destination, we were making good speed. As little as a few years ago, we would have been able to outrun any challenge. Coal and steam had changed that. A steamship sailing south had the advantage of both wind and mechanical power. Sailing northward was referred to as “climbing the hill,” working against both current and wind.

The sighting of the ship behind us may or may not be serious, but after the spine-tingling feeling of how easily the previous steamship had overtaken us, I was worried. There was no point taking chances. I called the other watch on deck and had Rhames issue weapons.

There would be no outrunning them. We were lightly armed. A naval vessel could easily outgun us and force us to heave-to and succumb to their wishes. Another merchant might be on even terms, but in that conflict, we had experience. A rogue ship was the real worry. I doubted Van Dyke had the connections to bring the Navy into our conflict, which was more personal than political. He could easily have sponsored a steamship to give chase.

The men scurried first to the armory, where Rhames issued cutlasses and firearms, then to their assigned stations. Nate, with a rifle slung over his shoulder, took the glass and climbed the rigging.

“What do you see?” I called up.

“Same type of ship as earlier. She’s got a full head of steam on and coming toward us.”

The satisfaction that my gut feeling might be correct did nothing to dispel the danger. In fact, I wished I’d been wrong. I had thought that surely Van Dyke had perished from the cannon shot. If he had survived, his vengeance would be brutal and, with his resources, far reaching.

The ship seemed to grow on the horizon as I watched. The smoke pouring from her stack was telling. No captain without a purpose would waste fuel on a downwind run.

Several minutes passed, and I felt Shayla beside me. This was not a crew where the women cowered below decks waiting for the battle to play out. Lucy and Shayla were warriors. Janey might not be as skilled, but she was feisty. She was still recovering from an injury sustained when helping us free Nate back in San Francisco, though.

“What is it?”

“Van Dyke would be my guess.”

“Surely the bastard’s dead.” Shayla spat on the deck as if warding off the evil of his name.

I shrugged. The Dutchman’s fate was not the issue right now.

“We can’t outrun a steamship,” she said, transfixed by the speed of the ship behind us.

“No, but we’re not powerless.” I’d spent hours and even days anticipating just such an event. While there were thousands of years of historical records of sail and human-powered naval tactics, there was virtually nothing regarding sail versus steam.

The new ships had speed and the ability to ignore the wind and tides, the two factors every captain prior to this encounter, including us, had to reckon with. There were few options in a classic naval battle. One was to try and outrun the opposition. If and when it came to a fight, tactics included ramming, broadsides, and boarding, alone or in some combination.

We couldn’t outrun the ship, we couldn’t fight it, and we couldn’t disappear. Our only advantage was maneuverability. Able to quickly tack and jibe versus the slow turning ability of the steamship, we could essentially run circles around them.

I called up to Nate. “Has she got a paddle wheel or a screw?” This was an all-important question and would determine my tactics. The wheels were the most vulnerable part of the ships. Taking a shot at the boiler was always an option, but disabling the exposed wheels would cripple the ship. Screw propellers would soon change that. They were the future, but few ships were outfitted with them yet.

“Sidewheeler.”

“Right, then. We’re going to jibe and head west.”

“Were the old days, we’d turn and fight the bastards.”

Rhames had joined us at the rail. The potential for a fight was like the fountain of youth. I expected Nate felt the same way. To a fighter, running was cowardice. My idea to head west wasn’t craven. It was tactical.

A sailing ship would be subject to the same conditions as we faced. The sail plan, condition of the hull, provisioning, weaponry, and ammunition would be the defining factors. We could literally engage in a running battle to the ends of the world.

Steamships were limited by their fuel. The paddle wheels required more of a flat-bottomed hull, which created drag. Once we executed the jibe, we would be heading into the vast Pacific. That would put us on a beam reach, and increase our speed as well. If they couldn’t catch us quickly, the captain would, at some point, have to make the decision to abandon the chase and turn back.

“Is she riding low?” I called up to Nate, now regretting that I hadn’t thought of it earlier. Had it been a sailing vessel, I would have instinctually taken the measure of her.

“Not laden, but not light either.”

That meant she had some coal stored in her bunkers, but they were not full. “Right, then. Jibe ho!” We were on the outside, as the winds were stronger and more consistent offshore. The steamship was on our port side. Nial slowly worked the wheel to starboard until the sails luffed and then swung to port. The crew secured the sheets, and we waited to see if the steamship would follow. Veering away, it took a long few minutes before Nate called down that they had turned with us.

I worked my way up and down the deck, making adjustments to the sails. There was something about the way a carpenter’s mind worked that made them natural sailors. The crew, despite their lack of experience, had done well. My comments were more in the form of teaching than criticism. When I returned to the helm, I felt we had gained another knot of speed.

“She’s closing!” Nate called down.

There was nothing to be done. The half-dozen cannon we had taken from the old Panther were primed and loaded, the men armed, and the ship sailing as best as the conditions would allow. There was no reason to toss a logboard over to know we were making in excess of eight knots. The more advanced steamships claimed twelve knots. I’d never seen it in practice and expected that it would burn through their fuel stores at a tremendous rate.

The steamship made no attempt to disguise herself. She had come into plain sight with several pinpricks of light now visible to port. The ship itself was outlined against the dark sky, and the exhaust pouring from her smokestack was evident as it streamed behind her. She appeared to be running at full speed.

I estimated she was five miles or so from us. That four-knot advantage would have her within range of our cannons in half an hour. That worked both ways. We would be in her sights as well. We’d trade shots at that distance, but the real test would be in a little over an hour when she would be in a position to overtake us.

Anything we could do to extend that time would be in our favor. Her captain had made his choice. He not only needed enough coal in his bunkers to catch us, but he also needed fuel to make the port of San Diego or Mazatlán. He would want this over with quickly.

A sea battle, at least between sailing vessels, can be a tiring, drawn-out affair. The chase was intensely slow, often lasting more than a day before either contact was made or broken off. With the steamship appearing larger every minute, this was different and lent an urgency to the affair.

“At this rate, she’ll be in range soon,” Nate called down.

His tone was factual, and I smiled, realizing that this was his first real battle. My expression changed instantly when the splash of a ball and the boom of a cannon firing wafted across the water. I wasn’t sure which came first, nor did it matter. We were in her sights.

“We gonna fire back at the bastards?”

Rhames asked the question that was on everyone’s lips. I waited, watching the ship as she closed the gap. “I want the measure of her first.” By allowing her to fire her guns, I would be taking a risk, but I would also know how the steamship was armed and how well her crew was trained.

“Be the same measure if we shoot back.”

Two more flashes came from the steamship, accompanied by the boom and splash of shot. Each one landed closer.

Any one of those balls could have caused us damage, but it was unlikely from this distance that it would be fatal. I had never been a gambling man, refraining from joining the men at their games of dice or cards. The sea was my casino.

“Two guns port and starboard. Probably a bow and stern chaser.” I called it loudly so Nate and the men could hear.

“Well, at least we’re evenly matched. Now, can we have a go at the bastards?”

“Soon enough.”

I felt the atmosphere tense. Rhames, who had been in countless fights, felt it, as did I. There is nothing to test a man’s mettle like being shot at without returning fire. The feeling was one of helplessness.

Another shot splashed close to the stern.

“Prepare to jibe!”

I ignored the questioning glances. This scenario had been on my mind for some time. I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

The command at least gave the men something to act on. The waiting game also allowed me to determine how long it took them to reload. Our stern had swung long before the other guns fired, their balls falling where we would have been.

“Right then. Come about!”

“Now you’re talking,” Rhames muttered.

The jibe had thrown off the steamship’s aim. Now, I intended to use the time it took to reload her guns to move across her bow.

The sails snapped over and the sheets were secured. “Port side.” I ordered the men to the cannon and turned to Rhames. “Can you sight them? Then take the bow chaser.” I sent Blue to sight the starboard side and the stern gun.

“Damned straight, me and the little bastard’ll show ’em.”

Blue and Rhames had a long-standing competition. I watched as they paused on the way to their assignments. The diminutive bushman and the larger-than-life pirate faced each other, said a few words, and gripped arms. The embrace would appear to most as a symbol of unity. I knew otherwise. They had just wagered on who would take down the steamship.

There was a long pause before the steamship changed course. I expected as much. We had gone from the prey to the predator and taken them by surprise.

The steamship had altered her course to run directly at us. That eliminated her port and starboard cannon, leaving only the smaller bow chaser. I had the measure of her now, but needed to be patient.

Our converging courses had us in range of her bow chaser. The shot was a lucky one and slammed through the forward hold. I ordered Conner, our best carpenter, to assess the damage, not that it mattered. I couldn’t spare another to help repair anything.

“Right, then. Prepare to jibe.”

I caught some glances from the crew but ignored them. The men had expected the order to fire the port guns. Instead, I chose to take the time while the steamer reloaded to change our position and use our starboard cannon.

“Fire the bow chaser when we come about, then let’s have the starboard guns.”

The mood instantly changed. By coming about, we would have an extra shot.

“Come about!”

Nial spun the wheel, sending the ship through the eye of the wind. The men moved quickly, securing the sheets and returning to the guns. In the interim, Rhames had fired the bow chaser. Its effect was not evident, but it would send a message.

“Fire!”

The ship lay over as the guns fired simultaneously. I counted the heartbeats while the hull slowly righted itself. Finally the rail lowered enough that I would be able to see if we’d inflicted any damage. My focus was on our next maneuver, though I knew we had hit something when Rhames called out.

“That was mine, you little bastard!”

4

“Jibe ho!” I called once the ship had righted herself. There was no time to verify Rhames’ claim that his shot had struck the steamer. The wager was not my concern—disabling the steamship was.

Curiosity distracted several of the crew for a few valuable heartbeats, and I had to call the command again before they reacted. For most, I assumed this was their first taste of a battle at sea. With the two ships a half-mile apart, it seemed almost safe, and I understood their interest. They’d had a slight taste of the destruction when the smaller shot had struck us. That was like a mosquito bite compared to a the sting of a broadside.

As I waited for the stern to swing over, I studied our foe. There was smoke coming from the ship, but I couldn’t tell if it was from her boilers or if a shot had indeed struck her.

“Nate. Can you see?”

“Not yet.”

Our stern finally started to swing around to face the steamship. With Blue overseeing the guns on this side, there was no need to call an order to fire. In that slight pause, when our transom squared with the steamship, he fired the stern chaser.

Before we could see the result, I ordered another tack. This placed the port guns in position. The ship leaned hard to starboard when they fired.

I allowed the crew time to reload while I evaluated the situation.

“Bastard,” Rhames called from the gun deck.

Somehow, his vision seemed to clear when there was gunpowder in the air. I didn’t wait to see what our shots had done. Damaging the ship was a good enough result and would allow us time to escape.

“Trim her up,” I called out and moved beside Nial at the wheel. “We’ll take whatever the wind gives us.”

Slowly, the ship picked up speed. I moved among the men thanking them for their effort and making small adjustments to the sail. There was nothing I could do about their constant glances behind us to see if the steamship had continued the chase. I had the same urge but knew we had given them our best shot.

“Looks like we did some damage,” Nate said, having returned to the deck. “She’s not following.”

I clapped him on the back. “Good work.”

His expression told me he was both happy and disappointed. He’d played his part in the battle, but I knew he wanted to be on the gun decks with the men. “Take the helm, and we’ll see if we can put some miles between us. I’m going to check on the damage.”

Nate smiled and relieved Nial. It’s a misnomer that the man at the wheel is in control of the ship. Still, there is a feeling of power when even a slight turn of the wheel shifts the boat through the water. In truth, it is the captain who commands, and his place is wherever he is needed.

I left the helm and headed toward the forward hatch where the single shot that had struck us had landed. Several men were grunting and swearing below when I climbed down. A lantern hung from one of the deck braces, illuminating the damage.

“Shot through she is,” Conner said. “Above the waterline. We’ll get her patched in short order.”

Carpenters might make good sailors, but they were invaluable when the ship was struck. He had evaluated the damage and had repairs underway before I had arrived.

“Right, then. Good work. I’ll check the bilge and see if we took on any water.”

The crew had exceeded my expectations, which allowed me a sense of freedom. I could have sent another into the depths of the ship, but I wanted a firsthand look. Water wasn’t the only thing I was worried about. The crew had done a fine job refitting the ship we had salvaged from San Francisco Bay, and they had gelled as a crew. I had only known them for a few weeks, and they had proved capable, but I needed to find out if they were honest.

The shot we had taken gave me an excuse to go into the bilge. Water was always a concern, but our cache of gold bars was foremost on my mind as I removed the hatch and climbed below.

Holding a lantern with one hand, I descended the ladder. The ballast stones were dry, which was a good sign. I moved toward the center and froze, noticing that some appeared to have been disturbed.

That left me with a problem. The crew knew we had placed the contents of several chests in the keel for ballast. Nate and I had placed the gold bars at night to conceal our treasure. That only went as far as hiding what it was.

Typically, ballast, which was weight added to the keel area of the hull to stabilize the ship, were stones. One could often tell where the ship had been built or hailed from by their makeup. River rock was smooth and round. Quarried stone, sharp and jagged. Typically, a ship built abroad was loaded with stone, but on the return trip, the ballast was often made up of cargo, usually heavier metals that could be sold in Europe.

Someone had at least had a look. Whether they had taken anything would require a full inventory, something that would alert the thief that we had discovered his treachery and would tell the rest of the crew that something very valuable was hidden below.

The knowledge was enough for now. I completed my investigation and headed back to the deck. The cool night air dried the sweat on my face, but there was little relief after discovering there was a thief aboard.

“Damage is minor and under control,” I said as I reached the binnacle. Nate remained at the wheel. Nial, Shayla, Blue, Lucy, and Rhames were all facing backward, studying the empty sea.

“It was my shot,” Rhames said.

“Lying bastard,” Blue spat.

I let the two men quibble, certain that both shots had inflicted some damage. From past experience their bickering would continue until the next wager. I put them from my mind, satisfied that we had survived the incident and had clear water ahead. But it did leave me wondering if the Dutchman was indeed alive.

Both watches remained on deck throughout the night. Some were unable to sleep after the battle, and others kept a keen eye on the water behind us. I was with this group for most of the night while Nate took us south.

We might have damaged the other ship, but a crippling blow from six shots, two of which were light rounds from the bow and stern guns, was unlikely. With the difference in speed between the vessels, the ship’s crew could have taken their time making repairs and would still be able to catch us by dawn.

That made determining our position critical. We were well past San Diego. The steamship had continued the chase without refueling. That meant she would likely need to put into Mazatlán.

Cabo San Lucas, on the southern tip of Baja Sur, was our goal. If we could reach there first, we would be free of the steamship. Mazatlán was across the Sea of Cortez. The detour would cost them a hundred miles.

“Can you put a little west in her?” I asked Nate. If the steamship did need to refuel, a course further offshore would be beneficial.

I watched as he turned the wheel to starboard. Nate took his time, gauging how far he could go without losing too much speed. He stopped after adding about twenty degrees to our heading. The change would be barely noticeable, but over a day’s travel would put us miles offshore.

Finally, the night turned to day. The watch changed, though no one paid attention. All hands were on deck as the sun rose over the landmass, now out of sight to the east. To everyone’s relief, the sea was empty. Nate and several of the crew climbed to the top of the main mast and called down the all-clear.

“Right, then.” I called the crew together. “We’ll split the next watch so everyone can get some rest. That was a job well done. Get some food and rest.”

Shayla, Lucy, and a seemingly reluctant Janey were gathered by the cookpot, making a meal. I glanced at the girl who might soon become family and realized I hadn’t seen her on deck all night. That wasn’t unusual in itself, but for this crew and our family it was, which made me wonder whether she was a suitable match or not. I stayed out of our children’s affairs, especially of the heart. But knowing a bad seed within could cripple the whole, gave me pause. Janey had ample time during the night to crawl down into the bilge.

The men lined up, filled their bowls, and sat down to eat. I relieved Nate so he could grab some food as well and took control of the ship.

It had been some time since I had steered a ship under sail. The feeling after a sleepless night was almost euphoric. Finding a defined feature on a cloud well ahead of us, I steered toward it. All thoughts fled except the bearing of the ship, the trim of the sails, and the sea in front left me—at least until I thought about the disturbed ballast stones.

The pattern was etched in my mind. I tried to imagine anything that could have shifted the river rock and found no other explanation other than someone had been rooting through the stones for our gold. Some materials were prone to movement, but the rounded stones nestled nicely together. What I had seen could be described as nothing less than a pile of excavated rock.

The robbery, if there was one, would do nothing for our fortune or prospects. There was enough gold stashed in the bilge to see us clear to our graves and then some. We’d never spent much of our wealth. Though lives had been lost in the process of accumulating it, we’d only used it to buy ships and weapons. We owned no land, although that had been our intent when we sailed around Cape Horn.

The Oregon Territory was to be our future. We were to be landowners, farmers, and ranchers. There would be no more talk of pirates or plunder. I’d never been sure if that was a life I could live, but I was prepared to sacrifice for Marc and Nate. The gold rush had upended our plans and now we were heading at least back through our old stomping grounds of the Caribbean.

First though, we needed to reach and negotiate the Transit Route through Nicaragua.

5

It took several days for the crew to settle down after what, for many, had been their first battle. We eventually fell back into the routine that defines life aboard a sailing ship. The coast of Baja California was a hazy blur off our port side. After our hasty departure from San Francisco, we had been sailing nonstop. The backward glances had slowed and finally stopped. The crew was tired but relieved that the threat had been eliminated.

I wasn’t so sure.

At sea, borders are less defined than on land, but I needed the demarcation for my own peace of mind. We were low on provisions, and after the run-in with the steamship, I had decided to forego Cabo San Lucas, fairly certain that there was a telegraph station there. Moving down the coast would require some rationing but distance us from any new threats.

Our old pirate blood showed in our preference for warmer weather as well. Shayla had recovered from whatever ailment she had suffered during the cold summer in San Francisco. I suspected that was in part because of Janey. We had never been an all-male crew. Shayla and Lucy had been with us since the start. They were close, but there was a different kind of bond forming between Shayla and Janey. I hoped her trust wasn’t misplaced.

Everyone aboard had history, and none were in a position to judge others. We’d found Janey in a dance hall by the harbor in San Francisco. Her place of employment could imply a number of trades—few legal or moral. Roxanne, the proprietress, spoke highly of her, but I had to consider the source. Shayla and I agreed to accept her regardless. Nate may or may not know—or care—about her past. New love hides most blemishes.

Rhames, the old pirate, complained less as well. He rarely relinquished his seat by the armory, but he seemed happier. He snapped less at the new crew, and his rum consumption, though still high, was back to its normal level.

I glanced over at my old friend. What had started as an awkward arrangement between Gasparilla’s first mate and his cabin boy had turned into a partnership and friendship that had survived three decades, two oceans, and dozens of tests. I was never sure of his age, and neither was he. What I knew was that I was in my teens when the Navy took down Gasparilla and had considered Rhames old then. I felt every bit of my fifty-odd years, which had to put him near seventy. That in itself defied logic. Pirates, especially ones of his reputation, didn’t live to retirement. They preferred going out in a blaze of glory to spend their days in a kind of pirate Valhalla rather than suffering the fate of the hangman’s noose or a pauper’s lonely death. In fact, it was often disease and infection that took them, but they were young all the same.

We’d escaped San Francisco Bay and the steamship that had chased us down the coast, but that didn’t mean we were safe. Most of my life had passed with only small innovations, but in the last decade, steam engines and a simple length of copper wire had changed the world. I wasn’t sure which had a greater impact. Railroads and steamships had begun to replace horses and sail. That process would take time, though. It was the telegraph that I feared.

Running the wire was a simple matter, and most major cities were now connected. I expected the rural areas would be several years behind, which gave me a degree of comfort, especially along the Mexican coast. Everything happened slower here, but you never knew.

Labeled as pirates, we’d been on the run for most of those early years. Pursuit was limited to boats or horses. There were faster boats but not many faster crews. We’d lost Mason, our old navigator and my good friend, years ago, but the new men fit in well, and Nate had learned from the old master. It would not only take a faster ship but an equally skilled captain and crew to catch us at sea.

Horses were fast, but sadly eventually got tired. A locomotive wasn’t much faster than a galloping horse but never tired. There were few continuous rail lines on the West Coast, though, and those were riddled with problems.

The single wire that transmitted a series of dots and dashes was our enemy. A simple message sent from San Francisco could have reached the authorities in any number of ports equipped with the device.

The further south we traveled, the safer I would feel. Once past Cabo, we would have to avoid Puerto Vallarta and Acapulco. Somewhere between them, we would have to put in for provisions. Small villages dotted the coat. Most were friendly, and more importantly, none would have the dreaded device.

Even though the danger from Van Dyke’s retribution might be behind us, time remained of the essence.

My son Marc might not have made his fortune yet, but he was well on his way as a mine boss. Our quest, though delayed by various reasons, was to deliver a message to the mine’s owners in New York as to the state of affairs of the property. A few years ago, the message would have either traveled overland or by sea, both routes fraught with danger and taking months. I expected the owners had received the news via telegraph, but I wanted to meet them personally and explain the circumstances of what could be seen as a hostile takeover.

The news would reach them long before we did—if the message got through. Telegraph lines were often cut or damaged. Regardless, they would receive word of what had happened—long before we reached the city. I was counting on their reaction. From what I’d seen out West, there were few honest management types. Most would forego a wage in search of the elusive motherlode. The board would likely send new men from the East Coast. That would require time. My hope was to reach New York before the new men reached California. A telegraph message to them would be all that was needed to call them off. We’d sent letters explaining the circumstance, but there was no assurance that they would reach New York or be believed.

Once past Cabo, we closed on the coast, sailed past Puerto Vallarta, and began looking for a friendly village where we had stopped on our trip north.

“Land ho!” came the call from the rigging. The sailor’s call brought back memories of the years it had been me, because of my youth, sent to the heights. Now, my bones and joints hurt just thinking about it.

I moved to the helm and stood next to my son. He’d foretold we’d make landfall today or tomorrow, and it appeared he’d been correct. Navigation was technical by nature, but the masters had an intuition that I lacked. Nate had been blessed with it. Mason, seeing the potential at an early age, had polished it.

“Can you see it?” Relinquishing authority, even to my own son, was difficult. In this case, it was physical, which made it worse. He had the vision of a hawk. My old eyes were blurred and hazy.

Nate nodded and pointed to the horizon. I squinted, looking for the landmark, which was essentially a large rock, but failed to see anything. Lucy and Blue moved to the port rail, which confounded me further that they could see and I couldn’t.

Those thoughts faded when I felt Shayla beside me.

“Good thing. We’re low on everything.”

I put my arm around her waist, something I would never have done openly before she took sick. Just the thought of losing her had dispelled the few mores that remained concerning women aboard ships.

I concentrated on the horizon, searching for any sign of the small fishing village. We could replenish our water and hopefully trade for some staples, chickens, and maybe vegetables. There would be no luxuries found here.

After years of being on the run, we had a natural inclination to avoid civilization. For whatever reason, we seemed to find trouble there. If it wasn’t someone looking for us, it was the men getting in trouble. They would curse me privately for the backwater stop, but there was nothing to be done about it. So went the trials and tribulations of a captain. Even after all these years, the mantle wore heavily on me, though at this point, it was like a second skin.

Assuming the command of men comes in different ways and at different times for those able to rise above the rest. I had, out of necessity. Surrounded by ten treasure chests and a gaggle of pirates on a beach, watching the demise of our captain and our ship, El Floridana, there had been little choice. The irony of the US Navy taking down the captain just as he was about to split the treasure and mend his ways wasn’t lost on me. The others cared little for that. They wanted their shares, and being the only one who could read or write, leadership fell in my lap—supported by the long and dangerous sword of the first mate, Rhames.

Marc had taken the mantle at a young age as well. Nate had been different, and I wondered when it would be his turn.

“Take it wide around the rock, and you’ll see the beach.”

“I know,” Nate said, staring straight ahead.

I wondered if he knew I was working from memory and couldn’t see the landmark yet. The worn paper spread out beside him held our past. The original had borne more of Mason’s handwriting than this latter copy that was in my hand. The notes all brought back memories—especially the ones that looked like skeletons—shipwrecks.

After two weeks of running down the coast, the crew was eager for land. That brought a new set of worries for me. The new men had performed admirably in fitting out the ship and crewing her to this point. They had their motivations, though, as they were as eager to escape San Francisco as we were. Now that we were a thousand miles away, it was anyone’s guess what they would do. For those on the run, there were fewer safe and welcoming havens than the native villages.

We had no choice, though. Our menu might be monotonous, mainly fresh-caught fish, but water is always something to worry about. Even when you think you have an adequate supply, barrels leak and vermin find their way into them. A storm can unsettle the cargo and dump what was once a substantial store in a few heartbeats.

I knew I was walking a fine line, but decided to let the new men ashore. A critical decision was on the horizon, and this was the time to find out if they were trustworthy.

On a small ship, word of land spreads instantly. The men, even those who had been asleep below, gathered around the rail, watching as the large rock, which soon turned into an island that even I could see, came into view.

With two men forward dropping lead weights to check the depth, we rounded the island. The waters generally ran deep with formations like this. One could see the shape of the structure above water and imagine it below. Where there was one outcropping, there were often others, so we allowed plenty of sea room.

A cheer came from the men when we cleared the rock and saw the long, white stretch of sand in a protected cove. I didn’t share their enthusiasm. For me, landfalls were treacherous in more ways than navigation. Even a seemingly friendly village can hide their true intentions. The government, for what that was worth, had little influence in these secluded areas. A tribal system was in place with a head man or chief who ruled. It is the nature of man that many are despots.

That worry slipped from my mind when I saw the naked masts and barren smokestack of a ship anchored just off the beach.

6

The attitude of the natives was always an unknown. In this case, having been there before, we were familiar with the tribe, though their situation could have changed. The presence of another ship was troubling and, among a list of other things, could change the attitude of the villagers toward us. Natives could be volatile. The reasons were simple. Fear of the unknown and greed run through the veins of all men and it is no different with the smaller tribes. They have a different, simpler perspective, though.

Fear is the root of their mysticism. Often, that could be dangerous, as we had found out in Isla Mujeres. Mostly, it was benign. We were not conquistadors who used the premise of converting the heathens to Christianity as an excuse to plunder their riches. With the exception of Blue and Lucy, we were God-fearing folk to our own degree. The difference was that we were not missionaries or preachers. As far as I was concerned, they could believe what they wanted.

Their view of wealth was different as well. For longer than anyone could remember, Europeans had minted coins with standardized weights and purity, which in turn assigned value to their gold and silver. The concept hadn’t reached the locals until the age of Spanish colonization. There were times when glass beads, combs, and other trinkets, all largely without value to us, were all that was needed for trade. Those days were over, but without an understanding of weights and measures, a few coins went a long way.

We did hold a card up our sleeves—our superiority in weapons.

Any threat from the natives was overshadowed by the steamship. Single ships at sea were rarely friendly and often pirates. Even if they were law-abiding traders, detached from a convoy or risking a solo passage, they would be on a defensive footing and wary of other ships. They would always be armed to some degree. If they were pirates, they would be on an offensive footing. In either case, caution was in order.

“What are you doing?” Shayla asked. “That’s the steamship that chased us.”

I wasn’t sure if she was scolding me or not trusting my vision. “No doubt.” The ship had been crippled, not disabled, by our shots. It was entirely feasible for repairs to have been made, allowing the ship to reach the shelter of the village before us. By taking a direct line to the village, they could easily have beaten us here.

“Then?”

“We need to end this now.”

“That’s what I would do,” Rhames said.

“And that makes it right,” Shayla said.

My focus was so great that I hadn’t heard him creep behind us.

“We need to at least determine the condition of the ship.”

“Right, and prove to the little bastard that it was my shots.”

“No, old man. It was my shot,” Blue chimed in.

“We’ll have a look. The least we can do is settle this.”

That seemed to satisfy both men but not Shayla.

“I hope you know what you are about.”

I did as well. Bringing a party ashore in unknown circumstances could easily backfire, but knowing the condition of one’s foe is critical to any strategic decisions.

“Sail ahead,” I called out quietly, not wanting to alert anyone of our presence if we hadn’t been sited. Under my breath, I asked Nate if he could estimate the ship’s condition.

He shook his head.

I was determined to discover more than who had won the wager. Aside from the condition of the ship, I wanted to know who captained her, who had sent her, and most importantly, if we were better armed.

That would require stealth. This was a difference between Rhames and I, and probably why he had deferred to me all those years ago. I knew better than to fight a battle I might not win; he would fight regardless.

With the proximity of our foe, a score of years fell away from the old pirate. He took off looking determined, like a younger version of himself. The effort ended in a wobble before he reached the armory. Removing the chain that held the key from his neck, he unlocked the weapons and handed them to the men. The crew knew their stations and quickly dispersed.

Rhames grabbed a pair of pistols and hobbled to the binnacle, where I stood with Nate and Nial.

“We have a plan?”

Rhames’ ceding power to me on that beach all those years ago had mystified me. Gasparilla’s crew had been true pirates. Gasparilla himself had been different, though. He had grown up an aristocrat and became a naval officer until a scandal had him stripped of rank. His intention was not as much piracy as to hurt Spain. The makeup of his crew was a means to an end. As long as there was plunder and women, they were happy. If there was a lack of either or both, there would be trouble. It had taken me years to sleep with both eyes closed.

The old pirate was an enigma. Few men understand themselves and their abilities as he did. Rhames was a fighter first and knew enough about war to understand that the frontline warriors were seldom good generals. I never failed to consult him on tactical matters, but he always went with my plan.

“We need to see what they’re about and get water.”

“Aye. Bastards’ll be drinking my rum if we don’t top off the barrels.”

There was a degree of truth to what he said and as much a matter of concern as running out of water. At sea, we ran a dry ship—aside from Rhames, who claimed the spirits medicinal. Running a skeleton crew, we couldn’t afford for even one man—of which we had ten—or one woman, of which we had three—to succumb to temptation.

Both Rhames and Nate looked at me.

I had no immediate answer. Destroying the ship, though easily accomplished, offered little benefit other than the satisfaction of having done it. The vessel, anchored a dozen yards from the beach, appeared to be in reasonable condition. Something was wrong, though. I was loath to waste ammunition, lose men, or, worse, lose the ship, or risk alienating the locals by taking action without first learning what and why.

Our ship was far from unique. In fact, we hadn’t named her yet. Many similar vessels plied these waters. I counted on that and the fact that the steamship’s captain would think it foolish for us to enter an anchorage with our enemy already there.

Stealth was in order. One of my tactics for such a situation was to take a small group ashore. I would accompany them but not act as captain. Nate was too young, and Rhames too old. Nial was the likely substitute. Whether he was willing or not was another question.

Though they knew the risks inherent with any sea voyage, endangering the lives of my crew was not something I took lightly. Nial would have to agree willingly to the assignment of impersonating the captain. It was a common enough ploy but still effective. “Get the skiff ready and tell Nial to come over.”

Nate took off at once. I smiled as I watched him handle the older men, and within minutes, the skiff was hanging from the davits over the starboard side. That in itself was a smart move, as the bulk of the vessel would shield our actions from view.

“You looking for me?” Nial asked.

“I want to take a small party ashore and see what’s what. I’d like you to lead it.”

“Me?”

Nial was more carpenter than captain. He had done an admirable job preparing the ship in difficult circumstances.

“I’ll be alongside,” I said.

“Ah. You don’t want the bastards to know who’s who.”

The word sounded strange with his Irish accent.

“Yes. Watch me if you have any problem, but be discreet.”

“You can count on me.”

“Pick two men. Nate and I will pull oars. You’ll steer us in.”

Nial nodded and moved toward the men waiting by the rail. He picked Daniel and Liam and had them ready oars.

“Might want to have a few surprises aboard. Just in case,” Rhames said. “Bastards is bastards.”

“Right then. A rifle apiece, and I’ll take those.” I wanted the Colts.

“Captain’d be the one wearing those.” He winked.

I smiled. “Right. I’ll take them for Nial.”

Rhames reluctantly handed over the matching pair of pistols. “I’ll round up the long guns and cartridges.”

“Hide them under a tarp. I don’t want any itchy fingers on our side or wandering eyes on theirs.”

Rhames wobbled back to the armory, calling out to the men manning the cannon to ensure they were ready. We had prearranged signals and protocols. There was no need to discuss what would happen if things went badly ashore.

I found myself alone as the men readied the skiff and weaponry. That left me to face the worst task of all—telling Shayla that Nate was going with me. When I was a child in Amsterdam, my parents would tell stories of troublesome boys being cast aside and raised by wolves. Those tales scared me into behaving then. If instead of wolves, it would have been pirates, I think I would have been eager to join rather than been scared. I often had that fear when bringing her unwanted news.

Our boys had grown up with our old crew. Some were gone by then, but with the exception of Lucy, Blue, and Mason, the rest had all been remnants of Gasparilla’s crew. I knew now, after watching my two sons being raised among pirates, that it held both good and bad. They were fearless and could hold their own in any kind of fight. The downside was they were impulsive. Pirates were not good at delayed gratification.

I found Shayla with Lucy. An unbreakable bond had formed between the women over the years. Lucy was as protective of Nate as Shayla, which made the conversation even more daunting. If I had to choose, I would take Lucy and Blue, but that was too much of a risk. Slavers were not uncommon in these parts, and some tribes were involved in the trade. It wasn’t worth risking them. This was ground we’d been over before.

“I’m taking a party ashore. Nial will act my part.” I paused. “I’d like Nate to go.” I’d added Nial’s role because he would be in the most danger.

“I figured as much,” Shayla said.

I had a response ready, but she seemed to accept the idea. We both had overheard bits of stories about his time running the riverboat up the Sacramento River. He wasn’t supervised then, and it would be a fool who would try and restrain him now.

“Do your best.”

“Always.” I kissed her and moved to the skiff. We’d had these partings too often for tears or anything more than a brief show of affection.

I approved of Nial’s selection. His men were mainly carpenters, not fighters, but Daniel, who had come to idolize Rhames, and Liam were probably the best in a bad situation. Nate was ready, as was Nial, who had the gun belt strapped around his hips. “Captain.” The crew looked at us, but I didn’t give an indication of our strategy.

Nial was first over the side, with Nate and the two men behind. I waited until they were most of the way down the cargo net and joined them.

There was a time when I could descend a net in a heartbeat. Those days were behind me now as I gingerly picked my way down and settled behind an oar.

“Starboard side, pull,” Nial called. The skiff lurched away from the ship.

Once there was a gap, we backpedaled with the starboard side oars and pulled with the port oars to make space between the larger ship and skiff. After a few strokes, we moved forward. Our crews had always trained with the small boats. They were invaluable in too many situations to ignore. Once we were away from the ship the blades started to work in harmony, each entering the water at the same time and in the same way as the others. This is not an easy skill to master, and I didn’t want to show our hand this early. “Let’s leave it a little sloppy,” I said to the men.

We soon slowed as our technique broke down. I wanted to appear ordinary and nonthreatening to any observers, which brought up the curious fact that I hadn’t heard any warning or orders from the shore since we’d arrived. Surely, even if there was no lookout, someone would have seen us and raised the alarm. A ship approaching from sea was not something to be ignored.

“You see anything?” I asked Nate, who shared the rear bench with me. The shoreline was still a little fuzzy, but there was nothing wrong with my hearing.

“Not at all. You would have thought they’d be doing something.”

The logical answer was a trap had been set. “Nial. Let’s not head straight in. Over there where the beach meets those rocks.” I cocked my head in the direction. He nodded and turned the tiller to port, which pushed the boat in the opposite direction. I told the men in the seat ahead to slow down and watched the beach for any sign that we had been seen.

The soft sand nestled the bow as we pushed onto the beach. The four of us who had rowed jumped out and pulled the skiff onto the sand. A few heartbeats later, we gathered by the skiff.

“We’re protected by the rocks and water.” I said it so Nate and Nial would understand my thinking. “Daniel, you stay with the boat. Nate and I will head inland and circle back to the village. Nial, take Liam and come up the beach.”

“What about the rifles?”

That was a good question. Going into a situation unarmed was never a good idea. Armed, it was fifty-fifty that we would be seen as a threat. I would have to trust Nial. “We’ll take them. Daniel. Keep a gun ready and fire a shot if you see trouble.”

Before we had taken a dozen steps, Nate stopped.

“Fire.”

7

We stood still, trying to determine the source of the fire we all smelled. Strangely enough, there was no column of smoke. The sea breeze could be responsible, but if that were the case, we wouldn’t have smelled it either. The fire would have to be blazing hot in order for it to burn clear.

At sea, fire was the devil himself. Nothing good came of smoke on the water. On land, it could mean anything from cooking, brush clearing, bug prevention, or a number of other reasons. It could easily be the crew of the ship making charcoal to supplement their fuel stores.

Nate seemed to have the same idea. “They’re out of fuel.”

That explained it. Though the process was time-consuming, making charcoal ashore rather than trying to burn unseasoned wood in the ship’s boiler was smart. There were several methods of turning wood into charcoal. I suspected they were burning the wood in a partially sealed pit, which would have trapped the smoke.

That didn’t explain the deserted village. It was the people, or lack of them, that made me suspect that the villagers had been impressed as a labor gang.

“Right, then. We’ll stay together,” I said.

We moved down the beach in a broken line. There had been no response to our arrival at this point. A huddle of men could be taken out with a single blast. Staggered and spread apart, we were simply harder to kill.

The tactic of using Nial in my place ended with the knowledge that we might need to fight. I took the pistols back and led the line. The steamship’s captain and crew would likely be impatient and jumpy. If what lay ahead was what I expected, death could be waiting around the corner.

I’d been accused of being a do-gooder before and had come to live with it. The alignment of my inner compass might have been because I’d spent my early years watching what pirates did to innocent people. We had gotten on well with the villagers on our stop a few years ago. They were worth fighting for.

We moved through the disorganized array of huts, checking each as we passed. The only current residents of the village were chickens and roosters. The former scurried out of our way, the latter postured and then retreated. My premonition worsened when I saw the smoldering ashes from the community cookfire. The smell of something burning was still in the air.

“Right, then. Not sure what we’re walking into here, but I intend to find out.” Heads nodded, meaning I wasn’t alone.

There were, of course, other reasons for the deserted village, but they didn’t seem likely. We moved past the huts, following a trail that led in the direction of the burning smell. There were no voices, no screams. That either meant we were too late, or this was a trap. What I hadn’t considered was that it was both.

“You’ll put down your arms and state your business.”

I heard the voice before the man stepped out of the brush. He wasn’t alone, as a dozen men appeared and encircled us. We were outnumbered. There was no choice but to comply. “Lay down the rifles.”

Nate cast a glance. He might have thought we should fight, but we were not going to overcome the odds. Each man held either a pistol or rifle. Surrounded, there was no shooting our way out without incurring casualties ourselves.

“We’re an American ship looking to replenish our water supply. We’ve no interest in you.”

“Well, we certainly have an interest in you.” A heavy-set man with dark hair and a mustache stepped forward. His men all laughed.

“What might that be, then?” I asked, wondering at our fate.

“You can have your lives, but we’ll be takin’ your ship.”

I could feel Nate bristle beside me and put a hand on his arm to hold him back. “That might be a problem.”

He leveled the pistol at my head. “I don’t think so.”

I had no idea of the reliability of his weapon. It certainly wasn’t maintained to the level Rhames would have approved. At point-blank range it didn’t matter. The odds were not worth testing, as my gun belt lay at my feet. A younger man might have had the speed to retrieve it and fire, but I was neither young nor a gunslinger.

The man seemed to be enjoying himself and with good reason. Their trap had worked. It was as if they knew me and could guess my actions. I studied his face. Behind the dirt and smoke, I didn’t recognize him.

“Right, then. Can I have the pleasure of your name?”

Another man stepped into the clearing and I knew at once he was the real leader.

That he had used my own tactic wasn’t lost on me.

In contrast to the ruffians who surrounded us, the man was slim and well-dressed, appearing more like a lawyer than a pirate. The distinction between the two trades was a very thin line, from my experience.

“William Walker, at your service.” He gave a slight bow.

My curiosity piqued. I knew of him from San Francisco but had never made his acquaintance. I introduced myself sans bow. “Nick Van Doren.”

“A pleasure, Captain. Now, if we could get down to business.”

“What would that be? Your man here says you intend to take our ship.”

“Take is a strong word.”

His willingness to parse words standing in the brush told me how to deal with him. Talking was my best tactic at this point. Anything that might delay his men from killing us and taking the ship would be in our favor. “We have some fresh fish aboard.”

“Ah, I would accept your gesture of friendship.”

I understood at once that I would need all my wits about me. Rhetoric is not often a tactic employed in this kind of situation—guns were.

It was apparent that he both knew who we were and that his ship had followed us from San Francisco. He would have known we had left in a rush and were not fully provisioned. He could have guessed that we would bypass Monterey, San Diego, and Cabo, fearing a telegraph message to detain us.

The smaller villages where a ship could provision were well known, and this one was next in line. There were a lot of guesses that had led to our meeting, but most were educated.

I couldn’t help but glance at the condition of his ship and immediately saw that we had inflicted damage. The wheel was a patchwork, and several shots had holed the hull. Likely out of fuel and with the damage to his ship, it had been fortuitous for him that we had appeared.

“Perhaps we would be more comfortable aboard my ship,” I said. Our best hope would be to cater to his needs and wait for an opportunity to remove him. I had discerned a small advantage and wanted to exploit it.

He paused for a moment, assessing the implications. “Invitation accepted.” He clapped me on the back. “We’ll keep our arms.”

With those weapons trained on us and ours picked up by Walker’s men, we were not in a position to negotiate. I whistled twice to Daniel, guarding our skiff, the signal that everything was alright.

At this point, we were interspersed between Walker’s men. Any shot Daniel may have fired would have an equal likelihood of hitting one of us. Walker left several of his men ashore with our arms. The rest crossed the beach to the skiff.

“Captain, you go first.” Walker turned to four of his men. “You’ll crew. Board the ship and make sure there’s no funny business before you send the boat back.”

I expected nothing else. Walker might not know about Blue and Lucy and their deadly darts, but he had made the correct decision. It was safe for him and would give me an opportunity to talk to my wife and crew.

Even with the outgoing tide to assist them, Walker’s men struggled with the skiff. From their evident lack of seamanship, it was a wonder that they had almost taken us. That led to the question that if they weren’t sailors, who and what were they?

Pirates operated on land as well as the sea and needed to be adept at both. These men might have been able to hold their own on land, but in a pitched sea battle, they had lost. I still held the belief that my tactics had won the day, but the conviction was not as strong now. My questions would have to wait, as the skiff bumped against the hull of our ship.

“Wait here. I’ll make sure no one shoots you.” I glanced up and saw Rhames standing astride the gunwale with a rifle pointed at the skiff. I signaled him to wait and started climbing. Before I had one leg over the rail, I was surrounded.

“Blue and Lucy, go below until I say it is safe.” The villagers being unaccounted for was a clue to what Walker was likely involved in.

“We’ll be having some company. Everyone on their best behavior and I’ll figure out a way to deal with this.”

Shayla started to ask something but stopped when one of Walker’s men popped his head over the rail.

“Good way to get shot, my friend.” Indeed, Rhames had the rifle pointed at him. No words needed to be spoken as Walker’s men had Nate and the other men hostage. If anything untoward happened here, I had no doubt of their fate.

The man was at a disadvantage, having had to holster his pistol in order to climb aboard. We could have taken him right there, but it was not the time. A pressing weight was on me, a sense of duty that had come over me once I had figured out Walker’s business. The head of this snake would need to be cut off—not the tail.

“Come aboard. We’ll send the skiff back for the rest.” The relieved look on the man’s face was evident to all when Rhames lowered the rifle.

“Right. What the captain says. Now get on with it.”

The old pirate still had it. The man called down to the others. One other climbed aboard while the two remaining men rowed toward shore.

The sun was sliding toward the horizon when Walker and the last of the men finally boarded. What would have been short work had my men manned the oars had taken a toll on Walker’s crew. That wasn’t necessarily part of the plan, but worked in our favor. Tired men are poor fighters. I wasn’t sure it was going to come to that, though.

Walker was as slick as they came, acting the perfect gentleman to Shayla and Janey. Shayla wasn’t naive, though, and didn’t fall under his charm. Janey seemed a bit taken by his act.

I suffered through the meal the women served, knowing with men like Walker, rushing them would be a poor choice. He would get around to his agenda in his own time.

“Delicious,” Walker said, pushing aside his plate.

We had finished first and had been waiting on him, which I’m sure was his intention. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

“So, Captain, I mean to take Nicaragua.”

“That’s ambitious.”

“Nonsense. I have been contracted by the Nicaraguan Democratic Party to raise an army in its civil war against the Legitimists. I’d like you to be a part of that.”

8

Every leader has their causes. Most claimed, as did I, that they fought for justice. Definitions differed, but that single word has caused more suffering and death than any other besides greed, which was a personal agenda often veiled as justice.

That was my feeling of William Walker, for he showed himself to be a filibuster as he expounded on his plan to foment an insurrection in Nicaragua as only a lawyer could do. He was clearly a political animal, something I also loathed. Given the chance, Rhames would have cut out his tongue.

As with any man on a mission, Walker’s passion was evident, and his real cause soon became clear. He made no attempt at transparency, convinced he was championing justice.

Though he never said the word, slavery was at the root of his evil, and with a loose interpretation of manifest destiny and the Monroe Doctrine, becoming a filibuster gave him the authority to declare independence for territories with the intent of converting them to colonies. His intention was to create slave states—all in the name of justice.

I had thought his name and views familiar and soon realized I had read his opinions in the San Francisco Herald, where he had held the position of editor. Apart from his editorials, Walker was a renowned duelist and had the distinction of being indicted for his failed insurrection attempt in the Baja Peninsula. He claimed that he now had the backing of the government, though I wasn’t sure I believed him.

That our paths had crossed was no coincidence. Van Dyke and Walker shared the same views. If indeed the Dutchman was alive, he had likely sent Walker to exact his revenge. Now, with his ship damaged and low on coal, he needed me—or at least my ship. It was certainly ironic that instead of killing us, Walker needed us. Van Dyke would certainly not approve of the olive branch his man had extended, but he was a thousand miles away.

The fracture lines across the American republic had been evident from the start. Without ignoring the subject of slavery, the Union might never have been formed. Now, as territories were quickly becoming states, the issue would need to be resolved.

As Walker spoke, I couldn’t help but glance at the companionway, where I was sure that Blue and Lucy were listening. I half expected one of their poisoned darts to pierce Walker’s heart at any second.

“There’ll be land for you all,” Walked espoused, spreading his arms wide.

I was only half listening. His own men, already indoctrinated into the cause, listened with the intensity of true believers in both the cause and the man. That was dangerous because right behind the lawyers and politicians, the righteous were next on the list of murderous culprits.

The situation was indeed fraught, and as Walker continued to pontificate, I reviewed our options. Our current crew were carpenters, not fighters. Rhames would always fight, but his effectiveness was much diminished by injury and age. With our weapons confiscated, there was little choice but to go along with his plan—until an opportunity presented itself.

That his destination was Nicaragua made this easier to digest, at least in the short term.

Regardless of our current situation, our destinations were the same. For the time being, Walker and I had a shared goal.

“Well, Captain?”

I hadn’t noticed Walker had finished his pitch. Averting my eyes from Shayla and the crew, I accepted.

“Splendid. We’ll provision first thing and get underway. You’ve room in your holds?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes.” My worry was our treasure hidden among the ballast—and losing more of it.

“What do you have in mind?” I thought I knew the answer, but I needed to hear it from him.

“Why, slaves for the new colony.”

I averted my eyes from Shayla and the crew. Later, I would have words with each of them, explaining that the best way to free the villagers was to take these men on. Once I’d realized that Walker had impressed the villagers to make charcoal, I had guessed what he was about. Now, I was certain.

“I’ll burn the ship before we become a slaver,” Shayla said before I could stop her.

Nods came from Nate, Rhames, and Nial.

Slavery is not always overt. Janey, and Nial and his men, had all been subject to a form of indentured servitude. As for Rhames, pirates were notoriously accepting of anyone—as long as you played by their rules. Blue and Lucy were my immediate concern.

Her outburst gave me an idea. “She’s right. They’ll be crew or not at all. What you do when we reach Nicaragua is your choice.” It was the best compromise I could make. Remaking the lower deck and hold into slave pens was not going to happen on my watch.

“I’m not sure you’re in a position to negotiate.”

Walker’s crew had their weapons raised. It wasn’t surprising that they had been in this situation before.

“I’ll post surety.”

“Really.”

The greedy underbelly of the beast surfaced.

I had no intention of either allowing the villagers to be taken as slaves or relinquishing our treasure to Walker, but it was the only play available. We negotiated a fee, and I sent Nate below to retrieve the gold. I would have to explain my reasoning to the crew and Shayla, but as long as the gold remained on board, I considered it ours.

The negotiation and payment ended our evening, at least as far as Walker was concerned. I had one more issue to deal with. “Right, then. While we’re at sea, I am captain of this ship.”

“Understood, but I own it.” Walker placed the gold back into the box.

There was nothing left to discuss. We were going to Nicaragua in any event. The gold remained on board, and we had a crew.

“How can this possibly end well?” Shayla asked once we were in our cabin.

Along with us, Nate, Janey, Rhames, and Nial were crammed into the small space. Walker had initially sought to evict us from the captain’s cabin but on seeing the modest space, accepted another berth.

“There’s little choice. Fate will intervene.”

She raised an eyebrow as if she were to protest, but I stopped her by placing my index finger in front of my mouth. I had every reason to believe if Walker wasn’t directly listening, then one of his men surely was.

Shayla nodded, now understanding my words meant more than to allow Walker to determine our course.

“With the additional crew, we can work normal watches and half our travel time.” With a skeleton crew, we often hove-to at night with only two men keeping watch. A full contingent would allow us to conform to standard watches.

“That’ll at least get it over with,” Rhames said. His hand instinctively sought the key that usually hung from his neck, which was now in Walker’s possession.

Of everyone aboard, the old pirate was the least of my worries. Instead of flaming out in a blaze of glory, Rhames had become an unlikely survivor. Even without arms, he was an intimidating character. The old boy would hold down the fort and control the crew as he always had.

“Right, then. We’ll take on provisions and the rest of the crew in the morning and set sail.” The natives would be called crew, not slaves.

I was usually more comfortable spending nights at sea rather than at anchor. This night was no different and maybe worse. Unable to sleep, I was awake well before dawn. I waited until the sun broke the horizon and rang the bell to call the ship to action. My men were ready in minutes. Walker’s were much slower.

“Boys’ll be needin’ an ass whooping,” Rhames said.

“Wait until we’re at sea.” I walked away, leaving him to square away the ship.

Walker found me a few minutes later. “I’ll send a crew of my men to get water and bring the natives.”

I had assumed he would take care of that end of things.

“Right, then. Tide’ll be with us around noon.”

“Glad to see you’re motivated to make this journey.”

I just wanted to be at sea, where I would be able to control things. On meeting him, I had classified Walker as a lawyer and politician. Later, I remembered him as a journalist. He reinforced his resume with his qualifications as a physician over our meal. That he was smart went beyond saying. Whether he could apply that knowledge would determine our fate.

I had spoken to Blue and Lucy earlier and determined the best thing for them to do was to blend in with the natives. I might be captain in name and some function, but if they were discovered as stowaways by Walker’s men, it wouldn’t go well. They concealed their belongings and blowguns and waited.

Utilizing the skiffs from the steamship, Walker had the casks filled first. Once they were hauled aboard and secured, he sent his men back for the natives. Shayla and I watched from the rail as the downtrodden villagers were loaded aboard. I tried to catch the eye of the chieftain and offer some reassurance, but his head was down.

“Do what you can to reassure them,” I whispered to Shayla. Having been raised in the Cayman Islands under British rule her first tongue was English. Her father had been a trader and to work as such in the Caribbean required Spanish as well. The indigenous tongue of the natives might still exist in some form, but some undoubtably spoke Spanish.

Even with the aid of the steamboat’s skiff, shuttling the supplies and villagers took until mid-afternoon. The tide was waning, but I was determined to leave as soon as possible. With the rocky outcroppings guarding the harbor, departing at night would be riddled with danger. The onshore breeze, which had picked up with the heat of the day, would compensate for the tide.

Rhames had divided the men into two watches, each with a mix of Walker’s crew and ours. The chief turned out to be an amicable fellow, especially after Shayla’s words had reassured him of our intentions. Along with Blue and Lucy, his people were assigned the more menial tasks.

I watched the villagers interact with the bushmen and noticed their treatment as second-class citizens. Prejudice encompasses not just the white man versus the black. Tribes, villages, cities, states, and countries all hold their fellow man in contempt.

I had already determined that Walker’s men would be next to worthless as crew. That meant the rigging would be the domain of my men, which worked to a plan that was forming in my head. With the new men tasked with hauling and securing lines and my crew overhead, we weighed anchor and unfurled the sails.

The tide was about to turn, so it had little effect, but the wind filled the sails and pushed us toward the open Pacific.

9

After reviewing our course with Nial and checking in with Rhames, I did what I had since I was first taken aboard Gasparilla’s ship as a teen. The rigging had been a second home and a place of refuge then. It still was, though I now stayed to the lower spars, and with Shayla beside me, we stood with our knees and hips swaying with the movement of the ship and out of earshot of Walker or his men.

Indeed, it was like two ships, with our crew in the rigging and his on deck. They might have the weapons, but we controlled the ship. Where that advantage might come into play was still unknown, but for now, it was again a place of refuge.

High above the decks and higher above the seas, we found a sort of immunity from the evil below. Privacy is sacred aboard a ship. Most of our decisions had been made here. It was also a place we could be together without talking, which is how we found ourselves.

For the next few weeks, our lives would revolve around the watch schedule, the sun, moon, stars, and the wind. Of all those factors, the wind and its influence on the waves was the only thing that broke the tedium—and not always for the better.

Once we’d cleared the sea mounts, I felt the first swell of the open ocean. The Pacific is different from the Atlantic, Caribbean, or Gulf of Mexico. Whether the name is apt or not, there is always a swell, and often several from different directions. When the seas lined up with the wind-driven waves, it was barely noticeable. When it opposed them, it could be a problem.

The reason was a nautical term called fetch, defined as the distance a wave can travel without interruption. In the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean, the fetch that creates the swell, or larger waves, is not really a factor.

The wind and waves dictated our speed, ease of sailing, and how much we would suffer. Currents were another factor. The Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico had the Gulf Stream and Loop Current. Compared to the gyres of the Pacific, they were simply rivers running through the ocean. The flow of water was strong but generally stable.

The Pacific currents often opposed each other, creating eddies where they met. We’d ridden the California current south. The closer we moved toward the equator, the weaker it became as the equatorial currents took over.

Sailing south down the coast with the offshore wind from the east, we were on a beam reach, a comfortable point of sail. At least for now, the conditions aligned and for the first time since we had spotted the now-abandoned steamship by the village, I felt some of the tension slip away.

“This is a bad situation, Nick. I’m worried for Blue and Lucy.”

From our position in the rigging, we were able to see a good portion of the deck. Rhames sat, as he usually did, on an upturned half-keg by the armory. Nate and Nial were at the helm. Blue and Lucy were with the deck crew.

“There weren’t a lot of choices. I’d guess we have two weeks to figure it out.”

“Do you really think he has the backing of the government?”

I thought for a few minutes. Neither of us was American as most defined them. I had spent several years with Gasparilla’s crew, based on an island off the Florida coast, which at the time had been Spanish territory. We’d roamed the Caribbean and spent the past few years in California. Our intention had never been to establish a residence there, which I guessed was the way to become an American.

We were citizens of a different world. One with few borders and even those unseen. That gave us a different perspective on the workings of the different powers.

“The Southern states are behind this. They are desperate to keep slavery alive.”

“Vile practice.”

“Yes, but it’s all they know. Their entire economy is based on it. Change it too quickly, and both the plantation owners and the freedmen will have no place to go.”

“But can we stop Walker?”

“We can at least help the villagers.”

“Can’t we do more?”

I was quiet for a while. “I’m unsure of his resources. He claims three hundred men. There are only fifty or so with him.” I reminded her of the long odds with only a dozen of us, not counting the villagers. In a melee they might help, but we had to reach that point first. It could be enough to take the ship, but to stop the filibuster, we would need more men.

Shayla seemed to accept our position, at least on the surface. I knew that her insides would churn until this was resolved. There was one way to take her mind off our current situation, and that was the prospect of grandchildren.

“How are you getting along with Janey?” I treaded lightly around my other concern.

“Well enough. She’s got a look about her that is unsettling. I guess it is her past.”

Before she could continue, I heard Walker below. Peering around the sail hanging from the spar we stood on, I saw him walk over to the helm. “I better see what he’s about.”

Shayla pecked my cheek, and I slid down the ratline, very aware of how much slower I was. Making my way to the helm, I greeted the men I passed, as many by name as I could recall.

“Ah, there you are, Captain. Seems we’re making good time.”

He was happy now, but we had perfect conditions. I needed to handle his expectation that this would be a smooth trip. If it was, that would be a rarity.

“We’ve just about to enter the equatorial current. That’ll slow us somewhat.” I glanced at the clouds to see if there were any harbingers of bad weather. “If the wind and weather hold, we should be alright.”

“God is on our side, Captain. Never fear.”

I wasn’t sure that God supported subjugating men and taking land, but kept my opinion to myself. “Hope for the best.”

I’d learned from Gasparilla that part of a captain’s job was to remain positive. Pessimism quickly rubbed off on the crew. Under the pretense of checking the sightings and log line, I remained at the helm until Walker left. This was the first opportunity I’d had to speak with Nate and Nial privately since we’d departed.

Once Walker was out of earshot, they both turned to me. Before explaining my present thinking, which was far from a plan, I glanced around to see if any of the new men were close by. After years of our hand-picked crew, this was a different experience. We’d just started to know and trust Nial and his men.

“We’ll bide our time. An opportunity will present itself.”

Nial nodded, but I could see his fingers increase their grip on the spokes of the wheel. Nate was clearly not satisfied with my answer.

“What about weapons?”

“I have an idea for that, but we need to have a threat in sight first.”

Nate’s eagle eyes panned the horizon. To my older eyes, the water was void of ships.

He pointed to a spot on the horizon. I picked up the glass and followed his finger. Initially, I suspected he had fabricated the sighting to force my hand, but a trio of sails appeared there. The sighting was fortuitous, though not uncommon. On a typical day, we might see a dozen or more ships.

I handed him the glass. “Can you see their colors?”

The memory of that fateful day in 1821, when the US Navy had taken down Gasparilla, was thirty years past. Florida had just been ceded by Spain to the United States. The golden age of piracy had ended a century earlier, but there had still been many rogue crews seeking to prey on others. That same year, an anti-piracy squadron had been based in Key West. Within five years, piracy was no longer an issue in the Caribbean.

The year 1821 also marked the successful conclusion of Mexico’s fight for independence from Spain. Much as Europe had suffered when the Roman Empire collapsed, Mexico was left to fend for itself. While the Spanish ruled the Pacific coasts of Mexico, Latin, and South America, piracy was almost nonexistent.

Privateers, essentially legitimized pirates, were more common. Operating on the authority of warring countries, they needed a war to exist.

The period following Mexican independence provided a small window for the seagoing outlaws but only lasted for twenty-odd years until the Mexican-American War. Better known for the Alamo and the resulting land battles, the American Navy played a crucial role along the coasts. In the process, the pirates were eradicated.

With the shipments of gold taken from the California fields heading south, there were some pirates about. Regardless of their numbers, caution was the word when sails were sighted.

Nate was chomping at the bit. “Go ahead.”

“Sail ho!”

All activity aboard the ship ceased. The villagers, not understanding the word or its context took a minute longer. All eyes went to Nate, who continued to point at the horizon.

Walker made his way to the helm and picked up the glass. “Any idea who they are?”

“It’ll be a while. Something we should discuss first, though.” The sighting had provided an opportunity to handle the weapons issue. I started the conversation with something I knew we would agree on. “If we have to fight, I’d send the villagers below.”

“Makes sense,” he said,

Walker wanted to protect his chattel. My aim was to avoid confusion and try and assemble a coherent fighting force. “If it comes down to it, my men will need to be armed.”

He was pensive and picked up the glass again. The ships were coming toward us, but that meant nothing at this distance. In truth, we might appear as much of a threat to them as they were to us. The trio of ships was as good a sign as any that they were merchants sailing in the company of others for protection. Pirates were generally lone ships skilled at cutting the trailing ship from a convoy, much like a wolf taking a calf from a herd.

“Nate has the better eyes.”

Walker handed the glass to my son. There was no way to communicate with him about my intentions, but he had brought up the weapons issue first.

Nate seemed to take an eternity to study the ships. “Still no colors.”

Walker acted immediately and ordered his men to round up the villagers and herd them toward the forward hold. Confusion reigned, which turned to panic when the ships came into plain view. The deck emptied, and my men moved toward their assigned positions.

On the way down the California coast, we’d spent countless hours drilling for this. They moved with efficiency, but as the gap between the ships closed, they looked at me.

“You’ll need to decide about the weapons. We’ll at least need powder for the guns.”

A new worry overcame me. With several dozen Mexican natives locked in the hold and Walker and his men on deck, it would be impossible to distinguish between us and them—the good guys and the bad. My family, crew, and I would not be seen separately.

10

Walker hadn’t answered my question about issuing weapons. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring it. He had taken the glass from Nate and was studying the ships. “The powder?” I asked again. I understood his reluctance to issue personal weapons to my men, but the cannon would be essential in warding off an attack.

Pirates are not particularly brave. They seek easy pickings, not pitched battles. A few shots across their bow would let them know we would not be taken easily.

“No need. They are mine.”

I almost grabbed the glass from his hand. Our conversation when we shared the meal came back to me. I had thought him bragging when he said he had 300 men. If the approaching ships were indeed his, he had been telling the truth.

That reality placed us in peril. Until now, our numbers had been uneven but not insurmountable. Sometime during the two weeks it would take us to reach Nicaragua, there would have been an opportunity. The weather was the most likely. This was the tropics. Squalls or even a major storm were all possible.

There was also the chance to seek assistance from a passing ship. This was no longer the desolate coast it had been before the Gold Rush. We had sighted ships each day on our way south. At some point, we could have signaled for help.

I had been optimistic that something would happen along the way. Numbers and strength were the best deterrents from trouble—and we now had both. Four ships sailing together would be unapproachable.

As the ships closed, I could see the newcomers were riding low in the water. That meant they were loaded, probably with provisions and men. The three ships meant that Walker had three other captains and crews, meaning he no longer needed us. I glanced over at Nate, who seemed agitated, and caught his eye, trying to express the need to be compliant—at least for now.

Walker signaled the other ships, and within the hour we had moved together and hove-to. Each of the new arrivals dropped a skiff and sent a crew over to our ship. Nate was beside me, watching them row toward us.

“Not very skilled, are they?”

They were about the same as Walker’s crew, which said a great deal about the entire operation. “Check out the ships. I’ll see if I can finagle my way into the conversation.”

“Right. I’ll see what Rhames thinks as well.”

“Good.” If Rhames could actually see the other ships, there was no one better at evaluating the worth of our enemies.

“Captain, you’ll join us,” Walker said as he went to greet the first arrival.

The names slipped by as we sat under an awning temporarily erected on deck. Nate and Rhames would get an idea about the ships and crews. My concern was his captains, and they were every bit the rough lot I had anticipated. I’d run across men like Walker too often and knew his type. He was smarter than average, being both a physician and a lawyer, and wielded his superior rhetoric like a weapon. Walker wouldn’t bring on anyone who might challenge his acumen.

Walker’s type tended to be martinets, strict disciplinarians who relied on the strength of others to enforce their will. He did not have an apparent henchman, who would have been with him on the steamship. That was smart, as it would have been a weakness. Instead it appeared he relied on his quick mind and his captains.

To make matters worse, they had found Rhames’ rum cache, which they were imbibing heavily. I could see the old pirate out of the corner of my eye, plotting his revenge.

My desire for a peaceful outcome diminished by the minute. Fortunately, I had asked Shayla and Janey to hide in our cabin. The last thing this bunch of cutthroats needed were our women around.

Walker let the men eat, drink, and regale each other with stories. Through the conversation, I had learned that Van Dyke was indeed alive and had sanctioned the action against us. Walker had apparently done it for money to outfit his ships and recruit men rather than because of any loyalty to the Dutchman. That was the one bit of good news I could glean from the conversation.

Walker had claimed he had 300 men. He was close, lacking some from the casualties his men had taken along the way. That and the fact that none of his men were seaworthy allied some of the fear that my crew and I were no longer necessary.

Walker’s plan was to make landfall near Leon, where he was to meet his sponsors. From there, he hoped to join his troops with the local Democrats and move south.

With the arrival of his ships and men, everything had changed. More than anything, my desire to free the villagers now locked in the hold had suffered a blow of my own doing. Seeing the ships as a threat, I had suggested getting the natives out of the way. Walker had been quick to go along. At the time it seemed the right move. For all that was worth, I wouldn’t be tricked again.

Walker’s effect on his men was noticeable, something I would have to keep an eye on. His control over the ruffians showed his ability to lead. In these men, I saw aspects of Gasparilla’s crews in his men and knew to be wary.

These men were not pirates, though. Understanding Walker’s hold over the men came down to the contract with the rebels and their success. There were promises of land and money—legitimate plunder. I knew, because he had made the same offer to me.

The men returned to their ships shortly after dark. Walker bid them goodbye and came back to the table. “So your view has changed. Maybe a little clarity added to my mission.”

I wasn’t about to debate the abhorrent practices he perpetrated—and profited from. What I needed was to build some trust. He would see through any attempt at flattery, though I suspected he was a vain man. The truth seemed my best option.

“Hard lot you’ve got there.” Nate had whispered that the ships were in bad shape. Walker hadn’t chosen the men or vessels for their seafaring ability. To accomplish his goals, he needed a different kind of man.

“Seems you need a real crew. Those men are more soldier than sailor.”

He cocked his eye, “I suspected you had a brain. So, you will join us?”

I saw I had struck gold. Now, I needed to exploit my position. At sea, I would have power. Once we reached land, my crew and I would be expendable.

“I’ll oversee your fleet until we reach Nicaragua. Then we can renegotiate.”

“That will suit my purposes, though my aim would be to become partners of a sort.”

It was my turn to cock an eye. “We have business in New York.” I reminded him of our destination. A look of concern flashed across his face before he hid it. We hadn’t covered many miles, but a lot of water had passed under the keel in the past few days.

I knew at once that slavery was the issue. For the greater good, the thirteen British colonies had agreed to table the matter. There had been no other way to free themselves from the yoke of British rule. That decision had formed a country that was now threatening to break apart.

One by one the European powers had abolished the human trade, at least within their own borders. Those same countries were ruled as much by the wealthy business class as their monarchs and had different views about America. The Southern plantations supplied products for their markets, which put money into their pockets. What they had abolished at home, they continued to quietly support abroad.

A line in the sand had been drawn, with the Southern states’ desire to keep the status quo and the Northern states opposing. It went as far as to alternate new states between free and slave states.

Walker’s enterprise was supported by those Southern states and men like Van Dyke.

“Nicaragua, then.” I ended the conversation and walked away, I hoped as the winner.

As I crossed the deck to the companionway, I heard Rhames’ voice. “I could have taken apart those bastards by myself back in the day.”

“No doubt, my friend.” This time of day was not his best, and with the men drinking his rum, today was worse. Rhames sat on his barrel, with his back against the locked cabinet that held our arms. Walker had forced him to relinquish the key, but the old pirate was a territorial beast.

I glanced around and saw no one within earshot. “I’ve made a deal with Walker to bring this sorry flotilla to Nicaragua.”

“And then?”

Rhames did not always, or even usually, agree with my need for justice. The argument was simple, though. I explained my desire to free the villagers, leaving out any further plans to cripple the filibuster.

“Some bastards just need killing,” he said.

“We’ll get to that when we get to that.”

“What about the little bastard?”

Rhames and Blue had developed a bond over the years. Some might see it as unusual, but they were both the same person in different packages.

Blue and Lucy had been on my mind since Walker had locked the villagers in the hold. I was counting on Lucy’s skill as a healer and Blue’s as an elder to put them in a position of some authority. The way they had been initially treated worried me, and I wanted them out.

When I went down to Shayla and my cabin, the desire became urgent.

Janey and Nate were seated at the small table, and Shayla on the edge of the bed. I studied their faces and noticed a different expression on the women than Nate. He was concerned and tense. They were almost joyful.

“You’re to be a grandfather.” Shayla rose and hugged me.

Good news too often comes at bad times.

“Congratulations.” I hoped it sounded heartfelt. “You are well?”

Shayla answered for her. “The usual sickness. It would be a comfort if Lucy could look after her.”

“And we’d also like to marry,” Nate said.

Despite our present circumstances, Janey and Shayla glowed. Many seafaring men don’t understand women. They are usually objects rather than partners—a whore or wife ashore. For thirty years, I had sailed with Shayla and Lucy. I had seen and understood the difference between women and men.

What I had learned was that women become emotional before becoming pragmatic, and men become pragmatic before becoming emotional.

Shayla and Janey were in that first stage now, but it was the worst time for it.

11

It was said that a monkey could navigate a deep-water coast in fair weather. That was how I felt as we sailed south. Navigation was straightforward, even more so since we’d entered the equatorial zone. With the cooler California current behind us, there was little chance for sea fog. The nights and days were clear, warm, and dry.

The benign conditions slowed our progress to the point that I expected we might have to reprovision. With Blue and Lucy locked away with the villagers, there was little fresh fish. We tried, but none had the prowess of the bushmen. Water was becoming an issue, and Rhames was almost out of rum.

With so many mouths to feed, over the last few days I had seen Walker reduce the rations to the villagers. Having to head into a port might allow an opportunity to escape, but I feared with his valuable cargo that Walker would take precautions. My other worry was that he might try to supplement it.

A seasoned sailor knows that danger can arise at any point at any time. The sea might not be an issue now, but there were other factors. The weather was always a concern. The interaction between land features and the ocean often provided unique situations, one of which appeared on our port side. Though we were a dozen miles offshore, the low mountains of Mexico were accented by several very high peaks, one of which delineated the border between Mexico and Guatemala.

They were volcanoes, but that wasn’t my concern. Mountain ranges have their own weather. While the skies were clear at sea, I could see the thunderheads stacked up against the Sierra Madre. Though we were not endangered by the storms, the massive anvil-shaped clouds could create torrential downpours that would flood the rivers and discharge all manner of debris into the ocean. The tides and currents often carried the ship-sinking debris many miles from shore.

“We’ll need to put in before long,” Walker said.

Lost in thought, I hadn’t heard him approach. “I’ve got an eye on those storms. Best time would be early in the morning.” The storms built with the afternoon heat.

Walker turned and studied the high peaks, many now obscured by dark clouds. “That’s exactly what I need you for, Captain.”

I saw an opportunity. The storms might be dangerous, but could also provide us with a means to escape. Tidal currents were no match for the torrential flows of the rivers. I had seen firsthand the brown water flowing miles into the ocean. The torrent would negate an incoming tide but also turn the nearshore waters by the river into a turbulent mess.

A seaman would instantly understand what was happening. Walker, being a lawyer and physician, might not.

“Might be an opportunity to supplement your cargo,” I said.

“Now, you’re coming over to my way of thinking.”

Enslaving the locals was an interesting proposition. By reputation, Africans made better slaves. With the current political climate turned against the slave trade, transportation from Africa would be costly and dangerous. I was clueless about the economies of the practice but assumed the population of slaves in the American South was self-sustaining. There wouldn’t be enough to bring to the new colonies. That left the natives.

The culture changed as we moved south. The Americans, for all their worth, were an egotistical lot. They liked, maybe even felt entitled, to take the moral high ground, though it was often riddled with traps. Slavery was a contradiction that was easier to rationalize than I had thought. The Americans were a hard-working lot—including their slaves.

Mexico was different. The country had gained its independence from Spain, but the Spanish influence was still prevalent. After a quarter century of occupation and cross-breeding, it was less simple than a division of nations. Corruption and laziness were rampant.

The difference was in attitude. The interior of the country, once its riches had been looted by Cortez and his lot, had become lawless. The coasts, especially the larger ports, were a different matter. We’d had our adventures on the east coast of Mexico, mostly around the Yucatan Peninsula. The American West Coast had been a blur during our trip north. Once we had decided to forego the farmlands of Oregon and head to San Francisco, gold fever had taken over. We’d become a drop of water in an ocean of argonauts seeking their fortunes in the gold fields.

Slavery, like everything else, had best practices. The first after removing the men and women from their homes was to take them far away. The Romans had transported their slaves to different provinces to reduce the risk of trouble.

Though I was loath to classify people, each region’s populace seemed to have similarities. Walker had expounded on the Mexican soldier, which gave me an insight into the people themselves. He claimed their value was as sentries and scouts, not fighters. That led me to wonder how they would be as workers.

Walker slapped me on the back. I cringed from his touch, trying not to show it. Walker considered it a victory that I even said what I had. I was certain his other captains would take advantage of the opportunity. “Right, then. First light, we’ll head in.”

“Do you know the coast?”

“We provisioned here on our way north. Between those two peaks.”

“Those aren’t just mountains, Captain. Those are volcanoes.”

“Really.” I let him have his moment.

“Just out of sight over there is Atatlán. I heard that it erupted just last year.”

We had seen smoke coming from several of the peaks on our voyage north. Walker continued the geography lesson. I drifted back into my own thoughts, which were slowly turning into a plan.

The bell sounded, signaling the first dog watch. Instead of four hours long, they were two, allowing each crew shift to rotate through the day. Walker typically took his evening meal below during the first watch. This gave me an excuse to speak with Nate, Nial, and Rhames.

“We’ll be provisioning in the morning.”

“Aye, so the bastards can grab some more natives,” Rhames said.

“I’m sure that’s on their minds. It might also give us a chance to escape.”

Rhames nodded. “I could do with some more rum while we’re at it.”

“Have you worked out the lock yet?”

“Can’t get a minute’s peace.”

Picking the lock was not a complex matter. But with his station just in front of the main mast, there were always eyes on him. The crewmen, even our own, couldn’t help but risk a glance at the firearms, cutlasses, and rum whenever they passed.

“I don’t think Walker or any of his men are savvy to the tides,” I said. In the deeper waters off the coast, they didn’t affect us.

The coastline here was mostly untouched by men. A singular beach seemed to extend for hundreds of miles, unbroken even by the rivers flowing from the mountains, which discharged their waters into deltas or across the sand. Where there was no estuary, the flow created sand bars. Time the tide and flow correctly, and the rivers were navigable. A single mistake, though, could ground and strand a ship.

The new steamships were able to negate the effects of the flows that had carried ships in and out of ports and estuaries for millennia. We needed the elements to align for my plan to work.

12

Iordered the ships to heave-to for the night, staying well off the coast. In these latitudes the morning sun generates a sea breeze that would push us toward land. With the muddy outflow from the river clearly visible, there was no reason to fight the current and risk striking debris at night. It appeared that the act of nature I had needed to carry out my plan had arrived early. The flow was from a storm, not the tide, and from the look of it would continue for a while. The current generated by the river was one issue, the other was the debris that would be carried with it.

There was a chance the plan could still work, but it was too small for even Rhames to wager on. I would be negligent in my duties as captain and leader of this seaborne expedition if I brought the ships any closer. Part of our treasure had been placed with Walker as surety for the villagers, but it remained aboard the ship. The stolen gold was also still aboard. Both were within reach. Walker had been stubborn at first, but after seeing a large tree float by, he came around.

Once we’d passed the brown outflow from the river, Nate sought me out. I started to explain my reasoning, but that was not why he needed me.

“It’s Janey. Something’s wrong.”

“The baby?”

“Mom’s with her now, but she needs Lucy.”

That was going to be a problem. Blue and Lucy were below with the villagers. I couldn’t risk Walker finding out they were members of our crew—and family. With their diminutive stature and obvious age, they were worth little at a slave market. That didn’t mean that Walker wouldn’t try, though. At some point, it cost more to keep the elder slaves than it was worth. I didn’t want to consider that possibility.

“You remember the passageway from the stern hold?” We’d sailed with a skeleton crew for thirty years. There were some tricks for making it work. One was easy access throughout the entire ship. The points weren’t concealed, but unless someone was searching the holds, they wouldn’t know they were there. Knowing that we would face the same challenges on this trip, I’d had Nial and his men create a corridor between the holds.

“Right. I’ll get them.”

“Wait until dark.” The problem wasn’t moving them through the bowels of the ship. There was no corridor connecting the holds to the cabins. In bringing the couple to Janey in our cabin, they would have to cross the deck.

“I don’t know if she can wait.”

“What did your mom say?” While Shayla had been exposed to most any injury that could occur aboard a ship, the only pregnancy had been her own. She would be pragmatic, though.

“She told me to find you.”

“Right then. Go down. Bring them forward, but stay below deck until I find you.”

Nate disappeared without a word. I remembered when Shayla was pregnant with the boys. Seeing a man disemboweled by a cannon shot was nothing compared to a woman giving birth. Any action would help Nate. I just hoped he would be patient.

Before I did anything, I needed to determine how urgent the situation was. I expected if it was a true emergency, that Shayla would have sought me out herself. Leaving the deck, I descended through the companionway and entered our cabin.

Shayla turned to the door. “Did Nate find you?”

I didn’t have to ask if they needed Lucy immediately. One look at Janey, curled up on our bed in a fetal position, moaning in pain told me we needed her now. The one thing I could be certain of was that her experiences had taught her to deal with life. This was no act.

“Nate is bringing them through the passageway. I told him to wait in the aft hold until I got there. It’s going to be a problem bringing them across the deck.”

“Then we’ll take Janey to them.”

I smiled despite the situation. Shayla had found the answer. “Can she walk?”

Shayla moved toward Janey and whispered something to her. Despite the uncertainty we had about the woman’s past, once she had become pregnant, Shayla’s attitude had strengthened. She smoothed Janey’s sweat-soaked hair back and talked quietly to her.

I was out of my element. There was a reason that men were kept away from these things. “Right then. Let’s get her up.”

I reached for her arm. Slinging it over my shoulder, I lifted her off the pallet. Shayla came around to the other side. Between us, we took her weight and moved to the door.

“If we have trouble, let me do the talking,” Shayla said.

She was right. A woman’s voice in a situation like this would hardly be questioned. We reached the companionway, where the corridor narrowed. Taking her weight, I found her surprisingly light. With only room for one person, I had no choice but to put her over my shoulder. I did it as gently as possible and cringed at her discomfort.

I moved up the steps, relieved to reach the deck, where Shayla and I resumed our positions. Walker’s crew might have sensed there were women aboard, but we had been careful to keep them below so they had remained unseen. Shayla, as beautiful as she was to me, had streaks of gray running through her hair. Her face was lined from endless days in the sun. It had been Janey I was worried about, and now the young woman was on full display.

They must have sensed her distress and kept their distance. After a few steps, I realized that they must have thought her seasick. That got us across the deck without incident. Maintaining the ruse and getting her into the hold was a different matter. Seasickness was best cured on deck, in the fresh air, and within easy reach of the leeward rail, not in a dark, damp hold.

To make matters worse, Walker approached. “Everything alright, Captain?”

I sensed Rhames nearby and gave him a hand signal to hold back. It had been a mistake not to appraise him of the situation. Now, I had to count on his discretion. In a confrontation, the old pirate relied on force rather than diplomacy.

I started to say something, but Shayla cut me off. “She’s not feeling well. A little fresh air ought to cure her.”

She had stayed with the seasickness ploy, which seemed to satisfy Walker. He dropped back and watched as we escorted Janey to the starboard rail. A dozen feet from the entrance to the hold, we kept the girl between us and stared out at the seas.

I could feel Walker’s eyes on us.

Suddenly, Janey seemed to lose her legs. Neither Shayla nor I was fast enough to catch her as she dropped to the deck. I had no way of knowing if she had taken a turn for the worse or if she was playacting. I suspected the former and glanced over at Shayla.

Whether there was something within me or circumstance that worked in my favor, the men never rarely questioned my authority. I hadn’t realized it then, but being so close to Gasparilla had taught me how to handle a crew, which applied to all manner of men. The biggest lesson was that though they often talked loudly, they were loath to act. The problem with being a leader is the difficulty in stepping back. Power is a desire that demands to be fed. Shayla was the right person to handle this situation. Hoping no one noticed my hesitation, I moved to the side.

“Have her pretend like she’s getting sick. That’ll turn them away,” I whispered to her.

“There’s no pretending, Nick. She needs help now.”

I glanced around the deck. Men, especially these types, wanted their women healthy and rambunctious. A sick woman turned their heads. Even Walker seemed to have lost interest.

“Right, then. Let’s go.”

Janey’s legs were limp, causing Shayla and I to take all her weight. We dragged her to the edge of the hold. I knelt down and lifted the hatch, wondering how we were going to get her down without making a scene. With her condition deteriorating, there was no way she could descend the ladder into the hold.

To my surprise and relief, Nate’s head popped up.

“Can you take her? She’s in a bad way.”

He nodded and dropped several steps. “Keep an eye out,” I whispered to Shayla. There was no reason to keep watch. If we were caught out, there would be trouble. I did it so she didn’t have to watch as I manhandled the girl into the opening. Nate took her weight, slung her over his shoulder, and dropped out of sight.

The question now was should Shayla and I follow.

I knew she wanted to, and decided to leave the choice to her. “I’ll stay here and keep everyone away. Go ahead if you want.”

She glanced around, looking helpless. Lucy was entirely capable of handling most emergencies. She’d saved each of our lives at some point. Shayla’s concern was for the baby—her grandchild.

Without a word, she started down the ladder. Just as her head was out of sight, she called up. “You too.”

I followed her down, understanding it was probably better if we all disappeared from sight. If anyone had an interest they would have thought we’d returned to our cabin. There might be inquiries into the health of the girl later, but for now, they would leave us alone.

A single lantern lit the hold. In the dim light, I could see Lucy hovering over Janey. Knowing better than to interfere, a distraught Nate stood a few feet away. Shayla went directly to the healer. There was no greeting or embrace as she quickly relayed what she knew.

Nate, Blue, and I stood by, powerless to help as Shayla and Lucy tended to the future of the Van Doren clan.

13

Every movement on deck echoed inside the hold, setting me on edge that we would be discovered. “Can she be moved?” I asked Lucy.

“Carefully, Mr. Nick. I also need my medicine.”

Blue and Lucy had left their bags with us for safekeeping before joining the villagers. They were hidden in our cabin.

There is virtually no privacy aboard a ship. With our skeleton crew, we had more than most. Since Walker, his men, and the villagers had been aboard, every available space had been taken. Naval or larger merchant ships had dedicated areas for the crew. Our ship had a pair of private cabins. Shayla and I kept ours, and Walker had evicted Nate and taken the other.

Getting Janey back to ours wouldn’t be a problem. There might be questions if anyone saw us exiting the hold, but those would be easily dealt with. Blue and Lucy were another problem. Disguises that would hide their skin and hair were a simple solution. Those would do nothing for their diminutive stature, though.

“Get some clothes from the cabin,” I told Nate. “Blue and Lucy can follow with you once they are disguised.” We had no choice but to risk it.

“Right.” Nate glanced at Janey.

Janey appeared pale, and a sheen of perspiration covered her face. She didn’t return his look.

“Go.” The sooner Nate left, the easier it would be to deal with Janey.

Surprisingly, getting her on deck was easier than lowering her into the hold. Shayla steadied her from above while I placed her on my shoulders and climbed out. I would have preferred to crack the hatch and see who was about, but that was not possible. Shayla threw up the lid. She reached for the girl and pulled as I pushed until Janey was on deck.

The effort took everything I had, and I failed to realize that the hatch was held open until a shadow fell over me.

“Something down there I should know about?” Walker asked.

Beside him were a pair of his cutthroats. I took several deep inhales, using the effort to bring Janey up the ladder as an excuse to think.

“We needed some medicines,” Shayla said.

“From down there? Maybe we should have a look.”

Walker nodded to his men, who climbed below. Shayla glanced at me, telling me with her eyes that this was our chance to at least get Janey to the cabin. There was nothing I could do for Blue and Lucy. Together, we lifted her from the deck and started toward the companionway.

He nodded to one of the men to check below. “You take care of her now, Captain. We’ll talk later.”

I kept walking, risking his ire but not responding. Right now, I would rather have him angry at me than suspicious about what we had been doing below.

Rhames had a sixth sense when trouble was present and fell in beside us. “Anything I can do?”

He understood there was no time to explain the situation. “We need a diversion so Nate can get Blue and Lucy from the aft hold to our cabin.”

“The little bastard’s a sneaky one.”

“Walker is onto us. He sent a man to check the hold.”

“Ah. I’ll see what I can do about the bastard.”

“No blood,” I warned him. I could have added fire or any number of ways he might handle the situation, but we needed to get Janey back to the cabin.

“Some things are out of my control.”

I stared him down until he finally looked away. That was as good of an acknowledgment as I was going to get. I left him to it. With his type, trust was a hard thing to grasp. Attracted to a life of rape, pillage, and plunder, pirates were volatile. There was a lack of reasoning present that allowed them to be fearless. Intoxicants added to that, and Rhames had certainly imbibed by now.

Shayla and I managed to get Janey down the steps and into our cabin. Once she was comfortable, I looked around, again feeling powerless. “Can you handle her? I’m going to see what Rhames is up to.”

“Not setting fire to the ship, I hope.”

Thinking I should have been clearer in my instructions, I left the cabin and returned to the deck. I glanced around and saw Nial at the wheel and the crew doing their work. Relieved that no alarm had been raised, I looked for Rhames. The barrel that he occupied most of the day sat vacant. I moved close enough to see that the padlock was open.

The old pirate might not be agile, but he was smart. I imagined that Walker had a weapon squirreled away in his cabin. It would be foolish not to. I had managed to secret my single-shot derringer in the cabin. The small pistol wasn’t the equalizer that revolvers were. Worse, it was out of reach. Otherwise, the crew was unarmed.

Armed only with the small knife that every sailor kept on their belt, I returned to the hatch to find it propped open. I had no idea if Walker’s man were below or not.

Rhames’ physical condition was a bit of a mystery. No one knew with any certainty what he was still capable of, which included negotiating the ladder that led to the hold. Those who took notice of his days sitting on the barrel drinking rum would certainly underestimate the old pirate. That might have been by design. I suspected he still had a few fights left in him. Fueled by rum and the taste of battle, I expected the years would drop away.

Trying not to appear suspicious, I dropped into the hold, landing lightly on the sole. The lantern remained where we had left it, but there was no sign of Walker’s man—or Nate. The space wasn’t large. It had been empty when we left San Francisco. Now, it was cluttered with the provisions we had brought aboard, as well as Walker’s cargo offloaded from the steamship.

My mind had been elsewhere, mainly on how to free the villagers and reclaim our ship when they had brought the cargo aboard. The hold material was stacked poorly and not secured.

I already knew that Walker’s men were not seamen, and I should have inspected the holds earlier. Their lack of experience didn’t excuse this. Laziness was the one commonality between myself as a teenager and Gasparilla’s crew. I’m not sure when I changed. Despite the captain’s efforts, the Floriblanca was rarely shipshape. The only other reference to measure the pirate crew against was the ship we had crossed the Atlantic on, which was subsequently taken by the captain. The difference was night and day.

On larger ships, the captain was often a martinet. With our smaller crews, I was one of the men. I took my watches and worked alongside the other men. At first, I was eager to belong. Later, I did it out of camaraderie and necessity. In any event, somewhere along the line, I became a stickler for an orderly ship.

The lines we used to lash the cargo down were coiled on pegs by the ladder. I grabbed a handful and moved to the closest stack of crates. More interested in figuring out how to get Nate, Lucy, and Blue out, I fiddled around securing the crates, not thinking about what was inside. I worked through a half dozen before it occurred to me that if Walker was raising an army, they would need weapons.

The crates were mixed in size and contents, but it wasn’t hard to distinguish which held the rifles. Finding the ammunition took a little longer. Within minutes, instead of a helpless crew, we had become an armed band. I secreted several crates of rifles and ammunition in the corridor connecting the holds and climbed back to the deck.

“I can’t for the life of me see what is so interesting down there,” Walker caught me as I reached the deck.

“Just securing the load. I thought I felt something shift when we tacked. I’m going to send some of my men down to sort it out.”

Walker was no fool, but he acquiesced to my experience. I had no doubt he would have someone watching.

I grabbed Liam and Conner. We descended back into the dark hold. Their comments about the sloppy handling of the cargo were reassuring and loud enough to be heard on deck.

“Those crates have guns, Captain,” Liam said.

I nodded and put a finger to my lips. Both men acknowledged me. “Let’s get these secured.” It took a long minute as my eyes adjusted to the dark recesses of the hold. A small movement caught my attention.

It is uncanny how a man can feel the eyes of another upon him. I averted my gaze so he wouldn’t sense me watching him. I moved to a stack of cargo near the origin of the sound and started to secure the crates. These were not guns, so I wasn’t expecting the watcher’s attention to be on me. Working in the dim light, my senses became acute, and within a minute, I was able to hear the man breathing.

Now that I knew where he was, the question became what to do about him. Any attempt to take him would be seen well before it was executed. Even if we could subdue the man, I would need to explain the incident to Walker.

The only choice was staging an accident. Had the hold been squared away properly, a shifting crate striking him would have been unlikely. In the current state of affairs, it was entirely possible. I finished securing the crates I had been working on and moved back to my men.

“Slow it down. We’ve got eyes on us.” I kept my voice to a whisper but still worried the sound would carry through the hold. “Follow my lead.”

We continued working on the crates to avoid any suspicion. “That looks good, men. Let’s work this area.” I led them to the closest pile to where the man was hiding. Coordinating an attack on the man that would appear accidental would be tricky. I had an idea, though. With my back turned, I pantomimed to the men what I intended.

The seas were relatively calm, but there was still enough of a swell to rock the ship back and forth. We’d all become used to it, and it was second nature now. The ocean is a living thing though and just when you thought you had it figured out, it often betrayed you.

We worked slowly, waiting for the inevitable wave that would unsettle the ship. Timing was essential for landing a skiff on a beach. We had learned to wait in deeper water and count the waves, which came in groups called sets. Once the skiff was launched through the turbid water call the soup, a larger wave could capsize the boat. The phenomenon existed at sea as well but was often ignored. Since I had decided on my plan, I had been counting the waves.

Unlike a beach landing, I wanted that large wave. After three sets, I had it figured out. One crate remained to be stacked on top of the others when I sensed the ship rise. Grabbing one end, I motioned with my head to Liam, who grasped the other end. Time seemed to drag as the wave lifted the ship. Once I felt the downward trajectory, I nodded.

Together, we launched the crate at the recess where the man was standing. He cried out in pain as it smashed against him before crashing against the bulkhead.

“Keep an eye on the hatch.” I went directly to the dark corridor and knocked three times, then paused and rapped with my knuckles one more time. “Nate?”

The hatch creaked open, revealing three sets of eyes.

14

“Come on.” I waved them forward. Nate ushered Blue and Lucy out of the small passageway. They started for the ladder, but I stopped them.

“He still out?” I asked the men.

Liam answered. “Looks to be, Captain. Maybe a slight tap for good luck.”

I nodded. My plan would be ruined if Walker’s man suspected foul play. It was essential that he believed he’d been struck by one of the crates. Liam went directly to the downed crewman and bashed his head against the deck.

“For good measure, eh?”

He had bought us a little time. “Nate, have a look up top. We’ll use the ‘accident’ here to distract them while we get Blue and Lucy to our cabin.”

Nate climbed the ladder and poked his head on deck. “Clear.”

“Right, then. You two’ll go first. Then Blue and Lucy. I’ll follow. We’ll form a circle around them and make for the companionway.”

“What about the guns, Captain?”

It was not worth the risk to take them now. Once Blue and Lucy were safe in our cabin, I would figure out how to retrieve them. “We’ll have to wait.”

Their expressions reminded me of the pirates who had made up our original crew who would have been disappointed, to say the least, at leaving weapons behind. “Nate?”

“Still good.”

“Right, then. Let’s do it.”

The men climbed the ladder. When I could see their shadows on the floor of the hold, I sent Lucy and then Blue up. The shadows didn’t change, which meant the men were shielding the bushmen. I quickly ascended to the deck and fell in behind the rough circle.

Once we had started toward the companionway, I called out for help. Both my men and Walker’s came running. I directed them to the hold. “Injured man down there.”

Several crewmen dropped into the hold. A long minute later, when I heard them call up for assistance, we had reached the companionway.

Rhames had a nose for when the game was afoot and found us before we entered. He turned to Blue. “Ah, good to see ya. Now we can settle up.”

“Not now. Cover our backs.”

Rhames turned around, looking for trouble. Everyone on deck, save the helmsman, stood around the hatch. I had no idea of the extent of the man’s injury, but it sounded bad. We didn’t have time to see the result of our handiwork and pulled open the hatch leading to the cabins.

The passageway was clear. “Nate, take point. I’ve got the rear. Nice work, men.” I dismissed the crewmen.

We moved quickly toward the cabin, passing Walker’s closed door on the way. Just as Nate opened our own door, Walker’s opened and he emerged. Nate stepped aside, allowing Blue and Lucy to enter. His body shielded them from view.

“What’s going on, Captain?”

“Injured man in the hold. I’ll have Shayla attend him.”

I waited for a response, but he seemed satisfied. Among his other professions, he had at least seen some action in his failed attempt to create a colony in Baja Sur. That would have exposed him to some violence, which inevitably meant casualties. Once you’ve witnessed a battle, a certain coldness entered your soul. What would have been an immediate concern was now just the course of business.

“I’ll have a look as well,” he said and moved toward the passageway.

I reached the cabin to see Shayla hovered over Janey. She yielded to Lucy and took a step back, clearly relieved. “What’s going on up top?”

“I need you. There’s an injured man.”

She didn’t need to ask the cause and it wouldn’t have mattered. Having Lucy here justified anything. She reached over and squeezed Janey’s hand, then followed me out of the cabin and onto the deck.

The men were gathered in a circle with Walker hovering over the injured man. I expected the worst but caught a wink from Rhames. The old pirate ambled over with an update.

“He’ll live. I’ll have to educate the new men on how to do this proper.”

I cleared an opening between the circled men and led Shayla to the injured man. My initial surprise that Walker was ministering to the man was short-lived when I remembered he was a trained physician. He glanced up when our shadows fell over him.

“Anything we can do?”

“I could use some help cleaning him up.”

“You heard him. Get some water and rags. Clean ones.” I used my captain’s voice, and the men quickly responded. None wanted to be caught loafing with both Walker and myself watching.

Two men came running with water and some linen. Shayla took charge and began to wash the wounds. The man groaned as she scraped the dried blood away.

“I guess I need you more than I expected,” Walker said.

I wasn’t sure what he meant until I remembered seeing the poorly stacked and unsecured cargo, though I was relieved he didn’t mention the rifles or ammunition. I would have liked a look at the forward hold, but that was occupied by the villagers.

We stood together until Shayla had finished. Walker bent over the man, checked the wounds, and wrapped a bandage around his head. Two men were ordered to take him below.

“Back to your stations,” I called to the men and went directly to the helm. For the moment, I found myself alone with Nial. There was no need to check his course, but I studied the logboard anyway. The rectangular length of wood was drilled out with several rows of holes. Pins were placed to show any change in course.

We were now well past Baja Sur and miles out to sea in order to take advantage of the wind. The board read a straight line south.

“A little excitement, heh?”

I told him what had transpired, leaving out the pregnancy. It was better if he assumed Janey was seasick like the rest of the ship. “There’re cases of rifles and ammo below. Several cases of guns, shots, and powder are hidden in the corridor connecting the holds.”

“Aye, I’ll handle it tonight.”

With the dog watches rotating the shifts, Nial would be on deck from midnight to four. Janey was my next priority. If she remained unwell, our options would be limited.

I headed back to the companionway and dropped below deck. The cabin door was closed. I rapped three times, paused, and knocked again. Slowly opening the door, I saw the mood had lightened.

“She’s going to be alright,” Shayla said.

I expected her to be relieved, joyous even. Something in her expression told me otherwise. I left it for now. “The baby?”

“Fine, as far as Lucy can tell.”

I moved over to Lucy and kissed the top of her head. Blue grinned at the gesture, though it was far from the first time I had shown my affection and appreciation for her.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Janey. She still appeared pale, but she was cognizant of what was going on around her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Right, then.” I was starting to feel out of place. “We are together again. Blue and Lucy will stay secreted here until we can rid the ship of Walker and his vermin. To that effect,” I lowered my voice, “we have a cache of guns and ammunition that Nial will retrieve later tonight.”

“When do we make our move?” Nate asked.

I could tell he was itching for action. What he hadn’t considered was the other ships in our convoy. A gun fight would be easily heard by Walker’s captains. They would naturally respond, and our advantage would end.

Another fear niggled in my head. I had not forgotten about the disturbed ballast, nor was I ready to share my discovery. I had to assume it was one of our men. Now that he knew where our treasure lay, he would be in a position to make a deal with Walker. Any of our men would know the odds were against us. A handful of carpenters, an old pirate, Blue and Lucy, and my family were no match for professional soldiers. They might not be sailors, but they could surely fight.

That thought lowered my mood further. “I’m going to check the deck.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nate said.

I really wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Nate would invariably want to discuss how we could take the ship back. I wasn’t ready to tackle that problem yet, and I probably needed to explain to him why. He was young and impulsive, something he would grow out of. I hadn’t had that luxury. At his age, my decisions affected several dozen men.

“Right, then.” I kissed Shayla and, with Nate behind me, left the cabin. The activity on deck appeared normal, which meant that there wasn’t any.

Sailing is mostly routine, with long stretches of staring at the water, cleaning the decks, mending the gear, and waiting for whatever lay beyond the horizon. Naval ships were more prone to assigning work to the crew; others allowed them to take their leisure, which usually meant gambling. I ran my ships somewhere in the middle.

Nate and I checked with Nial and made our way to the main mast, where we climbed to the mid-spars, relieving the man on watch.

We were quiet for a long minute as we scanned the water around us. The other ships were indeed close enough to hear a gunshot should it come to that.

I had to bring Nate around to my way of thinking. Ordering him would do no good. If he was to succeed me, though I had no idea what capacity that might be in, he needed to learn to assess conditions and make a decision.

It took a bit of restraint not to tell him my thoughts but to come around to it by himself.

“Reckon anything that goes on aboard will carry over to the others.”

Nate studied the ships for a moment. “Gunfire certainly.”

We continued along this line until he came to the conclusion that we needed to choose our time carefully. “If the conditions hold, we’re a week out from Nicaragua. That was our destination, regardless. I don’t want them aboard either, but the best thing to do is wait until we are close, then decide.”

“At least we have Blue and Lucy back.”

“And Janey is well.” I paused to gauge his response, surprised when there wasn’t one. We watched the water in silence. “There’s another matter.“ He seemed relieved for the subject to change. I couldn’t be sure if it was because men rarely discussed women’s issues or if it was something else. “I was in the bilge and noticed some ballast had been moved. Someone’s been at our gold.”

Nate turned to me. “Any idea who?”

“I’d have to believe it is one of our men. Neither Walker nor his would know to look there.”

Nate shook his head in disgust. He’d grown up with the old crew. By that time, though they hadn’t lost their pirate swagger, they were reformed. One of the key tenets of the pirate code was their honesty toward each other in all things—except gambling. He’d seen both good and bad men for what they were and never experienced duplicity in our men.

“Keep it to yourself and watch them carefully. We need to figure out what they’re about before we make port.”

Nate pursed his lips and turned his attention to the water ahead. I followed his gaze, knowing that I couldn’t see as far, not that it mattered.

“Captain, a word,” Walker called up.

“We’ll find our time.” I patted Nate on the shoulder and climbed down.

“By my calculations, we should be turning east soon,” Walker said.

A good sailor did not make a good navigator and vice versa. Among his other talents, Walker had proven to have an uncanny sense of direction—something else to think about as we planned to take the ship back.

Our speed had slowed over the past few days as the California current had faded. “You’re right. I’ll make the adjustment.” Though we could have continued on our present course, it would serve us better if he believed we were cooperating.

15

Aturn to the east would change our point of sail from running with the wind to a beam reach. That meant a major adjustment to the sails. I waited for the middle of the dog watch when the entire crew was on deck and called out the orders. Walker was by my side, watching. He had signaled the other ships earlier that we would be changing course. They were behind and followed suit.

The swell was now from our aft quarter. The pitching of the ship from side to side made me glad that I had secured the crates.

Leaving Walker alone with Nate, who was at the helm, was a bit of a risk. Sooner or later, he would have to prove himself though. “I’m going to check below.”

Walker nodded but remained in place.

If he weren’t my son, I would have trusted Nate implicitly. The fear of their children’s failure that is built into every parent can be their undoing. Nate had spent a considerable amount of time away from us in the past year. He’d salvaged, refurbished, and run the Rattler, a steamboat on the Sacramento River. With the quantity of gold being brought back to San Francisco from the gold fields, I was sure in that time he had handled countless situations. He’d come out of it alright, and I knew he would again. I admonished myself to judge him as any other crew member.

The breeze had freshened, and the ship pitched with the waves. I was confident that our work securing the cargo in the aft hold would survive much worse than this. No one would suspect me for checking, and I took a lantern and dropped down the ladder. The cargo remained in place. This part of the inspection was more for show, to cover my next stop in the bilge.

I moved an access panel in the decking and lay down, extending the lantern into the dark, dank opening below. Some water sloshed around the stones, but this was normal. Had it appeared above the level of the ballast, we would have been in trouble. I rose and sat on the edge, extending my feet until they reached the first rung on the ladder. Unlike the access to the forward and aft holds, this was a makeshift device, mainly for inspections.

Descending quickly, I dropped to the ballast pile. Swinging the lantern around, I found the displaced stones. They were just as I remembered. I had thought to replace them, but decided against it. If the thief returned and saw the stones moved, he would know the theft had been discovered.

With the excuse of inspecting the ship, I had some time, and on this trip, I wanted to know the extent of the crime. Leaving the pile of stones in place I started to remove the surrounding stones, stacking them separately. The ship had fallen into a rhythm that I used as I put the stones aside. I was starting to worry that all the gold had been taken when I saw the faint glint of metal below another stone.

Gold is unusual in that it doesn’t tarnish. Despite the conditions it is placed in, gold over a certain purity will always hold its sheen. Most of our bars were refined from the coins we had salvaged. Our bars had been assayed at twenty-two carats—over 90% pure.

Whoever claimed that selling shovels to the miners was more profitable than mining was correct. The mercantiles weren’t the only ones profiting from the gold fever. Liveries, saloons, equipment manufacturers, surveyors, bankers, and assayers were all in business to take the miners’ money.

Of all of them, the assayers were the least trustworthy. One specifically came to mind. John Little Moffat was a New Yorker of the worst kind. Preying on the gold miners by offering the highest rate of exchange, he had attempted to standardize the measures into dollar values of eight and sixteen dollars. Instead of coins, he produced ingots that were stamped with date and weight. By focusing attention on the dollar value of his currency, he steered attention away from weight and purity. It was known, at least to me, that he cut the gold with copper.

Our bars were a five pounds each and had been smelted before my eyes. We had 200 when we left San Francisco. Several piles lay below my feet. Only one had been disturbed, and it appeared that two bars had been removed. That was a sizable amount of money for the thief, but I expected it was just an initial probe.

As I replaced the bars and then the stones, I wondered how to safeguard our treasure. Keeping a man posted would be the best way to avoid further plunder, but it was impossible. Walker missed little and would surely notice, and we couldn’t spare anyone. Rhames might be the logical choice, but he would be unable to navigate the rickety ladder. An adjustment to the half barrel he occupied might be made that would allow him to at least observe anyone going below. There was no other way to reach the bilge than through the holds. Some men entering would be innocent, but at least we could begin to exclude some of the crew.

I checked the ballast one more time before climbing back into the hold and then onto the deck. Walker was nowhere in sight. This was the time of day he usually took to his cabin. Without his prying eyes, I went to see Rhames.

“Saw you go down below,” the old pirate said.

“Oh, you can still see.”

He chuckled and took a long drink from his mug. “Gone a long time, were ya. Got something down there I need to know about?”

I told him about the guns and then the gold.

He smiled at the former and cursed the latter. “Bastards. One of ours, I expect.” Rhames cast a wary eye around the deck as if he could sniff out the perpetrator. I had come to the conclusion that his poor eyesight was like someone you expected to be hard of hearing but actually just didn’t listen.

“Can you keep an eye on the holds for who’s coming and going?” I was past the point of giving the old boy orders.

“Aye. Both of them. We’ll get the bastard.”

I’d done all I could and returned to our cabin. The room was small for Shayla and me. With the six of us, it was crowded to the point where a shuffling of bodies was required if anyone needed to move.

“How is she?” I glanced at Janey, who was sleeping on our pallet.

“Seems much better.”

Our stakeholders, less Rhames, were all present. “I expect we’ll make landfall in Nicaragua, outside Leon, in a few days.”

“I heard the Vanderbilt route begins at San Juan del Sur to the south,” Nate said.

Vanderbilt had the rights to build a canal across the Isthmus. Utilizing the San Juan River and Lake Nicaragua minimized the overland passages. His Accessory Transit Company had been formed to run the current route, which I had heard moved several thousand passengers a month. The completion of the Transit Route missed the initial surge of the Gold Rush but was now the safest and most economical way to cross between the two oceans.

The old Spanish provinces had shaken the yoke of the monarchy but remained rife with corruption. I’d dealt with enough of these old colonial governments to know that whenever there was that much trade, which meant money, there was a high likelihood for political upheaval. Much of Nicaragua had remained independent of the Spanish. The Moskito Kingdom, an indigenous tribe, held the Atlantic coast, which was named after them. The Spanish were all about economy, and had chosen the Isthmus in Panama, which they controlled, for their crossing rather than fight a war in Nicaragua.

For whatever reason, the Moskito took to the British, becoming partners with them in logging operations in Belize and in the creation of the route across the Isthmus. The British pushed for more, but the tribes on the west coast were not interested in becoming vassals of the British king. Between their attacks and the growing threat of enforcement of the Monroe Doctrine in the lower Americas, the British were forced to retreat.

That left a void, which Vanderbilt exploited.

Walker had explained that there were two factions in the Civil War, the Democrats and the Legitimizers. I knew the labels meant nothing. They were after power, which meant money. The current flow of passengers at a fare of $300 each, with even more to come when the canal was completed was enough enticement for a war.

“Walker means to bring his men ashore and meet his sponsors there. They mean to take the country from the north to the south. We need to part ways there and make all haste to reach San Juan del Sur ahead of his army.”

“I’ve too often seen these kinds of men. Once we reach port, they’ll be off to the nearest saloon,” Shayla said.

“I’m counting on that. We’ve got a stash of rifles. I’m guessing Walker will give leave by the watches. Once the first group disembarks, we’ll take the ship.”

“What about the villagers?” Blue asked.

I found that surprising after the way I had seen them treat him and Lucy. “We can take them for crew for the time being.”

I was well aware that it wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. The other ships would be present as well. I was counting on Walker and his captains wanting to meet their sponsors as soon as possible. Walker had several angles to make this venture profitable. He, along with his men, had been promised huge swaths of land along with pay. Walker was enough of a businessman to understand that the sooner the fighting was finished, the less it would cost him to field his army.

16

Smooth sailing is generally an oxymoron. It is so rare that only a few times have I experienced for days on end the gentle seas and consistent breezes the term implies. The past week had been one. There had been no chance to remove Walker and his men from the ship. We had resigned ourselves to reaching Nicaragua with them aboard. The weather had its benefits though and the mood aboard was good. Walker seemed to have forgotten the incident with Janey and the accident in the hold.

After several days, even Walker’s men fell into the ship’s routine. Minutes turned into hours, which turned into watches, which turned into days. The men knew what was expected, and though Walkers’s men were not sailors, they seemed to grasp the importance of keeping the ship in order. They did complain about the work, which gave me an opportunity to approach Walker about using the villagers as crew again.

To my surprise he had agreed. Everything he did had a purpose. The decision could have been to show his power, but it was probably to rest and keep the morale of his men up. If things continued, we would reach Nicaragua in a few days. They would need to be ready to fight, not tired from standing watch.

We sighted the harbor just south of the Honduran border as expected. The weather had held, Janey had recovered, and Nial had secreted the rifles and ammunition in the crew’s area on the foredeck. The villagers were allowed to work their shifts but otherwise were under guard in the forward hold. The exercise and air did them good and allowed me to interact with them—something that would be integral to my plans. Everything seemed to be favorable, except I had no idea how to take the ship back.

Our destiny seemed entirely out of our control. We needed Walker to take his captains and enough men to Leon to even our chances in a fight. San Jan del Sur, the Pacific terminus for Vanderbilt’s Transit Route, was a full day’s sail away. Walker would ride to Leon from the harbor, a trip of only a few hours. Provided things went well there, he would return the same day to find us gone. At that point he would have a decision to make. My hope was that he wouldn’t allocate the money or manpower to track us down. Before steam and telegraph, the half-day head start would have been hard for him to overcome. Again, a few keystrokes and a copper wire could foil our plan. Worse, it would take time to sell the ship, arrange transport across the Isthmus, and transfer the gold. If he rolled through the country as he expected, he would likely catch us along the Transit Route anyway.

The route was not point-to-point either. From San Juan del Sur, a short journey by mule or wagon was required to reach Rivas on the western shore of Lake Nicaragua, where a steamship would take us to San Carlos. There, we would board another craft and navigate the San Juan River. I’d seduced Walker into drawing a map of the region and knew once we reached Rivas, we would be in the Legitimizes’ territory and safe from his grasp.

Any plan with that many steps would never be as simple as it sounded. We could run into a storm at sea and be delayed reaching San Juan del Sur. Once we reached the Transit Route, our schedule would be in the hands of others who were more concerned with profit than civil war or our struggle with Walker. I suspected, with Vanderbilt being a Yankee and Walker a southerner, there would be some animosity between them. That could be useful, but not something to count on.

Bringing our ships through the delta and into port, I felt like the admiral of a rabble. It took all my abilities. For the next few hours I was unable to think of anything besides reaching the docks. Walker had sent a skiff ahead to inform his sponsors that he was en route, but the harbor was mostly empty. Unlike the border with Costa Rica to the south, which was contested, there was no trouble between the Nicaraguans and Hondurans.

The natural harbor held mostly small fishing vessels and a few older merchant ships. I maneuvered our small fleet so that our ship was nearest to the inlet to aid in our escape.

The lines were thrown to waiting hands on the dock, and the ships tied off. The atmosphere aboard changed the instant we were secured to the docks. I lost my power as captain. Walker was now totally in charge.

I saw him coming toward me. His face showed determination but also something else, maybe a sense of accomplishment. My heart beat a touch faster as he held out his hand.

“A job well done. Now for the next step.”

My hope was that he and his army would ride off to Leon, leaving me with a skeleton crew to watch the ships.

“You’ll ride with us to Leon.”

In that utterance, my plans were ruined.

“And your son as well.”

The last was a devastating blow. If I were forced to leave the ship, Nate and Nial could have taken her south without me. Somewhere along the route, I would have been able to find them.

My plans lay in ashes. I had a brief thought to burn the boats as Cortez had done, forcing his crews to remain in Mexico until they were victorious—or dead. It wasn’t a bad idea for the other ships and something to consider.

“I’ll tell my wife. Nial will be in charge.”

“Understood. We leave at first light.”

I had expected him to leave directly, but he needed to arrange for horses and provisions. That gave me a little breathing room, which I intended to take advantage of.

Walker denied shore leave to all but a few of his men and left the ships in the charge of one of his captains, who had been transformed to their military ranks. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I studied the other ships and saw men posted to watch both our ship and the docks. He must have given the other captains orders to keep an eye on us. Walker was proving to be a careful man.

Though his goals were abhorrent, I had to give him credit. A force of 300 experienced men was something to be reckoned with. He had told me that artillery pieces were aboard the other ships. The army would be well-armed and undoubtedly succeed in a head-to-head confrontation. He carried an air of arrogance, almost invincibility. The problem that I could see with his thinking was that he had no direct knowledge of the terrain or his enemy. A larger force, if they were well led and dedicated to their cause, would take casualties but eventually overcome his army. He had the Democrats to add to his force. I suspected he would be disappointed with them.

Nations tend to have their own identities. These are often extensions of their people. The British had their Navy, France her armies. From the days of the ancients, each country had its own fighting tradition.

Walker had told me that the indigenous people of the lower Americas made for excellent sentries and guides. As a fighting force, they were timid. That might have been the result of centuries of Spanish rule and native subjugation. It didn’t matter now. If he was correct it would make his personal army invincible.

Armaments and experience were not the only factors that won wars. The string of volcanoes and mountainous terrain had been visible many miles out to sea. Nicaragua seemed much the same, and the advantage of terrain was with the locals. Besides the land itself, there was disease, provisioning, supply chains, and a number of other factors that could cost him time and men. Walker wouldn’t be the first leader whose arrogance contributed to their undoing.

17

Night had set in, and Walker had yet to return. That meant nothing other than we had some freedom to talk. I had already spoken to Nate, who waited in the passageway while I broke the news that Walker was forcing Nate and I to accompany him to Leon. Crowded into the cabin were Shayla, Janey, Lucy, Blue, Rhames, and Nial. Walker would have been intrigued by our council and I expected there were eavesdroppers about. As such, I kept the conversation simple.

“You must refuse,” Shayla said.

Shayla’s maternal instincts ran counter to my more military ones. Often, the counterpoints created a compromise that worked. In this case, I preferred that Walker not know about our business.

They leaned in when I lowered my voice. “If you get the chance, take the ship. Head to San Juan del Sur.”

“We’ll not leave without you,” Shayla said.

I was not planning on winning this argument. A glance at Rhames told me a seed had been planted, which was what I had intended. If the opportunity presented itself, there would at least be a discussion. Rhames and I made eye contact. He gave a slight nod, telling me that he understood. I had planned on placing Nial in charge but changed my mind. My first instinct was for the safety of my family, the crew, and the ship. Rhames was the man for that.

“Rhames will be in charge while we’re gone.”

I glanced around and saw no objections. He would, of course, consult with Shayla. She would have been the logical choice. Our own crew would respect her, but Walker’s remaining men would not. It was better that she remained in the background. She could do the thinking while Rhames melted their innards with his eyeballs.

“How long will you be gone?” Shayla asked.

“I can’t be sure. Walker says we’ll be back the same night. There is no way to know what the current situation is until we get there.” I wished there was something I could say to reassure her. We would speak privately later.

I turned to Nial. “Any repairs that need to be made, this would be a good time. I’ll arrange for you to be able to purchase materials if needed.” Walker could not protest having his fleet in readiness, just in case things went badly. That gave me an idea.

“I’ll have a word with him about you inspecting the other vessels as well.”

“I’d not have my men work on them.”

I smiled. “Some would call sabotage work.”

“That we can accomplish.” Nial smiled.

A commotion outside brought our meeting to an end. I left the cabin and nodded at Nate. There were both benefits and drawbacks to Walker being gone. We had more freedom, but there was no absolute authority to control his men. Now that they knew there were women aboard, anything could happen. Nate would remain in place until relieved.

Rhames and Nial followed a few minutes later. We met on deck, where we saw a large group of men holding several strings of ponies. Neither the men nor the animals showed any kind of discipline. If this was any indication of the way this war was to be fought, Walker was in trouble.

A shot was fired and the group quieted down. All eyes fell on Walker, who had climbed onto a barrel. He gave a short address in Spanish, which surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. The men looked like a ragtag mixture of farmers and fishermen. There were close to a hundred men and three times as many horses, making it quite a spectacle. The one thing they had in common was red ribbons pinned to their lapels or hats. I guessed that was as close to a uniform as this war would see.

They seemed satisfied when Walker finished and quickly set about making a corral for the horses and then seeing to their own accommodations for the night.

Walker made his way back to the ship. Nate and I waited for him.

“We will depart at first light,” he said, tipping his hat and pushing past us.

“Better get some sleep,” I said to Nate.

Shayla and I allowed Nate and Janey to use our pallet. With Blue snoring as if he were twice his size, we abandoned the cabin and made for the deck, where we climbed out of hearing range of the men below.

“I don’t like this,” Shayla said.

“An opportunity will present itself.” It wasn’t like Shayla to be pessimistic. She was often skeptical and could see through the ploys of men, but this was different. I knew any encouragement would be false, so I allowed the noise from the harbor to suffice.

“You don’t see it, do you?”

I thought I had the measure of the situation. I didn’t want to dismiss her either, but didn’t know what to say.

“Janey. She’s up to something.”

I took a deep breath. There were things in this world I didn’t and probably wasn’t supposed to understand. The relationship between women was one, though I’d had my doubts about the girl. Again, I stayed quiet, leaving Shayla an opportunity to continue. I had voiced my theories, dreams, and ideas to her over the years. It was her turn now.

“I don’t know, Nick. There’s something about the way she’s acting. Lucy told me that her sickness was not normal for a woman in her state.”

“Maybe she’s dramatic.”

“I don’t think so.”

“And Nate is blind to this.” It was a statement, not a question. I had watched my son with the girl. Truthfully, I had been the same with Shayla when we’d first met. Providence had provided me with the best woman created.

“They intend to marry?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think she wants to.”

“But the child.”

“Lucy thinks the sickness was an attempt to end the pregnancy.”

I had to admit shock, and the girl’s past came flooding back. She had worked in a brothel in San Francisco. Not all of those women were what many thought, though. Many were paid just to entice men to dance, drink, and gamble. I had thought her brave and selfless when she volunteered to help get Nate back from Van Dyke’s clutches. It wasn’t until later that we found out about their relationship. Whatever her job at the brothel, she would have knowledge of such things. She would also have learned how to manipulate a man.

I thought back on our time with her. She had seemed friendly to Walker and he to her. That meant nothing on its own. She was an attractive young woman and Walker at least put on airs that he was a gentleman. That she would have reciprocated made sense as well. I just wondered if there was more to it.

Several times Walker had seemed to know my mind before I spoke it. He had also been almost too complacent about our actions and the “accident” in the hold. A memory came back to me of Janey, soiled and dirty after she had explored the ship. That was before I had discovered the theft, and it changed everything.

Shayla and I both knew that this was not all bad. If the girl wanted to go her own way, so be it. Nate would be better for it in the long run. “Could she be the thief?” I asked.

“I saw her talking to Walker before she fell sick.”

Janey wouldn’t be the first woman—or man—to be an opportunist. Despite my worries about her, it still felt like a blow that she would choose Walker over Nate. In the scheme of things, Nate was an unproven commodity, and Walker was intending to take over a country. I hadn’t considered it before, but San Francisco was a small town. There was every chance Walker had befriended her and, with his bedeviled tongue, made promises.

I didn’t think the conspiracy had started before our hasty departure from San Francisco. No one could have anticipated Van Dyke sending Walker after us. The fact remained, though, that since he had taken the ship, they would have had opportunities to speak. His habit of retreating to his cabin during the first dog watch might have been the ideal time for a rendezvous.

There is often satisfaction when the pieces of a puzzle fall into place. I experienced none of that now. “Our trip to Leon will give you an opportunity to see what the girl’s about.”

“I had thought the same. She’ll take anything Lucy offers, hoping to end the pregnancy. I can have her concoct a sleeping potion.”

“Good. And Nate will be with me, so there’s no chance of interference.”

“You don’t think⁠—”

I cut her off. “No. Looking back, I can see it.” There was nothing left to say. I leaned over and pulled Shayla close, hoping I could return some small dose of the comfort and support she had given me over the years.

After what we’d just discussed there was no returning to the cabin. In any event, it was hot and loud in there with Blue, Lucy, Nate, and Janey. The snoring alone, and often from Lucy, would be enough to keep us awake.

We crept toward the bowsprit like star-crossed lovers seeking a tryst, but Rhames stopped us on the way. Janey had not been proven guilty, though I was fairly certain of her duplicity. Left to his own devices, Rhames would act as judge, jury, and executioner. I decided that even though it affected us all, I would keep this from him in case it proved to be false.

We allowed the old pirate to reminisce for a time. When his head nodded, we moved quietly away and found a spot to lay down.

18

Dawn came in a hurry, as it often does in the tropics. The transition from darkness to daylight takes a matter of minutes this close to the equator. That wasn’t my thought, though. Shayla and I had slept on deck and though we had probably gotten more sleep than if we’d stayed in the cabin, it was still lacking.

Walker, dressed in a military uniform, was already about when we rose. Thankfully, it was not that of a United States officer. The only designation was the red ribbon pinned on his chest. He seemed jubilant. This was his day, something he had been waiting for since his failed filibuster in Baja Sur.

“Ah, Captain. Ma’am.” He tipped his hat to Shayla.

“I’ll get Nate,” I said and left him, not wanting to acknowledge or be a willing participant in what he intended. Shayla followed me down to the cabin, where I waited for Nate to get ready, turning away when he said goodbye to Janey.

“We’re off, then.” Nate and I left the cabin. I made sure to pass Rhames, both to ensure that he was alright and to let him know he was in charge. The old pirate woke on our approach, nodded, gave a wink, and dropped back to sleep. His condition didn’t concern me. He would rally to any threat.

The sea can feel like a bucking bronco. I’d stood watch and captained ships through hurricanes. Nothing I’d been through on deck compared to the feeling I had in a hard saddle. Nate had taken to it easily, which made matters worse.

Walker arranged us in a column two riders wide and we left the town, not with the military precision he sought, but better than the mob that had ridden in the previous night. When he had estimated our trip would take a few hours, I don’t think he realized the speed of the march would be dictated by the slower wagons and terrain.

That was troubling. A good general understands more than battle. Supply lines, communications, and chain of command were essential to victory. Morale was high, though. Walker’s men were mercenaries and out for plunder, which was now within their grasp. The natives looked at the new men and their weapons with some curiosity, not sure what to make of them.

Out of fear that any discussion would turn to Janey, I stayed quiet through the morning march. Walker was caught up in everything around him, and Nate seemed content to watch the scenery. Despite the pony ride, the morning was almost pleasant. We stopped at a small village called Realejo, where the delta turned to farmland, around midday for a break.

As we dismounted, two men ran toward us from the direction of the village. By their red ribbons I knew they were friendly, probably scouts. Walker had that much sense, at least. He had sent a dozen men out earlier to reconnoiter the countryside. We were far from where he expected to find the Legitimizers, but caution was never a bad thing. I’d not seen one of the dreaded telegraph offices in the port. There was sure to be one in Leon, and a spy could have ridden through the night to warn our enemy.

This was all foreign to me. I had never ridden to battle. Our engagements had all been defensive and naval. This was a different feeling. One I was uncomfortable with.

The scouts found Walker, and a heated discussion ensued. Two of his captains, now commissioned as majors, joined the group.

“I’m going to see what they found.” I left Nate and walked over to the group. No one seemed to care that I was present, and I listened, trying to understand the rapid dialect. It became apparent that the frustration was born from communication rather than any news the men brought. Walker finally called over a man to act as interpreter.

“Leon is in our hands, but the Legitimizers have brought a force to Rivas. They are preparing to march.”

I’d been studying maps and charts all my life and had committed the country’s geography to memory. That meant the battle would be in Managua, the capital. Chosen as a compromise, the city was not strategically important, but whoever controlled it had the upper hand.

Grenada and Rivas, which lay further south, were the more important cities. The first as the true capital, and the second as a stop on the Transit Route.

Walker dismissed the scouts and called us closer. “We will rally with the other troops at Leon and march on Managua.”

The terrain became less of a factor in the march. Instead, we were now highly visible. Corinto, the port we had put into, was part of a delta. With the steep volcanoes just miles inland, the narrow plain between the mountains and ocean was crowded with farms, pastures, and villages. We would surely be noticed. The consensus was that deep into Democratic territory, we should be safe. I thought differently.

Civil wars are not always strictly geographical. Often, they are about people rather than borders. There were surely Legitimizers in every town, village, or city. It wouldn’t take a large force to disrupt the march. Guerrilla warfare, which is Spanish for “little war,” had been used since ancient times. In a country divided, those tactics could be devastatingly effective. If Walker thought he would be fighting a European-style war, he was mistaken.

With the delta behind, the ground was solid and the road straight. Marching with the ocean on the right and the mountains on the left, we saw Leon in the distance. On the shores of a large lake, the city was below us. From our position, I noticed several fires. As we approached, the sound of gunfire wafted over the plain.

Walker called a halt. The prudent thing to do would be to wait for the scouts to return. He seemed impatient, though, and soon called for the column to move forward. Anxious to engage the enemy and win their power and land, Walker and his men bristled with energy. I was less confident. We were equipped for a pitched battle, not to fight skirmishes in the streets of a city we weren’t familiar with.

We moved closer, but stayed well out of range of any action. The elevation served us, as we had a full view of the city and action below. There were signs of several skirmishes, though no evidence of a larger force. Walker had been given the rank of colonel and his captains, a lieutenant colonel and a major. Nate and I had neither rank nor uniform and were grateful for that. We had been given the red ribbons all the men wore and had them pinned to our lapels.

“We are going to march directly to Managua and engage the enemy there.”

As bloodthirsty as the men were, most were more interested in the end result—their personal wealth—than actually fighting. Taking Managua was a big and, from my view, a careless step. I was worried about leaving an enemy force on our flank. Sans uniforms with only a red or white scrap of cloth to identify them, it was impossible to tell which side was which. We would have to be in the midst of the action before we knew who was who. Skirting the city was a risk, and it would delay our return to the ship.

I realized now that I should have given more direct orders before leaving and hoped that Shayla and Rhames would make the decision to seize the ship and flee when Nate and I failed to return. There would be no way of knowing if they escaped, so I developed a contingency plan.

Moving my horse closer to Nate, I explained what I intended. “This is not our fight. Once we reach Managua, we will escape the column and head for Rivas, then the coast. If there is no sign of the ship, we’ll hire a boat to take us north until we find her.”

Nate seemed relieved. I wondered if this would be a good time to bring up our fears about Janey, but dismissed it. I needed him fully engaged. We were entering enemy territory, and he didn’t need the distraction. Some situations needed to be addressed head-on, while others would solve themselves in time. One sign of a good leader is the ability to distinguish between the two. I set my distrust of the girl aside and focused on what lay ahead. My worry about Nate being distracted applied to me as well.

The shots started out sounding muffled. They soon became distinct as we descended from the plateau. As we dropped to the altitude of the city, the battle seemed near. Walker sent his scouts out, and we continued on our path around the action, stopping several miles to the south of the city for the night.

I immediately understood why the Romans took the time and effort to erect a marching camp every night. Behind a ditch and palisades, the legionnaires would surely have slept. On the open plain, we had to set watches. They provided little comfort, and we rose the next morning having had little sleep.

Our second day started better. We fell into our marching column in short order and started for Managua. After seeing the fighting in Leon, the mood was tempered. I suspected that Walker would need to split his troops before long. This was not the kind of affair where he could entice the opposition into a pitched battle.

I left our place in the column and cantered to his position near the front. “Do you have a plan when we reach Managua?”

“Why, certainly. You will take several troops and commandeer a ship that will take you to Rivas. We will meet you there.”

I wondered if this had been his intention in taking Nate and me in the first place. We had left the foothills behind. Monotombo loomed large, the column of black smoke from the peak ominous, like a gravestone marking the city of Managua. We were closing on the city and still had no idea of the enemy's strength or position.

We had no view from our position, but the farms and villages had become more concentrated. Well before we arrived in the city, Walker halted the column and organized the army. Nate and I, along with a dozen men, were ordered to head east with the intention of finding a boat. The others were split into two divisions. With the lake on the east, one would come at the city from the north. The other would move around to the west and assault the enemy flank. It was a sound a plan as any. If we had to be involved, I was thankful that at least our part would be naval.

Walker had assigned one of his captains, a man named Crocker now holding the rank of major, to our party. I had no doubt this was to ensure we carried out our orders. It would have been too easy to find a ship and disappear.

For all his apparent brutality, Crocker was an experienced soldier. He sent two men ahead to scout our route through the city, and within a few hours we reached the lake.

“I’ll leave the ship to you,” he said, the first time he had addressed me since we had been separated from the larger force. His speech was plain, without the embellishments that Walker used. That suited me.

“We could use a local as a guide. I have seen the route on a map, but there could be hazards.”

“I’m sure the captain of whatever ship you select would be happy to play the part.” Crocker lifted a small pouch from his belt and jingled the coins. “One way or another.”

The fate of another man and his crew was now in my hands.

19

An opportunity had finally presented itself to Nate and me. Abandoning our ship had always been part of the plan. It wasn’t without remorse, even though our time together was short. If that sounded like I was talking about a woman, it wasn’t far from the truth. There was something that tied me to the ships we had sailed, a contract between a construct of man to tame the whims of the gods. It was a delicate balance between arrogance and skill.

Our ships had souls. They could be temperamental, capricious, graceful, and at times ungainly. In order to be a good captain, one needed to wed their ship, as they say, through better or worse.

Names were important as well. Before Nate and I had left with Walker, we had christened the ship the Lion. Animals had been our totem since the beginning. Our first ship had been named after the caiman, the saltwater crocodile common to the Caribbean. Our second was the Panther, named after the beast that had almost taken my life. The Lion was named after the sea lions that kept watch over the harbor.

There had been major advances over the millennia: from bronze to iron, from steel to firearms, and from sail to steam, as well as smaller ones. With each one, sometimes in a large dose, other times almost unnoticeable, a piece of that soul, that contract or marriage, was removed.

We’d reached the end of the river we had been following. Lake Managua lay before us. Several small fishing boats were pulled onto a black-sand beach. Larger ones were tied to moorings a few hundred feet from shore. Two steamboats were docked along a ramshackle pier that ran from the village into deeper water. Ships were not the only thing that rotted in the tropics. Anything built with wood had a short life.

The lines of the lateen-rigged fishing boats drew my eye, but I knew that we must forsake soul for efficiency. “Which one suits you?” I asked Nate.

This was a different world for me, and I deferred to him.

“You have in mind more than a run across the lake?”

He knew my mind. My plan all along had been to sell our ship and book passage with the Accessory Transit Company. A steamship would cut out the middleman, at least as far as San Carlos.

Nate studied the two ships. “I need to get a better look.”

I called Crocker over. “Either of those might work. Fuel would determine which. We need to get closer.”

“We can do that.” Crocker ordered his men over.

Our ponies had suddenly disappeared, either stabled or sold now that we would take to the water. Their absence appealed to me. We had no chance against these men on land, and I was happy to be rid of the beasts.

The lines in this war were becoming clear. The Legitimizers held Granada and the Transit Route. The Democrats held Leon and small pockets of land in the north. Managua was anyone’s guess. There were certainly fewer ribbons visible and no army was present. Walker wanted the city for its symbolic value. From a strategic perspective, it was on the wrong lake. Lake Nicaragua was part of the route across the Isthmus and an integral part of the proposed canal. Granada sat on its shores, making it the more important city.

Walker had already left enemies at his back, though they were small pockets of resistance. That decision could come back to haunt him. It was a risk that I had agreed with. He knew better than to leave an unsecured city the size of Managua behind.

Crocker might have been gruff, but he was well-trained. He regarded everyone as an enemy, and rightly so. We had no idea of the loyalties of the people who lined the streets as we passed. The attitude toward us had become noticeably colder since leaving Realejo, where we had been warmly received.

We reached the pier and stopped. Crocker set half the men to guard the entrance. The rest of us walked down the rickety wooden structure. The deck of the first boat was laid open, exposing her boiler and piping. I had no understanding of the internal workings of the contraption but knew it was in need of repair. With our choice made easier by the condition of the boat, we moved toward the second ship.

Nate studied her carefully. “This will do. She seems to be in good shape, and we’ll need the narrow beam to negotiate the passage.”

“What’s that you say?” Crocker stepped in front of us.

Nate had misspoke. In order to reach Rivas, we would have to negotiate a narrow channel connecting the two lakes. The ship had a narrow beam that would be helpful in tight quarters. She also had two carronades. They were older and in questionable condition but were better than nothing.

Crocker banged the stock of his rifle against the steel rail. “Anyone about?”

The decks were clear. “Son of a bitch.” A loud grunt could be heard from below.

“Come out with your hands in the air,” Crocker called out.

A man emerged a minute later holding a wrench in one hand and an oil-soaked rag in the other. A bright weal was noticeable on his forehead. “A bit of bloody notice would be nice.”

He spoke English, which was a relief, with a British accent. “Are you the captain?” I felt our chances were better for a successful negotiation if I spoke. Crocker must have understood this and remained quiet, though his presence was clearly felt.

“Do I look like the bloody captain?”

I’d been judging men on first impressions for years. There was often no other way. This man seemed to be cut from the same cloth as our crew.

“Does she run on a Babcock & Wilcox or a Worthington?” Nate asked.

“Well, at least one of you is civilized.”

Befriending the man seemed the best option. Nate spoke with him for a few minutes about the specifications of the boiler. Steamships still required captains and pilots, but a new position, that of the engineer, had obtained an equal status. I suspected such men had the same relationship with their mechanical equipment as a master with his sails. When I was sure Nate had won him over, I stepped in.

“My name is Nick Van Doren. This is Major Crocker.”

“Gerald.” The man wiped his hands on the rag and extended one.

The paw was large, red, and showed multiple cuts and scrapes, no doubt from the equipment. Canvas and rope were much kinder to a man than the unyielding steel. Crocker and I both shook hands with him.

“Where can we find the captain?”

Gerald waved his hand toward the shore. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Like many waterfront streets, there was a mixture of saloons, mercantiles, and hotels. I expected many of the second- and third-story rooms contained brothels. The sun had barely reached its zenith, yet the town was bustling with the energy that the war was coming to them. It was a dangerous time, which I intended to use to our advantage.

Crocker pulled me aside. I cocked my head at Nate and in the direction of Gerald, telling him to keep the man occupied. Crocker started to say something. I pursed my lips, telling him to wait.

“Can I have a look at the boiler? I’ve never seen a fire tube before,” Nate asked. “I’ve heard of them, but my own had a water tube.” Gerald’s face lit up, and they started talking about the different typers of boilers. Within a minute the two men had disappeared below deck.

“If the captain or what-have-you is in his cups already, I say we take her,” Crocker said.

“An hour and some coin might be a small price to pay for renting her. There are enemies everywhere. We don’t need more.” I expected that friend or foe would be as difficult to determine on the water as the land. The advantage was there would be fewer of each.

“An hour, then. What about the engineer?”

“I’d take him if he’s willing.”

“Or not.”

“Right then.” I held my hand out for the bag of coins he carried.

“The boy stays with me.” He reluctantly handed them to me.

Nate and Gerald would be fast friends by now. With their mutual interest, he would never know he was essentially a hostage. Crocker gave me a look that told me the clock was ticking. I left the dock at a fast walk, happy to be away from the man.

As I walked down the Main Street, which fronted the water, the hair on the back of my neck tingled. A port town on an ocean would contain all sorts of men. Blacks, Chinamen, and Europeans would mix uneasily, but there were rarely any disturbances other than a barroom brawl. As a land-locked city, Managua contained little of the exotic element. The people were mainly natives, with a few white men mixed in. The mood was tense.

A large port town would have districts for each ethnicity, and a smaller one would have at least a saloon for each. Here, I expected there would be a single establishment for the foreigners.

I found it easily and stepped inside. The language was noticeably English, as was the atmosphere. I stepped up to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. He stepped toward me, giving me a once-over. We were well away from the Transit Route. I doubted he saw many men he didn’t know here.

I ordered a beer that I wouldn’t drink and tipped well. “Any chance you know the owner or captain of the steamboat at the pier?”

“Aye. The busted-up one belongs to that character.” He cocked his head in the direction of a man who looked exactly like his ship.

“The other? I’m looking to make an arrangement.”

“If you’re seeking passage, the best way is by horseback to Rivas. Vanderbilt’s steamboats run across the big lake from there.”

“This is more of a private matter.” I had an idea what he was about and cursed myself for not separating some of the funds Crocker had given me to pay a finder’s fee. I kept an eye on him and the room behind me in the mirror as I carefully opened the pouch and removed a gold coin. Palming it, I slid it across the bar and dropped it in his waiting hand.

“Aye, there’s the man you’re looking for.”

At first, I wasn’t certain until the bartender made eye contact with him. My gut reaction was that the man was a politician. There were several other brown-skinned men in the bar, but he was by far the better dressed. The steamboat was probably just one of many enterprises.

I started across the room, confident that he would be willing to make a deal. That was until I noticed the white ribbon pinned to his hat. I hadn’t considered the different factions when I entered the bar, expecting the Americans and Europeans who frequented it to be neutral. A quick glance told me I was outnumbered. There were similar men throughout the Americas, caring little for politics and seeking profit wherever they could find it.

I realized I still wore the red ribbon. Retreat was my best option. I turned away before I reached the table. He would surely be aware of Walker’s presence in the country and on guard for any of his men. Stepping quickly toward the door, I found the bartender blocking the exit. Behind me, the man and his counterparts had risen and were moving in my direction.

I scanned the room, looking for any other option than the derringer in my pocket. Walker hadn’t permitted Nate or me to carry weapons. He wasn’t aware of the small pistol I had secreted in my cabin. This wouldn’t be the first time it had seen me out of trouble.

There was a back door. I had no idea where it led and wasn’t willing to take the risk, especially with the men behind me. There was a difference between men fighting for their possessions and those in their employ. The owner wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone, especially an enemy, over his boat.

The best route was through the bartender.

Picking up my pace, I drew the derringer from my pocket. Aiming at the man had little effect. The small pistols were not known for their accuracy. He stood his ground, forcing my decision. With only a single shot, it had to be the right one.

I raised the barrel and fired at the ceiling. The percussion from the small gun echoed through the bar. I barreled through the bartender, not waiting for the result or a response.

20

Rhames sat on the barrel in front of the mast, casting a wary, if hazy, eye over the harbor. The port was quiet with mainly fishing boats, their crews working on cleaning their catch or mending nets. His trained eye found no threats other than the men watching from Walker’s other ships.

He pulled his bandana over his nose to mask the smell from the villagers below. Walker had tossed them back in the hold and locked them in before leaving. If it were up to Rhames, they would be freed, but the captain had been clear in his orders.

Rhames had learned a long time ago that he was a man better suited to enforce another’s decisions. The old pirate suffered from both blood lust and gambling fever—a bad combination in a leader. Though most of his type would have ignored the symptoms, Rhames had been smart enough to be the man behind the man.

He also knew his mind wasn’t as sharp as it had been. If asked, he’d deny that the rum played any part in his decline, but it was there all the same. He was certain about the captain’s orders, but Shayla had seemed to be ignorant of it. The old pirate rose slowly and moved toward the companionway.

Rhames negotiated the steep ladder and reached the passageway, where he ambled down the corridor and knocked on the cabin door.

“Come.”

It was Shayla’s voice. Rhames slowly opened the door, knowing there were women inside, and entered.

“Bastard.” Blue grinned.

“Aye, little one.” Rhames tempered his language in front of Shayla. Lucy was as foul-mouthed as Blue, and he’d never cared for Nate’s woman. He did it out of respect for the captain’s wife.

“Everything alright?” Shayla asked.

“Aye.” He paused. “I’m not at all sure about the captain’s orders. Are we to leave or not?”

“I’m not certain about leaving him and Nate behind, but he was adamant,” Shayla said.

Rhames wasn’t sure what to think. His trust in the captain had kept him alive longer than anyone could have expected. Shayla was speaking freely, but her emotions confused him. To be truthful he would be more comfortable around the likes of Janey. Honest woman made him nervous.

“Well, we’d best figure it out. You know where to find me if you’re needin’ me.”

Shayla nodded. Rhames thought he saw recognition in her expression that he wished to speak to her alone. He nodded to Janey. “Be careful of the little bastard,” he said to no one in particular and left the cabin.

Climbing the stairs was easier than descending, and Rhames reached the deck and returned to his post in front of the armory. He poured himself another bit of rum and sat back, feeling the effort of going below.

The years had not been unkind to the old pirate. There had just been too many of them.

Rhames turned to study Walker’s other boats after assessing there were no threats from another quarter. Ships had routines, most notably the watches signaled by the ringing of a bell. There were subtler hints that would indicate a well-drilled crew, and he saw none of them aboard the other ships. Walker had left skeleton crews aboard, but that was no reason to abandon the watch schedule.

Rhames watched and drank. Most of the men steered clear of his position, not wanting to hear his comments. He was surprised when he heard footsteps approaching. Rhames turned slightly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Shayla coming toward him. Nial was with her. Both had serious looks on their faces.

“We need to decide,” she said, glancing around to see if anyone was listening.

“Aye. What’s your take, carpenter?”

Not sure if it was an insult, a barb, or a compliment, Nial ignored him. “The captain spoke to me at length about the currents and how to reach the port there.”

“No orders, though?” Rhames asked.

“No.”

“If there is a chance, we take it,” Shayla said.

Neither man questioned her authority, and both were relieved that a decision had been made.

“Bastards are lax. I can tell you that.” Rhames motioned with his mug to Walker’s ships. “They’re not keeping a proper watch or making repairs.”

“Do we need to wait for a tide?” Shayla asked Nial.

“There’s a steady flow from the delta, though I’m uncertain of the origin. She’s tidal, though. If there’s no wind, we can pull her out with the skiff when she ebbs.”

Shayla was quiet for a long minute. “I’ve been studying the maps Nick left in the cabin. We’re in a finger. There’ll be wind once we reach the delta proper. From there, San Juan del Sur is a day's sail. The port there is bound to be busier, which should allow us to blend in. We can send a few men overland to Rivas and wait for Nick and Nate.”

“Good a plan as any. I’m in favor,” Rhames said. He would have bought into any plan that didn’t involve sitting and waiting.

A pirate ship could be the one place where a true democracy existed—though it was more of an act. In theory, there was a pirate code where the captain served at the whim of the crew. Rhames had yet to experience that, but the falsehood was maintained nonetheless.

Pirating was more of a way of life rather than an occupation. Rhames had known nothing else. A rebellious nature, ability to drink and gamble, and degree of bloodlust were essential attributes. Men advanced through either their ability to fight or scheme. Rhames was the rare example where both existed.

He returned to his post, set aside the rum, drew a watered-down mug of ale, and began to plan. The captain would have known instinctively what to do. Rhames had to ponder the situation.

The outgoing tide would be strongest near midnight. Rhames would have preferred their escape to be later into the night. Without a watch schedule, Walker’s men would still be about at that hour. Gambling, drinking, and whoring were things better done in the dark of night.

They wouldn’t be vigilant, but a diversion would be necessary. Rhames thought about cutting their lines. That would cause a panic, but the tide would move them along with their ship. Fire or an explosion were the obvious choices, things he was very good at. It was no surprise he decided on both.

The small arms and the powder were under lock and key but not together. With exposure to the sea air, keeping the powder on deck was a recipe for ruin. He wouldn’t be able to break into the locker himself. Rhames was the kind of man, even in his old age, that people tended to keep an eye on. He needed one of the crew. The little bastard would have been perfect. He was a sneaky devil, but Rhames couldn’t risk his being seen. The decision came when he saw Daniel. The youngest member of the crew had a penchant for explosions and had attached himself to Rhames.

“Is Nial about?”

“He’ll be on the midnight watch.”

That worked for Rhames’ plan. He would have liked to inform Shayla of his decision, but he wasn’t going to send the boy, and another trip to the cabin would be noticed.

“Have a look at the powder, would ya. See how well the bastards have secured it.” Rhames’ wink was enough to employ Daniel in his plot.

The youngest member of the crew stood in place, staring at Rhames.

“You mean to blow her?”

Rhames ignored the question. “Now would be as good a time as any. And set the brazier alight.”

“Oh, right.” The boy smiled.

“And don’t miss.”

Rhames nodded and watched Daniel scamper off. He grabbed another crewman and disappeared from sight. Unlike if he had gone himself, no one would notice the boy. The minutes ticked by and Rhames started to worry, but then a wisp of smoke came from below decks.

Fires were rarely lit below, and this brazier was seldom used. Taken from the Panther, which was now solidly a part of the terra firma of the Yerba Buena harbor, it had served them well over the years.

Heated shot was dangerous. Aside from the fire itself, the glowing iron ball needed to be handled carefully. Dropping or exposing it to the powder would cause an explosion, doing as much damage to their own ship as they intended for their enemies. It was a tactic better employed from land batteries. In most naval battles, it was not practical or wise.

This was an exception. Rhames intended to hole and set fire to Walker’s ships in one shot.

Time was relative for a man like Rhames. It often passed in short bursts, then long interludes. He was unsure how long Daniel had been gone when he heard the shot.

Rhames jumped to his feet and called the alarm. His boat voice resonated through the ship as he intended. Less than a dozen heartbeats later, the crew were at their stations.

A dull glow came from the nearest ship. Just as the flames escaped the hold where the ball had landed, another shot fired.

Rhames cursed. The boy had initiative. He had to give him that. His timing was a little off, though. The tide would not be running for another hour. Fortunately, the skiff was in the water.

“What have you done?” Shayla was in Rhames’ face.

“Easy, missus. Boy just got a little anxious, is all. I expect this would be our time, though.”

Nial reached the group, took one look at the burning boats, and called his men to action. Four figures went over the side, and another two were sent to the bow and stern to cut the lines.

Panic ensued around the burning ships. Rhames, with no particular assignment, watched as the crews and then the town folk rushed to extinguish them. With the fresh breeze, the village was in danger. Sparks floated on the wind, landing on the deck of their ship as well. Rhames called one of the men to put them out and made his way to the helm.

Rhames was one of the men who usually were first over the rail in any action. He had rarely been a spectator. Watching his plan unfold, though it was premature, brought a smile to the old pirate’s face.

“What about Walker’s men?” Shayla asked.

They dozen or so men had been awakened from their sleep by the alarm and had no idea what had happened. They manned their stations, probably thinking they were under attack as well.

Rhames put a finger to his lips and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Get the little bastard and his woman. He’ll know what to do.”

Shayla ran for the companionway. A few minutes later, Rhames saw her return with two small figures, their faces illuminated in the flames. Rhames was worried they would be seen, but he felt movement as the skiff began to make headway, towing the ship toward open water.

A strange power can come over a man when he is fighting for his life. The men at the oars must have felt it now as the ship gained momentum. Within a minute, Blue and Lucy were almost invisible. Before they disappeared into the shadow, Rhames saw them separate, each carrying a foot-long tube in their hands.

“Murdering Walker’s men is only going to create problems,” Shayla said.

Both knew the bushmen’s darts would put their victims into a deep sleep. If they were to be killed, it would be by the blade of a knife. “More so if the bastards are alive.”

“They might be useful as hostages.”

Rhames didn’t answer. He preferred his enemies cold.

The ship was a quarter mile away from the burning ships when they heard two thumps as Blue and Lucy’s first victims fell to the deck. A few minutes later, Walker’s men were down. Rhames ordered them to be carried to the hold, bound, and locked up.

“My work is done here.” Rhames smiled and walked away.

21

Iran toward the dock, calling ahead to Nate to fire the boiler. The street was busy enough that I wouldn’t have to worry about being shot in the back. I could hear the men behind me as I pushed my way between the pedestrians and carts. A billow of smoke poured from the smokestack of the boat, a good sign, though I had no idea how long the boiler took to build pressure.

“Cast off the lines!” I called. My boots slid on the old wooden boards as I made the hard turn onto the pier. I risked a glance behind now and saw the men after me. They were struggling with the crowd, but there was no time to waste.

One of the Walker’s men was at the stern, struggling to release the line. Things I had taken for granted with my crew I had to worry about now. I leaned over as I passed the bow and unhitched the line there, then hopped aboard and helped the man with the stern line.

“Nate!” My son’s soot-stained face popped up a few heartbeats later. “We’ve got to go now. Is your friend with us or not?”

“He’s in the wheelhouse.” Nate dropped back into the hold where he had been shoveling coal into the firebox to continue his work.

I stepped into the wheelhouse and found Gerald on the deck working a valve, cursing at the wrench as it slipped. “We’ve got to go. Now!” He didn’t look like the kind of guy you could rush. He rose slowly and gave me a cockeyed look. “So, we’re on our own then?”

His expression told me he had expected as much when I had set out. There was no time to explain the circumstances. I had to rely on whatever Nate had told him. “There’ll be a purse for you if we get out of here.”

“Well, mate. If you’d have said that in the first place.” Gerald set the wrench down and moved to the helm. He cracked several valves and tapped the glass of a pressure gauge. Without a warning, the boat lurched forward.

Our momentum built quickly as the steamship glided from the berth. The gap between the pier and the ship widened as we moved away. A glance back told me we had been just in time. The four men stood at the end of the pier, shaking their fists at us. The man I expected was the owner reached down and drew a gun from a holster strapped to his waist.

Several shots were fired. They were high. Hitting the boiler would destroy his investment. Crocker called out an order. He and several of his men brought up their rifles and fired on the pier. The men there quickly disappeared.

I expected we’d see them again. We weren’t on the open seas. Even though the lake was large and connected to the even bigger Lake Nicaragua, there were few ports. The owner would be able to find us at some point.

I immediately felt better being aboard a ship, regardless of the circumstances. Though the workings of the mechanism was foreign to me, navigation was the same, if not easier, without having to compensate for tide and wind. “Do you know the passage to the larger lake?” I asked Gerald.

He tapped his ear. “Can’t hear you, mate,” he yelled.

I nodded, happy to be moving away from Managua for now. The relief was short-lived as Crocker pulled me out of the wheelhouse.

“What kind of trickery are you up to?”

I raised my hands, palms out to placate him. “We needed a ship, which we’ve secured.”

He pulled a revolver from his holster and pointed the gun at me. “And now we’ll do things my way.”

I hadn’t forgotten about Crocker or his men but had been caught up in finding and then stealing the ship. “We need to put some water between us and them in case they come after us.”

“That old tub isn’t leaving the dock. The fishing boats don’t have a chance against this.”

Even away from the machinery, we had to yell to be heard. That alone raised the temperature between us. “I’ll have a word with Gerald.”

“Careful. I’d not trust a Brit.”

I wasn’t about to trust anyone. Crocker lowered the weapon and pointed it at the deck. At some point I was going to become superfluous to this operation. His distrust for Gerald had been a gift. If the men had gotten on, my time would have passed.

I left Crocker and his men on deck and returned to the wheelhouse.

“Do we have a plan, Captain?” Gerald asked.

He said it with a smile, though I could sense sarcasm behind his voice.

Approaching a new area, my natural inclination was to study the water and how it interacted with the land. When Walker had told me that Nate and I were to accompany him inland, I had studied the land and ignored the water. I recalled the general shape of the lakes but no detail.

“We need a quiet cove to regroup.”

“Place a little bit up the coast.” He paused. “On your side of things.”

I needed to speak with Nate and find out what he knew about Gerald. He seemed affable enough, though, and if he was in league with the owner, he could have prevented us leaving the dock. For now I would trust him. “Good.”

Crocker was waiting for me where I had left him. “He knows of a secluded cove where we can pull in and make a plan.”

He nodded, and I noticed his revolver was back in its holster. We stood at the rail watching Managua grow smaller behind us. The ship turned to port, slightly upsetting our balance. The move didn’t surprise me. Gerald seemed like an all-or-nothing kind of guy. The course change took us north, and in another few minutes, he headed back to the western shore.

A ringing in my ears continued for a long few minutes after the ship stopped. Crocker must have been experiencing the same discomfort because he said nothing. I broke the silence. “I’ll go check on our fuel and see if there is a map.” I needed to show my worth, or this could end badly, and walked away without waiting for an answer.

Nate was on deck, drinking from a mug. His shirt was off. Beads of sweat rolled down his soot-stained, muscular body. “What do you make of Gerald?”

“He’s a hard one to read. A bit mealy mouth, but in a tongue-in-cheek way.”

“Is he with us?”

“I don’t know that he’s with anyone. He has no love for the owner. Says he’s not been paid recently, and it’s a pittance at that.”

I could feel the weight of Crocker’s pouch of coins in my pocket. “I can take care of that.”

“What about them?” Nate asked, glancing over at Crocker and his men.

“He’s already shown his discomfort with leaving Managua.”

“We had no choice if we wanted the ship.”

“Right, but we need to placate him now. He’s not scared to use those guns.”

“What if we give him what he wants? Bring him back to Managua and somehow get him off the ship. There’s nothing in that harbor that can catch us.”

“That might work.” I left Nate and found Crocker studying the map. “There’s no threat from the water here, and the ship’s arms are questionable at best.” I glanced over at the pair of rusty guns. “Best we can do to help the colonel is find a landing spot and guard his flank.” I was sure from the look in his eyes that Crocker would not sit out this fight.

These kinds of men fought for three things: power, wealth, and reputation. They were not principled men who fought for freedom or country. In that regard, they were very much like pirates. If Crocker could not get his men involved in the battle, they would find someone else who would. Walker expected this to be a short-lived affair, and every man wanted his piece of the action—and reward.

“Show this to your man. See what he thinks.” Crocker pointed his finger at a spot just north of town.

I took the map and returned to the wheelhouse.

“I need to know where your loyalties lie.” Gerald had evaded any type of question along this line. He’d already betrayed the owner of the ship by taking Walker’s coin. His duplicity could easily be explained later by saying that we had forced him to take the ship. If that was the case, it would leave us in a vulnerable position when he dropped off Crocker and his men.

“Mate, I hardly know you.”

I could concede that point. Nate had befriended Gerald over the mechanical workings of the ship, nothing more. I had no choice but to lay out our predicament. “We are a separate crew, forced into this war by Crocker’s boss, a man named Walker. At the first opportunity, we plan to meet our shipmates and leave the country.”

“And where might you be headed?”

“New York is our destination. We have business there. After that, I don’t know.” That bit of truth sounded weak.

“We Brits used to be welcome here. Not anymore. I’d be happy to join your lot if you plan to leave.”

The Moskito Coast on the Caribbean side of the country had been a British stronghold. San Juan del Norte on the eastern side of the Transit Route had been called Greytown until recently. I had experience, both in the Cayman Islands and the Bahamas, with the British colonial government and had no love for Brits. The Americans seemed to have promise. The Monroe Doctrine and manifest destiny had soured that somewhat, especially when characters like Walker sought to capitalize on it for personal gain. The new policies were disturbing, though Walker’s failed filibuster attempt in Baja Sur showed that they weren’t guaranteed to succeed. Revolution was in the air in the old Spanish holdings. I had to believe the success, with the exception of the Mexican-American War, would not allow any kind of colonialism to take hold.

“I can make no guarantees.” I did not buy crewmen. Gerald might be helpful in the short term, but I had confidence in Nate. He would be able to handle the ship if needed.

Gerald’s expression changed. I’d not seen the smile that had been etched there as sincere. Every man, whether they know it or not, has a tell, and over the years I had learned to read them. The ability would have paid off handsomely if I had been a gambling man. My preference though was to throw the dice in real life.

That slight creasing of his forehead as he thought about his predicament told me what I wanted to know. This was not the time to dig into his past. I could be wrong, though, and needed a truthful answer from his lips now.

“I’d like to try my luck in New Orleans and ply my trade on the river. At least they speak the bloody language there.”

The last bit was just his way of speaking. For the first time, I saw truth in him. “I can’t guarantee New Orleans, but if you help us, we’ll get you to the Caribbean.”

“That’ll be a start then, won’t it.”

I shook his extended hand, still wary of the man. For now, our paths aligned. “Right, then.” I laid out the map. “Crocker wants to disembark his troops here.” I pointed to the spot the major had chosen.

“Good as any. This rabble is mostly to the south.”

There was no need to go into the tactics Walker intended to take the city. “I expect he’ll leave some men aboard to keep an eye on us. It might be bloody.”

“Blood is my middle name, mate.” The Brit grinned.

Gerald’s mask had slid back over his face. I felt like I had a glance into the real man, though, and for now, I decided to trust him.

22

The fire had created the diversion the crew needed to escape the port. Entering the delta from the ocean had been a navigational nightmare. With a multitude of fingers extending inland and no landmarks, the small fleet had suffered several close calls with sandbars, shoals, and dead ends.

Exiting the waterway was much simpler. Once the ship reached open water, Nial called off the tow. The skiff and exhausted men were soon back aboard.

Rhames already knew his way of thinking wasn’t made for command. As mate, he had the luxury of carrying out the captain’s orders while still being a cynic. Before, he would have commented on his hatred of the new steamboats. In his current circumstance he would have taken one in a heartbeat.

They faced a contrary wind. Instead of running downwind and making a fast exit into the ocean, they were forced to tack back and forth. Fortunately, the waterway widened as they approached the Pacific.

“Sail behind!”

The call from the rigging broke his melancholy. He glanced back but was unable to see anything. Once they had gotten underway, Nial had taken control of the ship. Now that there was a threat, Rhames’ place was beside him, issuing orders as the captain would have done.

Rhames scanned the ship, looking for any advantage they could get. The old pirate was a fighter. He would use the most effective weapon available. There was no code of honor in his class. He had never bought into the whole going out in a blaze of glory bit. There had been ample opportunity along the way if that had been his desire. He knew in his heart that this wasn’t his time.

“Find the little bastard,” he called to a crewman as he made his way to the helm. Rhames studied the crew. The alarm had the men moving to their stations. He breathed in the night air, hoping for the scent of battle that would clear his head.

A few seconds later, he noticed Blue by his side. “Think you can handle the guns?”

The bushman smiled. “We’ll give the bastards what-for.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“How long till we make the inlet?” Rhames asked Nial.

“If the wind would help⁠—"

“They’ve got the same problem we do.” Rhames had been in enough battles to understand the nature of the chase. “Shorter tacks and hope the wind shifts.” The longer tacks would have been more comfortable and less demanding on the crew, but if the wind shifted as he hoped it would when they reached the inlet, they could be caught before they made their escape.

Nial nodded and called the order to come about.

“How far back is she?” he called up to the lookout.

“A mile, holding course.”

“Let’s show the bastards our guns!” Rhames called. Firing at that distance at the narrow profile of a chasing ship was a long shot. That wasn’t why he called the order, though. Walker’s ships had been ablaze. Rhames expected one of the captains had commandeered another vessel. His intent was to discover who was after them. Catching them was unlikely, but the man would chase him until he knew it was a lost cause. If it was a local, having his ship sunk in a vain effort might not appeal to him, and he might hinder the effort. A few shots might expedite things.

Nial called for another tack.

“Where’re my guns?” Rhames called out. He soon realized his mistake. His decision to tighten the course required most of the crew to remain on deck to handle the sails on the frequent tacks. That left only a few men below.

“At least fire the stern chaser,” he muttered under his breath.

A heartbeat later, the ship shook as the cannon fired. Rhames knew the shot would fall short. It would still serve notice to the chasing ship.

As the chase unfolded, Rhames gained a new respect for Van Doren. He’d already made a mistake managing the crew. Between the navigation and the fight, he was starting to lose control.

“She’s closing!” the lookout called down.

Rhames cursed under his breath. He was confident that his decision to tighten the course had been the correct one. The weather gods had denied him, though.

“Can we beat her to the inlet?” he asked Nial.

“It’ll be a close thing. If we knew the water better.”

Rhames moved closer to the rail and glanced down at the water. The bottom was clearly visible. From the look of it, they were in ten to twenty feet of water. The shallow water had created drag, and Rhames cursed himself for not sending a man forward with a lead line. The advantage of a local knowing the deep-water channel had been the difference.

The opposing ship had answered their shot. That he had heard the splash told Rhames they were losing ground.

Rhames sensed Shayla at his side. He’d long ago lost the attitude that women were inferior, at least in the case of Shayla and Lucy. What bothered him was anyone looking over his shoulder.

Rhames had never revealed to the captain or the old crew why he had relinquished the command that would surely have fallen to him that long-ago day on the beach. He knew the reason, though, and it was what he felt now. Many would have criticized his decision. Rhames had learned to live with it. Over the years he had watched the captain make decision after decision that he might not have been capable of himself.

Now, he faced his old demons again.

The hardest thing a leader can do is to show weakness. In Rhames’ mind, asking for help undermined his authority. It was an attribute of a good leader who could do it properly.

Rhames wasn’t that person. He was blunt and confrontational.

His decision was made when another shot was fired from the chasing ship, this one landing closer.

“Nial, you’ve got the ship. Do your best to get us out of here.”

Nial immediately called out several orders. They seemed to pick up speed, but a glance back showed the ship was closing. “Is the bastard running under steam?” Rhames called up.

“I can see the funnel, and yes!”

That knowledge didn’t make their mistake of running in the shallows any better. “Bastards.” Rhames turned to Shayla. “What would the captain do?”

She was quiet for an unnerving minute. Rhames thought she was going to scold him for his poor management of the situation.

“That back-and-forth bit. If you and Blue man the guns, we can do what we did last time.”

Rhames could have kissed her. “Right, then.” He left the helm and headed to the gun deck—where he belonged.

He smelled the gunpowder and nervous sweat of the men who were about to face battle. The worry and consternation that had plagued him since the ships had been fired on in the harbor fell away.

“A gold coin to whoever takes the bastard down,” Rhames called to Blue.

“I haven’t seen my coin from the last one,” the bushman called back.

It was the standard banter between the two men. The crew were aware their talk was in jest and no money was ever exchanged, but it served to relieve some of the tension.

The gun deck was a miserable place to serve. Crowded by cannon and shot that could crush a man if they broke free of their restraints, it was a dangerous place, though more so on the newer steamships. Shots aimed at sailing vessels were generally intended to take out the rigging, the men on deck, or the waterline. The gun deck was rarely targeted. Cannon were notoriously inaccurate, so whatever comfort the men took that they were not in the crosshairs of the enemy guns was false.

The ship didn’t have a dedicated gun deck. The port and starboard guns were separated by the cabins and galley, making the decks even more cramped. Blue was in charge of the stern chaser and port guns, Rhames the starboard and bow chaser. He moved down the line, checking the guns as he made his way to the smaller gun.

Rhames made himself as comfortable as the small space allowed, thinking he should ask for a handicap for their next wager, as Blue was half his size. He settled in and waited. The men assigned to the guns knew their roles. They had been battle-tested but not bloodied in the fight with the steamship. With the single experience under their belts they were confident, but also knew that theirs was a waiting game. The action was mainly on deck—until the order to fire was given. Then, it would be a race to fire and reload. Then, more of the same.

Rhames opened the small hatch, which allowed him to hear what was going on above. The ship had come about several times. From the tension in Nial’s voice Rhames knew the other ship continued to close.

The muffled sound of a cannon firing brought the men to the gun ports. “Any of you bastards see where it hit?” Rhames called.

“Not a thing.”

Preliminary shots were both for warning, as in the “shot across the bow,” and to establish the range and aim of the cannon. On land, a cannon was a fixed object. Calculations were more or less exact, varying only by the weight of the shot and the quality and quantity of powder. With the influence of the wave action on the guns, even the best cannon and crew were merely guessing. Waves were inconsistent. Some officers had a knack for predicting the effect of the motion; others merely guessed. Luck had a greater influence in naval battles than any would admit.

“Port side, fire when ready!” One of the crew relayed the command to the gun deck.

Rhames cursed under his breath that Blue would get the first chance. He recalled how the captain had executed the maneuver that had won the last battle. “Get ready. He’ll come about, and it’ll be our turn. Don’t let that little bastard get all the glory.”

The men snickered and checked their guns. The port and starboard cannon were fixed in position laterally. It was up to the captain to position the ship, in effect aiming the cannon. The distance the ball traveled was in control of the gunners. By turning a screw that adjusted the azimuth of the barrel, the cannon fire could be directed. What was a simple matter on land was made more difficult by the pitching of the boat.

Where the gunners had little control over their weapons, the bow and stern chasers were aimed by the shooter. Knowing his turn was coming, Rhames rose to his feet and moved to the gun. He didn’t bother checking the aim because until Nial came about again, his prey would be blocked by the ship itself.

Rhames waited, wondering what was taking so long. He was just about to poke his head out of the hatch when Nial called the command to come about. Rhames ducked down and grinned. One of the crewmen was there to aid him and reload, but the old pirate had total control of the gun.

Slowly, the stern turned as the ship worked through the eye of the wind. There would be a painful minute where she stalled, with the sails in irons, until she picked up the wind on the new tack. When the ship seemed to stop, Rhames was ready. He counted the heartbeats, waiting for the opposing ship to come into sight.

First it was the bow, then amidship. When the entire ship was visible, Rhames half-cocked the hammer and stepped back. With a tug of a cord, he released the mechanism and the cannon fired. Rhames rose and moved to the gun port.

“Got the bastard!” He called out. A round of cheers broke out from the men. Rhames couldn’t be sure whether he had done any damage to the ship. Many times, like in their fight heading down the coast, a shot would strike but do minimal damage.

Rhames and the crewman reloaded the gun. He checked the gun port, thinking he might have a chance at one more shot. Swinging the gun all the way to starboard, he prepared to fire.

The other ship fired first. Rhames had only a few heartbeats until it was past his position. He pulled back on the hammer and reached for the lanyard. With the angle of the gun, he couldn’t reach the end but grabbed the portion nearer to the barrel. If he wanted the shot, he would have to risk the backlash of the gun.

Rhames’ blood lust had been engaged with the strike. Rational thought was beyond him, as his only goal was to injure or kill his enemy. Without calculating the risk, he pulled the lanyard.

The shot fired, but the recoil of the gun struck the old pirate and threw him against the bulkhead—where the fire lit in the brazier earlier continued to burn.

23

Rhames called for help, not for himself, but to extinguish the fire. The worst thing that can happen to a wooden ship, aside from being holed by cannon shot or a reef, is a conflagration. If one were to start, though, the gun deck would be the best place. With the chance of a backfire or powder catching fire, precautions were in place.

The men abandoned their guns, grabbing buckets of seawater and sand that were placed around the deck for just such an eventuality.

Rhames struggled to his feet but fell back against the burning brazier. His clothes were on fire, and he could smell singed hair and flesh. A bucket of water was tossed over him, and he felt two men pull him away from the flames.

“Tell the captain,” Rhames said. He was surprised by the raggedness of his voice. The old pirate had been in enough battles to know that the pain would come later. He had other things to think about and ignored his smoldering clothes.

“Is the fire out?”

“Just about.”

“Right, you bastards, back to the guns then.”

The men looked at Rhames. “What?”

“Sir, you’re badly injured.”

Rhames didn’t want to look. “Get the little bastard’s woman, then, and get on with it.”

Rhames grimaced as the first jab of pain shot through him. He risked a glance at his legs, where he expected he had taken the most damage. His clothes were in tatters, burned and smoldering. He tried to move his leg again. A shot of pain coursed through him, similar to a bullet wound.

He blacked out.

The next thing he knew, he was soaked in water. “Are we sinking?” The fear of a fire led to the second worst thing to happen to a ship.

“Hold still. You’re acting like a baby.”

Lucy’s voice was comforting. “What’s going on out there?” The blasts from the cannon echoed in the small hold. Rhames could hear return fire, which was closer than he would have liked.

“Where’s the captain?”

“Captain gone with Walker. Now hold still, or I’ll have to fix you with a potion.”

Rhames’ sense of duty forced him to comply. He had been more or less immobile for some years now. The injury would not put him out of the battle. “Someone tell me what’s bloody going on, then.”

“You got them, you old bastard.”

Blue’s voice made it through the throbbing in his head. “What’s that gunfire, then, and why aren’t you at your station?”

“They’ve fallen back. The shots are short.”

“Stop these bastards from wasting ammunition, then.” Rhames paused. “It was my shot?”

“You did it, you old bastard.”

It was then that Rhames understood the severity of his wounds. Blue would never admit to losing a wager unless the injury was serious. “Get the missus if she can come.”

Blue scampered off, leaving Lucy alone with the old pirate. She had the men turn him away from his injuries and was in the process of cutting away the burned pants. Rhames cast his eyes at the deck, wondering if this was finally the end.

Dying from a fire was not the ending he had in mind. An older compatriot had once told him that the best way to face the fear of battle was to create a scenario in his mind where he was killed in a different manner every day. Rhames had thought it foolish at the time, but ever since had become obsessed with planning his own death—or avoiding it. With all the creative ways to die he had imagined over the years, this was not one of them.

The sound of a woman’s footsteps came toward him, and he turned to see Shayla.

“How is he?” She spoke to Lucy.

There was no answer. Rhames didn’t want to look, but he felt he had no choice. He could see the veins and tendons taut in Lucy’s arm as she scrubbed the wound. He thought he caught a shake of her head but wasn’t certain. The bone-chilling part was that he couldn’t feel her ministrations.

“I’ve been through worse. Let’s have it.”

Shayla moved toward his head and turned it away. She cradled his head in her lap and wiped a damp rag on his brow. There were worse ways to go, but Rhames wasn’t ready.

“Take it off if you need. Just be done with it already. And we beat the bastards, yes?”

“It appears that way,” Shayla said. “We should be out of the delta and into open water by sunset. Anything I can do for you?”

“A bit of rum and the gold coin the little bastard owes me.”

“I’ll get the rum, anyway,” Shayla said.

Rhames glanced around. He and Lucy were alone. “Lucy, my love. Give it to me straight.”

“You’re going to live. Walking might be a problem. The fate of your leg will be decided by the gods.”

Rhames knew how superstitious she was because he ran a close second. “You’ll put in a word for old Rhames, won’t you?”

“Come on, you bastard. Don’t start talking like you’re dying. Not yet, anyway.”

Lucy’s cackle reassured him. As his mood lightened, it seemed to open a door, allowing the pain to enter. “I could use that rum about now.”

Instead of answering, Lucy turned to the guns. Rhames hadn’t noticed the crew standing there with their jaws dropped.

“Right, you bastards. Let’s get him out of here.”

Rhames was relieved to be out of the oppressive deck, but the smell of fire continued to haunt him. Finally, as the men set him down on the pallet that Shayla had arranged in the cabin that Walker had occupied, he realized that the stench was coming from him. Thankfully, Shayla poured a draught from a small bottle into a mug and handed it to him.

Rhames took the medicine and, breathing in the smell to mask the burned skin, he placed it to his lips. Before the opium found his tongue, an order was called out, and the ship lurched heavily, causing him to spill the contents.

“Sail!” came the call from above.

Rhames jerked forward but fell back in a pool of sweat. He writhed in pain, instinctively calling out to the men to man the guns.

He was alone. No one heard him.

He could feel the activity above and around him as the men ran to their stations. Rhames fought the bile building in his throat as he finally sat up and dragged himself from the pallet.

He hauled himself across the deck and reached the door of the windowless cabin. Even if he could see what was happening, he wouldn’t be satisfied as a spectator.

It was hard to predict how a man would act the first time he faced the crucible of battle. Often, the boasters shied away and the quiet ones fought. Rhames never sought the underlying reason for their or his own reaction. Men either had it or they didn’t. Rhames would rather die trying than sit out a fight.

Nial was a competent pilot. Rhames had no worries there. The crew had also shown they had the mettle to kill other men. Leadership was the problem. The captain and first mate, which would have been Rhames’ title had they used them, directed the battle.

Rhames heard Shayla’s voice calling orders. He pulled against the buckled floorboards of the cabin in an effort to reach the deck.

It was not to take over for her but to support her. Shayla had proven her competence too many times to be discounted. What worried him was how the crew would react to being ordered to battle by a woman. Rhames reached the door and lunged for the handle. Overwhelmed by pain, he released the latch and pulled in on the door, falling on his face in the passageway. Ahead were the steep set of stairs leading to the deck. On a good day, they were painful to climb.

Rhames pulled himself forward. If he could reach the deck, he might be of some use. With pain coursing through him, he could barely think. But if he could reach the deck, he could lend his authority to Shayla’s orders.

His mind was racing. Blood pulsing in his ears blocked the calls from above. Rhames reached the stairs, took a deep breath, and hauled himself up onto the first tread. He found a rhythm and, using his less-mangled leg and his upper-body strength, pulled himself up the staircase.

Reaching the top, he stopped, exhausted, and looked up at the latch, which seemed impossibly high from his seated position.

Rhames reached up, but his hand fell inches short. He tried to lever his leg and failed again, this time almost falling to the lower deck. Tears streaked down his face. He wasn’t sure whether they were from the pain, the effort, or the helpless feeling that overwhelmed him.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Liam crashed into him. “Bastard,” Rhames muttered.

The carpenter was well-muscled and hauled Rhames to the deck.

“Help me to the helm,” Rhames grumbled.

Liam hauled Rhames up, threw one of the old pirate’s arms over his shoulder, and dragged him to the binnacle.

“Oh God,” Shayla said when she saw him. “Where’s Lucy?”

“I don’t need the healer. Tell me what’s happening.” Rhames suspected that Lucy had taken his place on the gun deck. He almost smiled, thinking of the bushwoman shrieking orders at the men. Though she was mild-mannered, a good cook, and helped them with their ailments, they all had a healthy respect for what they called her magic.

If he could have placed a wager with Blue, he would have bet on Lucy.

Rhames tried to climb up, using the rail for support. He fell back exhausted, unable to see what was happening.

“Ship ahead. Coming in from the ocean.” Shayla described the vessel.

“Walker’s?” Rhames asked.

“Possibly,”

Walker had lost one of the ships after leaving San Francisco. “What do you intend?” he asked.

“I’m hoping to disguise the ship and sail past them.”

Rhames was about to speak, but she continued.

“Just in case, the guns are ready.”

“Ah, good girl. Maybe just light the bastards up for good measure.” Rhames glanced up to see Shayla smile.

“Let’s try the peaceful solution first.”

“Right. That’s what the captain would do.” Rhames meant nothing by it. This was the reason he’d stepped back. Rhames had heard other men talk about battle fever. They spoke of the clarity, how the fight seemed to slow down for them. Rhames suspected that was what happened to the captain during a fight. For himself, once the blood started to pound in his ears and flow on the decks, he only wanted more.

“My money’s on Lucy.”

“Mine too.”

“What’s the situation?” Rhames had given up trying to rise to his feet. It was all he could do to lean against the rail and remain upright.

“We’ll know in a few minutes,” Nial said.

“Any leeway?” Rhames asked. The easiest way to avoid a confrontation was to place some distance between the ships. Rhames had caught a glimpse of their position. They were about to enter the mouth of the delta.

Every passage through an inlet, even the familiar one, is different. By their nature, the water is funneled into a narrow passage. Tide and wind dictate conditions that can be harrowing even in good weather. The delta was no different in that regard.

“Mud banks on either side.”

“Bastards.” Many inlets had coral or rocks guarding their flanks. Mud wouldn’t wreck a ship, but it could entrap them. “Not worth the risk.”

Remaining in one position had eased Rhame’s pain. He envisioned the scene around them, surprised that he could see it as well through his mind’s eye as if he were looking at it.

The ships aligned themselves to pass port-to-port. The interaction would be brief, and there would be no turning back. Both ships would have to make the decision of whether to fire a broadside, which at point-blank range was sure to be devastating, or pass peacefully by.

Rhames bit on his tongue, wondering which it was going to be.

24

Gerald proved to be a competent pilot. Once we had agreed on a plan, his attitude seemed to change as well. His happy-go-lucky bit was gone. There was no joking as we approached the landing where Crocker intended to disembark with his troops. He and Nate called back and forth as they worked the boiler. We entered a wooded cove with rolling hills as the backdrop. A small beach allowed Gerald to nudge the ship onto the gravel just enough to hold us.

He knew a quick getaway was essential.

Crocker and his men hopped over the side and waded through the knee-deep water to shore. I was not aware of his plan for the ship. Doubting he would leave us to our own devices, I wasn’t surprised when he detailed four men to remain.

“We should move off and arrange a signal just in case there are any enemy troops nearby,” I said as he gathered his men.

Crocker looked over at me and nodded. “Keep the boiler stoked and watch the beach.”

“Right. We’ll be waiting.”

Crocker glanced at the men he was leaving behind, who nodded that they understood. He formed the other men into a rough line and was soon lost in the brush. Gerald wasted no time backing off the beach.

Though I still disliked them, the advantages of the steamships over sailing vessels continued to add up. One was the ability to reverse which we needed now.

I started to turn toward open water when one of the men entered the wheelhouse.

“What are you up to? The major said to be ready.”

“Might be a good idea to get out of range. We’re like sitting ducks out here, do you think?”

“Right,” he said.

Gerald’s face twisted into a half smile to not show the man his intentions. He stopped the turn and reversed course. The ship had been built like a barge, suitable for the flat water of the lake. The bow was turned slightly up to handle a chop, but the stern was flat and square. Water piled over the transom and onto the deck as we backed down.

“Seen enough then?”

The man shot him a look and left us. Gerald smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “Take ’em where you can get ’em.”

In that moment I knew he would fit in with our crew. “We need to contrive a situation to set the men off guard so we can take them.”

“Mate, it’s the three of us against the four of them and their guns.”

“No weapons aboard?”

He shook his head. Walker hadn’t allowed Nate or me to carry a weapon. We did have our knives, and I had the spent derringer. I dug around in my pocket and found three bullets. In the unlikely event that every shot was lethal and I was able to reload, there would still be one man left standing.

“Anything we can use on this contraption?”

Gerald leaned over and removed two wrenches from a small compartment. “That’ll be about it.”

He turned the boat and stopped when we were a couple of hundred yards offshore.

We were out of easy rifle range, and I doubted there were any artillery pieces in this remote area. Gerald started to turn the bow toward the beach. I stopped him.

“Let’s see if they say anything.”

Crocker’s men were at the stern, watching the shore. They stood together unconcerned, more worried about what they were missing ashore than any danger behind their backs.

“Ain’t going to get better than this, mate.”

Nate had come up from the boiler room when we had stopped and stood beside us. Had they not been professional soldiers, we could have taken them easily.

“We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” Gerald whispered.

The hard way would be a fight where we were outnumbered and outgunned. “What’s the easy way?”

Gerald winked. He might have been an endearing character if we were in a different situation. “Nate, build us a good head of steam.”

Nate seemed to understand. He dropped below. A moment later, I could hear him shoveling coal into the firebox. Gerald made some adjustments to the valves, and I watched as the pressure gauge rose.

I knew what he was up to now, but it was a strange feeling. It wasn’t often that I could watch someone else’s plan unfold as a spectator.

When the gauge was just below the red line that indicated the maximum pressure, Gerald shoved a lever forward. The boat lurched. Nothing happened quickly under sail—unless something was going wrong. The movement of the steamboat was similar, but not a match, for the initial thrust of a well-crewed skiff when all the oars bit at once. That initial momentum of the steam engine was greater than anything I had experienced, aside from a horse breaking into a gallop. Even knowing the plan, I was thrown off balance.

Grabbing a support bar, I turned to the transom. Only one man remained. Having survived the ruse, he immediately knew we had done it purposely. He spun and, in the same movement, had his rifle aimed at us. The wheelhouse offered some protection, but a shot from point-blank range could easily be deadly.

I took the derringer in hand, aimed, and fired.

The man dropped to the deck. I moved quickly toward him and kicked the rifle out of his reach. The movement had been unnecessary as the shot had hit him between the eyes, which stared vacantly at the sky.

Nate was beside me now, and together, we hauled him to the rail and threw him overboard. The three of us shared a single, silent, celebratory moment. We were far from in the clear and we all knew it. Not only had we stolen the boat from a Legitimizer, we could now count Walker, Crocker, and the Democrats as enemies. Whichever way we turned, we were in unfriendly territory.

“Served the bastards right,” Gerald said.

I did a double take, thinking he was Rhames.

“Where to, then?”

“How are we for fuel?” I asked.

“Looks like enough for a few days if we don’t have to run her wide open,” Nate said.

“We can make Rivas, then,” Gerald said.

“Who controls the city?”

“That’s a little off my regular route. The boss doesn’t take well to the Americans running the Transit Route.”

“And he likes the Brits?”

“We can be very endearing,”

“Right, then. We should make for the passageway between the two lakes. Can we reach it before nightfall?”

“Better done in the daylight. We can anchor close by tonight and cross to the big lake tomorrow.”

I was anxious to reach Rivas. There was no way of knowing whether Shayla and the crew had been able to leave port. One way or another, I would find them. Rivas was a starting point. We could travel across the short road to San Juan del Sur and take a ship north if need be.

Sporadic gunfire continued through the night, keeping us on guard. We were safely anchored, well out of range, but the lights from several fires and the sound of the battle told us how close we were to the action. Tipitapa, the town located at the headwaters of the river bearing its name, was just to the west. Managua was a short seven miles southeast.

I had wanted to engage Gerald in what I could only call a real conversation. That opportunity eluded me, as the minute the anchor was set, he lay down and was asleep. The light snoring continued through the night.

Nate knew little more about the man than I did. Their conversations had been solely about the workings of the ship. Neither of us sensed trouble from the disenfranchised Brit, but it was a good thing to know your traveling companions.

“We need him at least until we reach Lake Nicaragua. From the chart, it appears that the river is difficult to navigate,” I said. “Can you run the ship if something were to happen?”

“The fire-tube boiler is a larger version of the one on my ship.”

I nodded, sorry for asking the question, and wondered if he had any regrets about leaving his ship and business behind. It was not a question I cared to ask because I feared the answer would have something to do with Janey.

We sat on the deck. The battle seemed to have ended, with only sporadic shots being fired. Surrounded by the protection of the lake, peace enveloped us. The stars were bright above us, and a crescent moon had just risen. Intermittent snores from Gerald and the light lapping of water against the hull were the only sounds.

“Should we split the watch?” Nate asked.

I felt confident in our position. “Go ahead. I’ll be awake for a while.” Now that we were relatively safe and had the ship, accomplishing the first part of my plan, my mind shifted to the Lion and Shayla.

Nate lay down and was quickly asleep. I envied him the ability, as I had never been able to. I wondered if it was the security of growing up with a family—even if they were old pirates. The last time I had seen my parents was still etched in my mind. I was naive enough to think, at least at the time, that they would be safe. That falsehood died quickly. I had mourned them and still did. The excitement of being a teenager aboard a pirate ship soon placed the memory in the background.

I had not wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps as generations of boys had done. Times were different now. In my lifetime advancements in communication, ships, and arms had changed everything. That included the notion that a son would follow in his father’s footsteps.

Nate was free to do what he wanted. I just hoped that the decision to give up the riverboat had not been based solely on Janey. Somehow, I would have to tell him what we suspected about the girl. That would wait, though. Our future was uncertain, and it was not worth upsetting him.

The night wore on, marked only by the movement of the moon and stars. Finally, my eyes started to close. It was almost dawn when I woke Nate.

“I’ll grab an hour of shut-eye before we leave.”

Nate rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced around the ship. Gerald seemed to be awake, and the water was quiet.

“I’ll get the boiler stoked so we can leave as soon as it’s light.”

“Good.” I lay down with my back against the wheelhouse and shut my eyes. Sleep eluded me as the sounds of Gerald working on something that had him cursing every few heartbeats and Nate shoveling coal into the boiler brought me to my feet.

At sea, I knew every sound: the sails luffing, the rigging creaking and whistling as the wind moved through it, and the waves slapping against the hull. They were comforting sounds. The steamship was a cacophony of unnatural sounds. As the boiler heated, the metal creaked and squealed, setting me on edge.

The sea had a rhythm. I would know instinctively if anything was amiss with any of our ships. The steamship had one as well, but it was foreign to me. Soon, the sky lightened. The sun, rising over the expanse of water to our east, quickly lit the scene around us.

“Morning. All good?”

“Pressure’s not building like I’d like it.”

In the morning light, Managua was visible on the horizon. The city was too far away to tell what had happened in the battle, but its nearness was unsettling. “Enough to get us through the river?”

“Could go either way.”

“Can you repair it?” I saw Gerald tense.

“Won’t know the answer to that until we get into it, will I.”

I allowed his brusque manner to pass over me. The workings of the boiler were a mystery to me. We needed Gerald, though I suspected the feeling was mutual.

I stepped back to give him some space. Just as I was about to exit the wheelhouse, I heard him curse. I turned to see what the problem was when an explosion rocked the ship.

25

Battles are won and lost not only by overwhelming force or better armaments, though both are a boon to general. Strategy, tactics, moral, and training can equalize many shortcomings in manpower or equipment.

Another factor, and possibly the least recognized, is the ability of the commander to make timely decisions. Many critical battles have been lost because of inaction.

That wasn’t a problem for Rhames. He was the definition of impulsive. The old pirate now sat against the railing. He had his back to Shayla, Nial, and Blue, but they were able to converse. Lucy hovered over his wounded legs, applying a poultice she had made.

“Not worth the risk, if you ask me,” Rhames said. “Never hurts to draw first blood.”

Nial called out the distance as the ships closed on each other. Blue, who despite his age had the best eyesight among the group, described any features he could make out.

A half mile of water separated the ships. Coming toward each other, their profiles were narrow, showing little detail. If there were to be a battle, it would be in the form of a broadside and happen when they passed. The distance was deceiving as both ships were sailing at close to six knots, the wind pushing one, the tide the other. The combination stacked the seas, making it difficult to stand. They had only minutes to decide what to do.

The Lion plowed into the head sea, causing everyone to brace themselves. The effect of the wind against the current was most noticeable in the inlet, where the land funnels the competing factors against each other. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

The approaching ship had an easier go of it. Running downwind, they surfed through the inlet. With the increase in speed and both ships fighting the elements, there was no chance for a shot.

“I know that captain and that ship,” Nial said as they passed. “We did some work on her in the yard. She’s one of Van Dyke’s.”

Rhames looked up, realizing he had been praying. He probably wasn’t the only one.

Many sailors were superstitious and with good reason. Much of what they dealt with was out of their control. Warriors knew that luck was present in every battle. Every seasoned fighter has experienced at least one incident where a finger’s width separated life and death. There was no reason other than providence.

From the beginning of time, warriors and sailors had prayed to whatever god or gods they thought would listen. They built altars, sacrificed any manner of things, and made promises they couldn’t keep.

Rhames was no different. As a sailor, warrior, and gambler, he understood much of what he faced was out of his control. Like many of his class, he was liberal with his promises to any deity that would listen.

The gods were the gods. Whether the one God—though to several peoples, he had different faces—or to the old gods of the Greeks, Romans, and Britons. Rhames respected them all.

Gasparilla had been a naval officer before turning his ire on his own country. He and Jean Lafitte, who was more businessman than buccaneer, were the last of a breed, surviving because they weren’t your typical pirate. Each had a plan other than to simply plunder and pillage. That required discipline, part of which was to quash the more outlandish of the religious practices. With their crews’ lives on the line on a regular basis, that was easier said than done.

Pirate crews were not the homogeneous navies of the European powers. They came from everywhere and, because of that, brought their own beliefs.

The painful pounding coming from the appendage, which was now wrapped and bound, told Rhames his leg was still there and very much alive. Rhames couldn’t help wondering if the injury had been an accident or the whim of the gods. He’d settled on the latter. Placing the blame for one’s fate on something or someone was better than having it be random chance.

“Walker said there was another ship,” Rhames spat out through the pain.

Pain shot through Rhames’ leg. He was of a mind to turn the ship and go after it. Eliminating his enemies was as natural as drinking and gambling. That was his own self-preservation talking. Years ago, that would have been the deciding factor.

Rhames had never heard the captain speak about his legacy, though he suspected it was often on his mind. Gasparilla had shown him that it was more than a word. Legacy was a driving factor in how a man made his life and was remembered for it. As a younger pirate, Rhames had cared for none of it. He, like all his kind, lived for the present, the future being whatever the coin in his pocket could buy.

Somewhere along the line, he had become part of a family. Though his brazen exterior rarely showed it, he had to accept that he was an old man. Any other crew would have cast him off long ago.

Feeling closer to death than he ever had, Rhames wasn’t sure if legacy was the correct term for his actions. With the Grim Reaper staring him in the face, all he had left was how men spoke of him when he was gone. He reflected back on the old crew and some of the men who had taught him weapons, debauchery, and dice. There were no fond remembrances. They had been cold, hard men, their compatriots more likely to spit on their graves than shed a tear.

Many pirates believed that the only way to die was with a cutlass in hand. Rhames suspected that was only partly true, though he did hope there was a pirate Valhalla where he could drink, fight, gamble, and whore until the end of times. There were requirements for admission. Vikings were required to die with a weapon in hand. Rhames was sure the rules were similar for pirates in his version of the afterlife, but dying from injury such as his was not one of them.

Fighting through the pain, he tried to balance the preservation of his soul with the unfamiliar desire to help his mates. The pain became too much. Before making a decision, Rhames passed out.

He awoke in Walker’s old cabin. Drenched in sweat, he tried to smile at Lucy as she wiped his face.

“I can’t die like this.”

Rhames saw a shadow pass across Lucy’s face.

“Was Van Dyke’s witch aboard? Surely, she would want me to suffer first.”

Lucy shrugged.

“What about the leg?”

“We must watch for the rot. Tomorrow it may set in.”

That left Rhames with a day to be spent in purgatory. “Can she heal it? The witch?”

“Why would she?”

The answer was not what Rhames had wanted to hear. He tried to set his mind to the more immediate problems. “Can I go back on deck?”

“You’ll do what you do, never mind what I say.” Lucy handed him a cane that had been roughly carved from a piece of an old spar.

Rhames studied the stick. From the runes and symbols etched on the surface, it appeared that Lucy had carved it. Rhames took it. “Thank you for this.”

“Wouldn’t be the same without the old bastard around.” Lucy cackled.

This might have been the first conversation he’d ever had with a woman that didn’t involve drinking, sex, fighting, or gambling. It made the old pirate uneasy.

Rhames started to rise. He braced himself and, taking the cane in hand, he hauled himself to his feet. Having spent more of his life at sea than on land, Rhames instinctively adjusted to the movement of the ship. Lucy was there if he needed help. Rhames gritted his teeth and took the first tentative step.

In his mind, his entire life revolved around the next few steps. It wasn’t exactly life or death, but the old pirate had no desire to spend his remaining years as an invalid. Move or die were the only options.

He reached the door and stopped, breathing heavily from the exertion. Lucy’s hand moved to the latch. He swatted it away. Rhames left the cabin for the last time, if it was up to him. Using the walls for support, he moved down the narrow companionway. The steep stairs were his next challenge.

One step at a time, with a rest at each, he climbed to the deck and took a deep breath of fresh air. The small victory resonated through him, and the pain seemed to lessen. Nodding at the men, who couldn’t help but stare, he reached the helm.

“Where are we?” He asked Nial.

Nial looked ragged. With the captain and Nate gone, he had been unable to rest.

“A few more hours and we should reach port.” He glanced up at the sky. “Weather looks like it’ll hold.”

“Right.” Rhames was determined not to show any weakness. “Get some rest. I’ll take her for a bit.”

Nial glanced at Rhames, who returned what could only be described as a skeptical look with his patented glare.

“Go ahead. We’ll need you rested to enter the harbor,” Shayla said.

Nial nodded, knowing he was outvoted. He left the binnacle and stepped down to the main deck.

“Good man,” Rhames said. He moved to the wheel. Grasping the cane with one hand to steady himself, he brought his free hand to the spokes.

A ship’s wheel is a living thing. A system of pulleys and ropes created a mechanical advantage that allowed man to overcome the forces of the sea, granting a form of power. Rhames felt the tug on the spokes as the rudder attempted to pull the wheel from his hand. He faltered and barely caught himself.

Without a word, Blue was beside him. The bushman could barely reach the upper spokes but kept a firm grip on the lower. With their three hands, the ship came under control.

“Sail aft!” The call came from the lookout.

Rhames and Blue, unused to or unaware that the helmsman’s job was to disregard everything except the course, both looked back. They momentarily lost control of the wheel. The spokes flew past their hands, and the ship lurched. Rhames, with only one hand on the wheel, was thrown to the deck. Blue, without any leverage, landed beside him.

Within seconds, Shayla took control and grabbed the wheel. Rhames saw the tendons and muscles in her arms as she wrestled the ship back on course.

“I’ve got her. See what this is about.”

Rhames found his cane and struggled to his feet. Nial appeared a moment later and took over from Shayla.

“Same ship as before,” Blue said.

Rhames trusted the bushman’s eyesight better than his own. “Revenge.” He said it with relish. The gods might or might not have had anything to do with his injury, but eliminating the ship would certainly appease them.

The ship, turning and pursuing them, had solved the problem of what to do about her. “Are they in range?” Rhames was not going to wait this time. If the ship intended to pursue, they were enemies and would be dealt with as such. “

Just about,” Blue said. “Same arrangement as last time?”

Shayla nodded as the two men went to their stations. Rhames hobbled to the transom and met two crewmen at the stern chaser. The gun was quickly loaded and charged as he eyed the position of his quarry.

The ship was just entering the outer range of the guns. Rhames was ready to call the order to fire when Shayla stopped him.

“Better if they don’t know we’ve made them,” she said.

“Aye, I never was one for sneaky business,” he said, but the desire to draw first blood was overwhelming.

“Fire!” He called out.

The smoke cleared a few heartbeats later, and he peered at the water. The ship had gained on them. It appeared that the shot had missed. As Rhames waited for the gun to be reloaded, he continued to watch the ship.

A few heartbeats later, she returned fire.

26

At first I had no idea whether the explosion was caused by a malfunction of the boiler or a shot. Nate emerged from the boiler room, dripping wet. “What happened?” Again, I felt awkward. I knew every inch of our ships and normally wouldn’t have had to ask the question.

“Pipe burst. Nothing serious. It’ll cost us some time, though.”

My initial relief faded when I saw how close we were to shore. Managua was a few miles behind. We were well out of range and would see a boat approach. Our proximity to the mouth of the river became my main concern as I realized we were being pulled toward it.

The maps Walker had shown me were suitable for a land-based military campaign, with very little detail of the two lakes. What I did know was that the terrain had changed from the mountains to foothills to flatlands as we had moved south. I suspected the smaller lake was at a higher altitude than Lake Nicaragua. The river appeared to be the only exit and would funnel the water to the larger lake.

“Where’s Gerald?” It wasn’t beyond reason to think he had sabotaged the ship and swam to shore.

“Right bloody here, mate. Someone has to look after this clunker.”

“We need to anchor. We’re drifting into the river.”

“You’re the bloody captain,” Gerald said and dropped below. Nate followed with a concerned look on his face. I wasn’t sure if it was for the man’s attitude or something else. As long as the ship was repaired and underway shortly, I didn’t care. An outlandish personality was nothing new to me.

I was just about to call out the order to drop anchor when I realized it was just me. Anchoring in the lake was a simple matter, especially as we had no control over the ship. With a splash the anchor was over the side. The ship slowly swung with its bow to the current. The hook stuck and we stopped.

With no crew and Nate and Gerald below, I was the watch as well. I climbed onto the wheelhouse to get a view all around us. As the sun had risen, the shore became obscured by a mist. Unlike the cooler sea fog we had dealt with in San Francisco, the feeling was like being in a cloud of hot, wet air.

The lack of visibility might have caused some anxiety for other men. I was relieved. As we couldn’t see where we were going, neither could anyone in pursuit. The cloak was reassuring.

The problem was the constant banging and cursing from below. The chorus of British and American swear words rang out to the rhythm of tools on metal as Nate and Gerald joined in.

A silent ship encased in fog was almost impossible to locate. Anyone after us would have to actually strike the ship to find us. The sound of the repair and the men making it would carry across the water like a beacon. We were still within reach of the owner as well as the Legitimizers and Walker’s men. The steamship would be a prize to any of them.

There was little point in investigating. Gerald understood the consequences of getting caught. He would make the repair as quickly as possible. I was fairly certain that quiet was not a word he recognized.

My thoughts turned to defense as the clanging echoed across the water. The ship had two antiquated guns but no powder or shot. We were armed only with the rifles we had taken from Walker’s men.

For all the noise he had made, Gerald surprised me when he appeared on deck. “Should hold until we reach port.”

“How long until we build steam?” I asked.

“Half an hour. Nate’s a worker, that one is.”

I nodded, climbed down from my position, and made a round of the deck. The smell of smoke coming from the stack was a welcome relief. The minutes slowly ticked by, and it was every bit of the half-hour Gerald had said it would take for the boiler to build enough pressure to get underway. During that time there had been several outbursts of his British flavor of profanity along with the sound of metal being worked. After a longer-than-usual rant about this and that, along with the taking of Queen Victoria’s name both in vain and glory, I decided to have a look.

“Trouble?”

“Ah, she’s a temperamental bitch.”

I could see from his expression that he had won. “How long? The fog is burning off.” The fog bank had allowed us to make repairs without being seen. The sound of the repair and now the boiler would carry a ways over water. They would give anyone in pursuit only a general area of where we were. Once the fog lifted we would be on display for any interested party.

I went forward and raised the anchor.

The ship lurched forward as he released the pent-up steam into the drive mechanism. Our speed built slowly, and we were finally underway. Even with just the three of us, the relief was palpable.

The mouth of the river was only a vague indentation in the shoreline, much like the delta we had sailed into. As we moved into it, the fog lifted around us, revealing reeds and swampland. The terrain was unlikely to support any kind of force or ambush. That left us only what lay in front and behind to worry about.

The river meandered, the flow negligible with the steam power. The ships had a utility for waterways like this. Without the mechanical aid, we would have been forced to row. A problem soon became evident, which negated some of the advantage.

We were loud.

Very loud.

The sounds of the ship seemed to echo off the banks to the point that a drunken man could have heard us coming from a mile away. In the confines of the river, there was only forward or backward. Managua and our enemies lay behind. There would be no retreat. What lay ahead was anyone’s guess.

Sailing, or steaming as it were, into the unknown was a recipe for disaster. The earliest sailors had made sketches of the coastlines showing hazards to navigation and landmarks. The landmasses were often distorted, but the detail of the coast was often accurate. The opposite was true of army cartographers. Rarely were charts and maps combined.

As man reached further into the unknown, maps or charts became national secrets. Knowing where you were became paramount to knowing what lay ahead. Along the coastal routes, landmarks provided the key to determining position. Once man took to the open seas, there was nothing but the sun, moon, and stars to guide him. Until the invention of the chronometer, determining position was as much of an art as science. Latitude could be determined from sightings of the sun and stars. Longitude required an exact timepiece.

It had been only three-quarters of a century since John Harrison had refined and produced an accurate and transportable chronometer. They were still hard to come by and expensive. I had a piece aboard the Lion, but it would be no use to me here.

Navigating the river seemed straightforward. So far we had seen nothing that could have concealed an armed force. That might not be true of what lay ahead. I stepped into the wheelhouse.

“Do you have a map?”

“A bit hard to get lost here.”

“Any areas ahead that could conceal a force?”

“Ah, worried about trouble, are you. Probably a good thing someone is.”

I was getting used to Gerald’s evasive way of speaking. When it came to our security, I wanted details.

“If nothing else, this ship is a target.”

“That might be an understatement.”

His confirmation was what I had been afraid of. With no map, I needed to observe the terrain myself and moved onto the deck. At the bow, I studied the water and land around us. The swampland had changed to terra firma, though it was vacant land, probably not suited for farmland or grazing because of the threat of flood.

Ahead, I could see the waterway open up. The river had done this at several points, especially around wide bends where the current had carved out a larger swath for the water to flow. This seemed different. We had been steaming along at what I guessed was eight knots. The current had contributed to that. As we approached the wider area, the ship slowed.

At sea, a board with a line attached knotted at specific intervals was used to gauge speed. With the terrain as a backdrop, I could judge our progress by how fast we moved against the landscape.

“What’s ahead?” I asked Gerald.

“Small lake. Nothing to worry about.”

I trusted his opinion to a point and did another circuit of the ship, checking our surroundings from all quarters. Keeping watch by myself was not sustainable. The heightened state of readiness would take its toll. I had to think Nate and Gerald were in the same position. Of the two, Nate had the harder job. I called to him to come up and take a break, intending to spell him myself.

Nate appeared on deck a few minutes later, grabbed a bucket, dragged it in the water, and sluiced himself. It took several attempts to remove the grime.

“Grab something to eat and drink. I’ll handle the firebox.”

My back would pay the price, but aside from giving Nate a break, I wanted his eyes on deck. I hadn’t put the first shovel of coal into the firebox when I heard him call down.

“Two peaks ahead. Just visible over the land. There appears to be a small estuary and then the larger lake.”

That reckoned with what I recalled of Walker’s map. A few minutes later, after filling the box with coal, I climbed up to the deck. The mouth of the estuary appeared and, as Gerald predicted, held no threat. We passed through it and entered the lower river. I had estimated the river at twenty miles as the crow flew. At our current speed, that would mean a two-and-a-half-hour transit.

After an hour below, I was feeling every one of my years. I’d had enough and climbed to the deck to take a break. Nate thankfully saw my anguish and relieved me. I moved forward and stood at the bow, shielding my eyes from the sun and studying the water ahead. We came around another bend, but instead of the river turning back on itself as it had done so many times before, it opened onto the lake.

I’d seen the peaks of the two islands to the south, one belching smoke, the other dormant. With only water in front of us, the volcanoes were revealed in their entirety. They were certainly a sight, but it was not the peaks that held my attention. The landmass blocked everything behind it, including the town of Rivas, which was our destination.

They were the perfect ambush point. To steam around them would take hours. To head toward them could prove deadly.

27

Achase at sea between similar craft could mean hours or days before the ships engaged. Rhames was worried that he didn’t have that kind of time.

“They’re making a knot or two more, from the looks of her.”

Rhames had watched these kinds of battles for years. Even with similar craft, it always seemed the predator gained on the prey. He’d estimated the ship was eight miles back, which was about the distance the lookout could have seen her topsails. The math was simple. If they both maintained course and speed, the ship would be on them in about four hours.

That was a long time to deal with his pain. Whether there was some magic at work or not, that was too long when the remedy was on the horizon. Rhames moved back to the binnacle, where Shayla and Nial hovered over a chart. “Four hours from the looks of her.”

“That’s what we’re thinking. We don’t have a chance of making San Juan del Sol,” Shayla said.

“If we have to face them, it’d be better to get it over with.”

That went against naval tactics. Time often worked in favor of those being chased. In the four hours it would take to catch them, a storm could blow in, the wind could shift, the other boat could suffer some malady, or another ship could intervene, along with a number of other things.

The smart money was to put on as much sail as she could bear and run. Rhames wanted none of that. The Lion was not immune to the same circumstances—the leading one in his eyes was that he could be dead by then.

Rhames needed to convince Shayla to turn and fight. Many would have thought it a woman’s way to run. Rhames was not that naive. Both Shayla and Lucy were warriors. They had never turned from a fight in their lives.

“We can surprise them now. Let them get into range. They’ll fire as soon as they’re able.” They all knew the first shots were often wasted. “We feign like we’ve been hit and ambush the bastards.”

The women looked at each other. Rhames turned to Blue for help. The bushman was smiling, but the old pirate knew he would have little say in the matter. It was no slight to Blue that Lucy handled their affairs.

“If we can’t reach San Juan ahead of them, I tend to agree,” Shayla said.

Lucy nodded her head.

Rhames took a minute. Not that his voice was ever ignored, but it was listened to more in the heat of battle than in its planning. He had won them over. Now, he needed to formulate a plan.

“Move the bow chaser back and double our firepower,” Blue said.

Rhames glanced at the bushman and winked. “One gun with bar and chain, the other round shot. We can stop ’em in their tracks.”

“It’s a narrow target, and if it doesn’t work, we will lose the advantage and the bow chaser,” Shayla said.

Rhames had to bite his tongue. He knew she wasn’t criticizing his plan but merely playing devil’s advocate. This was where he needed the captain’s cunning mind. Internal battles were better fought by others. Rhames was one who always figured out what to say after the discussion was over. He breathed in, not having to feign the pain he was feeling.

“The bow chaser is of limited value with a faster adversary. We need to cut the bastards down.” He added the last bit to make sure they knew he was still sane. Besides the heavier guns mounted port and starboard used in broadsides, the bow chaser was more of an offensive weapon than the stern gun was useful in situations like this one.

“The idea is to stop them. We’ve no idea of their strength.” The words sounded like they came from someone else. Rhames watched their faces, wondering why he had acquired the ability to lead as he was about to die.

He called up to the rigging, his voice weaker than he’d wanted. “Lookout! What is the range?”

“She’s closing fast.”

The decision wasn’t made by Rhames’ rhetoric but by the speed of the approaching ship. The steamship's main disadvantage was its limited fuel supply. San Juan del Sur was a major port and would have coal bunkers. With no chance to outrun her now, subterfuge was the best tactic.

The naval tactics of the day had come down from the European powers. They fought as gentlemen would and even had codes for behavior between themselves. With their uniforms and their parading around, rules for surrender, and nice talk, they frowned on what they called the devil’s tactics. That had been to their detriment and allowed the Ottomans to create an empire that controlled much of the Mediterranean.

Rhames would have none of that.

“Let the bastards think they’ve taken us out. Free the sheets and let the seas take us. If they think we are hurt, they’ll not be as cautious as they should.”

Rhames had been party to many such meetings aboard the Panther and, before that, the Cayman. He respected the captain for his open forums, though it was clear to all that he had the final word. Rhames rarely spoke in those meetings, but he knew how they went. He’d won his point. It was time to sit back and let the others figure out how to execute his plan.

The ideas bounced back and forth between them well past the time the captain would have made a decision. Rhames had finally heard enough.

“Smoke seems the best to me. We let them think we’re on fire.” The irony wasn’t lost on him.

The other ideas had ranged from actually demasting the ship to shredding sail. His pyrotechnic tendencies aside, the fire made the best sense. Properly controlled, it would appear to the approaching ship that their shot had struck the powder supply.

A well-timed blast from one of the cannons might suffice for an explosion, and there was plenty of tarred rope aboard that would create smoke.

“We’ll need one of your casks,” Shayla said.

There were few things Rhames would sacrifice a portion of his rum stash for. If this was to be his last battle, he was willing. “I’ll ready one.”

Shayla knew what he was up to. She gave him her best smile and sent one of the crewmen for the cask.

“At least the one that’s opened,” Rhames pleaded.

Shayla nodded to the man. She turned to Blue and Lucy. “Can you gather the tarred rope and take care of the fire?”

Their smiles said enough. Blue was every bit as enamored by a good blaze as Rhames.

“What can I do?” Rhames asked, feeling helpless.

“That gun’s not going to move itself,” Shayla said.

It was Rhames’ turn to smile. He turned to a crewman and gave the order. Rhames sat back exhausted, the mental effort as taxing as the physical pain. He stopped the crewman from moving the barrel and, as much as ordered a mug full of rum before the alcohol was burned.

“A mile now!” The lookout had been giving an update on the position of the ship every few minutes.

“That’ll put her at the edge of her range. We’ll see what her intentions are shortly,” Rhames said, taking a deep pull on the mug. He glanced around. Everything was ready. The bow gun had been mounted beside the one already on the stern. Extra powder and shot had been brought aft as well. Blue and Lucy hovered over the cask filled with the tarred rope. The deck around them had been cleared, sanded, and wetted.

That the other ship would shoot was a forgone conclusion. The question was when. Depending on the size of their guns, it would be within the mile they now stood off, down to a half mile. Any closer and they risked the stern chaser of their prey.

Rhames watched the ship behind them for any sign of the captain’s prowess or their power. With a battle imminent, this was his specialty. The ship was hull up, clearly visible on the horizon. If it were him in command of the other ship, he might have veered off enough to allow one of the larger port or starboard guns to take a shot.

The opposing captain seemed content to close the gap and allow his bow chaser the shot. That was not what Rhames had anticipated, and he let out a low growl, seeing his plan foiled before it had begun.

Rhames made his way beside Nial, who handled the wheel. Shayla was on his other side. “Thought the bastard would bear off and let loose one of her bigger guns.”

“She’s almost in range of our chasers. We’ll have her two shots to one,” Shayla said.

Rhames shook his head. “The chasers won’t stop her by themselves.”

“Well, if he won’t shoot, what’s stopping us?”

“I’ll get the little bastard and take care of that.”

The tactic wasn’t new. Between Rhames’ pain and bloodlust, he risked misjudging his adversary. He’d been in more battles than the rest combined. They deferred to him, which could be their undoing.

Trading cannon fire was always a calculated risk. Unless the ships were grossly mismatched, if one was in range, the other would be as well. It was all about placing the ship in position to use her largest guns.

“We’ll let fly the chasers and then turn to port and hit them with our starboard guns.”

No one questioned his orders. The ship pitched and rolled as Nial adjusted course. Rhames was thrown from his feet and landed hard on the deck. The crew, which had been supplemented by the villagers, was out of sync. The lack of training showed, and what might have looked like a sense of urgency was simply chaos.

Rhames had been reduced to a spectator. He could only watch as Blue worked the guns, training them into position. The bushman sensed the moment. The deck rocked as both guns fired simultaneously.

With the other ship bearing directly toward them, the bar and chain had little effect. The ball struck the ship but well above the water line. In no way was either shot the death blow that Rhames had hoped for.

Adjusting tactics in the middle of a battle is usually beyond those fighting them. Blue had the men reload. Rhames knew that was the wrong move. Their only chance was to maneuver into position and unleash a broadside. He tried to call out the order but found his voice lost to the roar of the cannon on the other ship.

Rhames grimaced. For a straight-up battle, he had waited too long. Now, he would have to rely on subterfuge. Just as another broadside rang out from the other ship, he found his voice in time to call out to Nial to cut hard to port.

Where most might have waited until all their cannon were in range, Rhames ordered the forward cannon, along with the bow chaser, to fire. He knew the shots would have little effect, but he also knew men. The moment the other ship’s crew saw the flashes and heard the thunder they would freeze, at least for a moment. That gave him another chance.

But first, they would have to deal with the last salvo, which had just been fired. He watched along with the crew as two shots struck.

Rhames had expected the larger shot to do the most damage and shatter the transom windows. That strike wasn’t insignificant, but it was the smaller ball that overturned the cask in the middle of the deck that placed them in peril.

28

Bodies of water abound with natural enemies to ships large and small. None are immune, and it matters not if it is an ocean, a lake, or a river. Oftentimes, it is just a matter of scale. A small fishing boat might be overwhelmed by a four-foot wave, while a square-rigged clipper might not notice it. Beneath even a placid surface lie dangers like reefs, rocks, and shoals. The ocean’s vastness had caused more than one navigator to falter and make a fatal error. A simple river can become a torrent of water grinding a ship into the rocks at a moment’s notice.

Another danger might be the antithesis—land. A lee shore where a ship is being driven by wind, waves, or current toward land is one case. Submerged hazards are another. However, the greatest threat was man.

Where man had little control over the waterways, he had conquered the land. Impregnable fortifications protected the critical ports. Entering Havana Harbor, for example, required running the gauntlet between two batteries. The same was said for other ports, though I had no firsthand experience.

Ambush sites had abounded along the river, and it was a relief when we cleared the delta and entered the larger lake. Lake Nicaragua was vast, except for the two islands that lay in our path. They weren’t threatening in themselves. Some might worry that the volcano, which continued to belch smoke, could erupt at any time. I tried not to worry about things like that—nature would always win. As with hurricanes and waterspouts, it was a wise man who accepted that there were forces greater than himself at play. We had passed what was known as the Volcanic Arc but at a distance. Though they were now forty miles away, we all knew we had to pass within a few miles of them to reach Rivas.

My concern was not for a sudden eruption. The possibility did scare me, but the five-mile-wide channel between the island and the town worried me. The easier course would have been to head east toward San Carlos, at the eastern end of the route. We all knew we were essentially backtracking if our goal was to reach the Atlantic.

Our family and crew lay to the west, and despite a meek protest from Gerald, that was the direction we steamed.

Gerald remained a conundrum. Along our travels we had run into many such people. Disenfranchised, for whatever reason, they were adrift in a world they had no long-term interest in. These tended to be dangerous men, and despite Gerald’s likable façade, I needed to find out which direction his compass pointed.

The water provided both a barrier and protection. Any threat, at least until we reached the pair of islands would be easily detected—and allow ample time to react. The navigation appeared straightforward as well. There might not be a better time to probe the Brit.

I had made several assumptions. The first was that he was probably an outcast of the British Navy. He lacked the annoying, consummate politeness, all the “if you please” and “thank yous” for the most innocuous of tasks, as well as the use of titles and surnames. Those niceties extended mainly to the officers and midshipmen. The crew was treated as second-class citizens—or worse. There was a purpose in the enforcement of such etiquette in a dangerous situation. The British did not panic. They did not always make the right decisions, but they carried on with blind determination. Often, that was enough.

Their Navy was also a harsh overlord. Discipline was enforced at the tip of the cat o’ nine tails for even the smallest violations. Insubordination often resulted in keel hauling or hanging. Many of their ranks were impressed, forced onto the ship like slaves by press gangs working the waterfronts of any port they stopped in. Desertion was a problem and often excusable, in my view.

If I had to guess, Gerald had deserted. He had some skill, which meant he wasn’t the lowest of the low, but he was no midshipman or officer either.

I glanced over at the wheelhouse to see him speaking to Nate. Before I dealt with him, I took a lap around the deck, satisfying myself that everything was in order. A single man perched on top of the wheelhouse would be able to see for miles. They would also be able to hear anything said below. For this reason, I asked Nate to keep watch. I intend to speak with Gerald and needed our conversation to stay private, even from my son.

“Making good time now, Captain.” Gerald smiled, revealing his gold tooth among the two rows of white teeth, another indication that he hadn’t been at least an able seaman, as opposed to an ordinary seaman.

There was no better way to find out about his past than to dive in. “I’d like a word.”

“That sounds serious.” He continued to smile as he said it. I allowed him to think it actually was before I started.

“What have I done?”

His tone had changed, the reversal so British it almost made me smile. “Nothing. I just think it important to know my crew. Especially those in important positions.” I humored him.

“Well, if that’s all it is.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to volunteer anything. “Navy man?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m guessing you were in the Navy.”

There was no way to escape the question. This far from home, there were few other ways for a trained seaman to land here. Though this was his ship, Gerald was more essential to us for his local knowledge than for his ability aboard. From watching Nate, I knew my son had absorbed enough to take over. Gerald looked out over the water as if making up his mind about how much to tell me. He was a smart guy and had probably figured out his position.

“I’ve no love for the Royal Navy.” I offered. It wasn’t the people like Gerald I disliked; it was mainly the officers and colonial governors I’d dealt with in the Caribbean. To a man, they were greedy, corrupt, and only concerned with returning to England wealthy men. That did little for the colonies they attended.

He glanced over at me, trying to judge if I was sincere. Depending on the manner in which he left the Navy, he could be hung if caught. I stayed stone-faced. He needed to figure this out for himself.

“Truth be told, you’re right. Bastard of a captain. I wasn’t the only one.”

“I’m sure of that.” Captains, in general, had god-like powers aboard their ships, especially so in the Royal Navy. I expected that if Gerald were to remove his shirt I would see the scars from more than one flogging. “Is there a price on your head?”

“Nah, not worth that much to the bastards.”

I smiled now. “Welcome aboard, then.” We had already spoken about him joining the crew. Our handshake affirmed it.

Gerald’s attitude seemed to change, as it will when a man reveals his secrets. It was an especially welcome relief to get a direct answer when I asked a question.

The volcano loomed large in front of us. “Ten miles?” I asked.

“Give or take,” Gerald said.

“Are you familiar with the political situation in Rivas?”

“Last I was there was a month ago. The Legitimizers held the town. The American influence is strong there. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Vanderbilt’s enterprise was partly to blame for the civil war. The Legitimizers, being in power, had profited from the route; the Democrats had not. The civil war had two Americans, with only profit as their interest, at its heart: Vanderbilt for the Legitimizers and Walker for the Democrats.

I steered clear of the internal politics of countries. They were never what they appeared. I didn’t intend to get involved in this war. I had seen Walker and his troops in action, though, and suspected that unless the Legitimizers had a force hidden somewhere to match it, he would be victorious.

After seeing the ragtag troops and defense of Managua, my guess was that Walker’s filibuster would succeed. The local Democrat government had recruited, financed, and supplied his effort. In my mind, that was trading one evil for another.

From my classical training, I recalled a phrase from the Greek philosopher Aristotle. “For the lesser evil can be seen in comparison with the greater evil as a good, since this lesser evil is preferable to the greater one, and whatever preferable is good.”

I’ve found men to be shortsighted in making such a choice. Emotions rule, and the lesser evil, usually the kind that slides like a burr against bare skin, is too often chosen against an unknown. I wondered how they would act if they knew about Walker’s plans to turn the country into a slave colony of the United States.

Walker would have seen our escape as duplicity, something he couldn’t tolerate, working on foreign soil. We needed to rally with the Lion and get out of the country.

“Find something white to pin on your shirts or hats,” Gerald said.

We had reached the islands offshore of Rivas and had seen only local fishing boats. I was sure some were tasked with bringing information back to the Legitimizers. Gerald’s suggestion was both reassuring and timely.

“Do you know anyone at the port?” I asked Gerald.

To my eye, we could be seen as the enemy. Though we were only three, we were white men and could easily be mistaken for Walker himself.

“There’re more than a few Brits here. I try and stay out of sight.”

I had heard, and Gerald confirmed, that there had been tension between the British and Americans.

The British influence had extended from the Moskito Coast on the Caribbean side of the country to the lake. The treaty with the United States to cooperate in any canal across Central America had been signed after their failed attempt to take the route for themselves.

I’d learned before about the difference between an agreement between two distant countries and the actual state of affairs. Much of the Americas, especially the Caribbean islands, had changed flags more than one could count. Communication had improved with the telegraph, but there were areas where news of wars, treaties, and such didn’t arrive until well after the fact. When it was in the interest of the local governors, they were often conveniently ignored.

Because of a geographic anomaly, Central America, specifically Nicaragua and Panama, had become pawns in a larger game. The native populations, after centuries of Spanish rule, wanted nothing to do with the newcomers.

That left us in a precarious position. The ship had no skiff or even a rowboat that we could use to send a small party ashore. Bringing her straight into the port would be a gamble I wasn’t ready to take.

Lacking scouts, I decided to do it myself.

“Can you put me ashore to scout the town?”

“Little chance of that, mate.” Gerald turned toward the west. “They know we’re here.”

I followed his gaze to see an official-looking boat being rowed out to us.

29

“Fire!” The dreaded alarm was called out.

This was the moment when leadership was needed. Without the captain aboard, the task would fall to Rhames. He tried to rise but fell back to the deck.

Every crew drilled for the possibility of a blaze aboard, as most were death sentences. As Rhames lay by the port rail, unable to move or call out, he knew it was over for the ship and probably him. The nagging fear of dying in a conflagration was very real.

Shayla had taken charge and, given time, might have been able to get the fire under control. From Rhames’ vantage point, he could see what those focused on the fire couldn’t. The other ship, seeing their distress, was closing quickly. Several skiffs were being prepped to send boarders across.

For what reason, Rhames wasn’t sure—until he remembered the gold in the bilge. The captain had expressed his suspicions that someone aboard was a turncoat. There could be no other reason to send men to the burning ship. A flash of red caught his eye. Rhames turned and saw Janey appear at the companionway and glance around. A red scarf held her hair in place. He hadn’t given her much thought other being Nate’s woman. That may had misdirected his opinion of her. Without Nate, she was just a dance hall girl. A breed he knew better than to trust.

Rhames tried to reach his feet again. Shayla and the rest of the crew were so intent on extinguishing the fire that they had ignored everything else. He tried to call out, but his voice merely squeaked.

The barrel of the revolver strapped to his waist poked him in the leg. He drew the gun and dismissed the thought that he could put himself out of his misery. Holding the barrel in the air, he squeezed the trigger.

The shot startled the nearby crew. With the cannon quiet since the fire started, it echoed above the sound of the wind and flames. Within a dozen heartbeats, Lucy and Shayla were beside him.

“They’re sending boats, and there’s the reason.” He pointed to Janey.

“Bastard girl,” Lucy said under her breath.

“Never mind her. They’re coming for the gold.”

Shayla didn’t question him. She stood and glanced around. “Stay with him,” she said to Lucy and ran toward the binnacle. Nial had remained at the wheel. Despite the imminent threat of the fire, if the ship foundered, their efforts to extinguish it would be in vain.

Rhames watched Nial turn his head as Shayla spoke to him. “Are the boats over?” he asked Lucy.

She peered over the rail. “Not yet. We have some time,”

Rhames had been in the unfamiliar position of being able to observe the situation as if he were a bird searching for bait. “Get your blow guns and darts. We’ll handle this.” He clutched the revolver and moved into position.

Lucy smiled and scampered off. She almost barreled through Janey as she entered the companionway. Rhames smiled at the discomfort on the girl’s face. This was his world, not her’s.

“A tad of rum would be good about now,” Rhames said when Lucy and Blue returned. When neither moved he continued. “First thing is to shut up the lookout. We know they’re coming. Even I can see the bastards.”

“Bastards,” Blue repeated and went to the helm, where he relayed Rhames’ request to Shayla. “And the rum …”

She glanced over at Rhames and nodded, understanding. A moment later, the ship fell silent. Rhames shook his head. What he wanted was for the crew to appear as if they were just trying to extinguish the blaze, unaware that they were about to be boarded.

“Many thanks.” Rhames took a long drink from the mug Lucy handed him. “What about the fire?”

“Almost out,” she said.

Rhames liked her economy of words, wishing other women would follow her example. “Any more tarred line?”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “They just got it out and you want to start another?”

“What I want is for the bastards to think it’s still burning.”

Lucy left him to relay the message. Just as she left, Blue slid into the space beside him. Between the balustrades they could see the lead boat approaching. Nial had the crew of the Lion back her sails in order to fight the blaze. As a result the skiffs, rowed by a half-dozen battle-crazed men, were able to catch her. Rhames would have liked to add another knot of speed.

The rum had worked its magic. His throat burned but was clear, and the pain had subsided. “See if Nial can add another knot. Quiet like, hear?”

A few minutes after Blue left, Rhames felt the boat pick up speed. He started to worry that they would lose the skiffs now. The boat seemed to settle, and he smiled as the skiffs struggled to keep up. The distance wasn’t great enough for the rowers to change out. They would be exhausted if it came to a fight.

“How are you feeling?” Shayla asked, surprising him.

“Me and the little ones can handle the first boat. Can you organize a crew for the second? One of the blunderbusses would handle them nicely. We’ll take this one out quiet-like.”

Rhames assumed that the boarding parties would come to either side. Blue and Lucy were back beside him. Both had their blowguns and a half-dozen darts spread out. Lucy had several concoctions of differing strength that could be applied to the tips of each. In this case, he expected they were coated with the most lethal variety and stayed well clear of the projectiles.

They watched the skiff approach. That extra knot of speed had an effect on the rowers, who appeared exhausted. “Take the fighters first. The oarsman are done for.”

Rhames had the revolver ready, just in case. He would use it as a last resort. Just as the skiff was in range of the darts, he noticed a billow of smoke cover the deck. Orchestrating a battle was a new experience for the old pirate. Despite the pain, he was enjoying seeing the pieces fall into place. He took another sip of rum, then finished the mug.

“Soon as you’re sure.” Rhames wondered if Blue and Lucy wagered between themselves and wasn’t surprised when Lucy called the first shot.

“Bastard on the port side.”

A heartbeat later, Rhames heard a scream and a splash as the man fell back into the water. Blue followed with a shot to his opposite number. One by one, before they could even figure out what was happening, the skiff was cleared.

“Help out the missus.”

There was no need, as the blast from the blunderbuss echoed across the deck. Rhames heard the screams from the wounded. They were silenced a few heartbeats later by another blast.

Rhames coughed, choking on the tar-stained smoke. He regretted finishing the rum as the noxious fumes filled his lungs. With his plan only partially complete, he struggled to his feet and slowly crossed to the helm.

“Nicely done,” Nial said as Rhames reached the wheel.

“Bastards had it coming.”

“What do you intend?”

Both the praise and the phrasing of the question touched the old pirate. Rhames glanced behind them. “Can’t see the bastards.”

With their vision obscured by the smoke screen, Rhames was counting on the opposing captain to hold his fire for risk of injuring his men or sinking the prize—and losing the gold.

“He’ll not shoot us. We get a broadside in, we can end this.”

When Shayla appeared with the blunderbuss slung over her shoulder, Rhames couldn’t help thinking what a lucky man the captain was. Nial called over two of the crew and gave orders to be passed quietly to the rest.

“We’ll turn to starboard. Can you have Blue work the port side?”

Rhames made a move, but Shayla placed a hand on his arm. “I’ll do it.”

He nodded and eased himself against the binnacle, slowly sliding to the deck.

“You alright?”

Rhames wasn’t sure if he had ever been asked that question before. Shayla was back before he could answer.

“Ready.”

“Alright. The men know what to do. Have them watch me.”

Shayla took off again. A minute later, when she returned, Nial slowly turned the wheel to starboard. The stern swung but stalled. Without momentum, the jibe failed.

Rhames watched, fearing for his plan. This was the other side of leadership he had never experienced. It would take a large swig of rum to clear the taste of even potential failure from his mouth.

He stroked his beard, trying to stay calm. In seemingly equal portions, as his success faded, the pain returned.

Nial had given up stealth and was calling orders to the men. At some point during the fight, the wind had died.

“Get a crew in one of the skiffs. It worked before,” Rhames said.

Nial called out a half-dozen names. The men slid down the rat lines and landed on deck. “Get to the skiff on the starboard side and tow us around.”

“And be quick about it.” Rhames wanted this over now. The smoke was tapering off and would soon reveal the failure of the boarding crews.

A net was thrown over. The moment it was secured, the men were over the rail and descending to the boat. Several splashes were heard as the bodies of the crew were thrown over.

With the bulk of the Lion shielding them, the men grabbed oars and rowed to the bow, where a line was tossed down. Within a few heartbeats, Rhames felt a tug as they pulled the ship forward. It was painstakingly slow, but that was good, as the other ship might not notice.

It was up to Blue now. Had Rhames been at the guns, he would have fired already. He could imagine the bushman below, moving from gun to gun, aligning them and waiting until the last had acquired the target. Just as he was about to call below, the guns fired.

The ship heeled over from the recoil. When the hull finally settled, Rhames had to wait for the smoke to clear before he could see if they’d crippled or killed the ship.

It appeared that every shot had met its mark. Rhames knew they had achieved an unlikely victory when he saw the ship slide into a whirlpool of her own making.

30

My first reaction was to run. After years of avoiding different governments and their agents, it was instinctual. We were clearly the faster vessel, but I didn’t know what lay in the harbor. I glanced around the forty miles long by twenty-five wide lake, unable to see the eastern bank. Though vast, it had finite borders. There was really nowhere to run, especially with Walker and the Democrats coming. Escaping east toward San Carlos wasn’t an option either. We needed to reach Rivas and take the overland road through the hills to see if the Lion had reached San Juan del Sur.

Instead of acting the part of an outlaw or pirate, I called Nate down and, with our weapons close, we stood to the side of each carronade. From a distance, they at least appeared intimidating. What I intended was to display a friendly show of force, then talk.

“Bloody hell. I know that bloke,” Gerald called out.

“Is that good or bad?” It was often hard to tell when Gerald spoke.

“Could go either way.”

I expected there was a story to tell which would wait until later.

The approaching boat had set out a pair of fenders that barely touched our ship as they pulled alongside. That told me the crew was competent. They were also light-skinned, meaning British or American.

“Ahoy, Captain.”

American. At least the accent wasn’t from the American South.

“Captain.” I tipped my hat. Lines were tossed across and the boat secured.

“What is your business?”

I watched him as he studied the ship. Our white badges, the only sign of a uniform, were clearly visible. His expression changed. I got the feeling that what I had expected to be a brief encounter might turn bad. Following his eye as he scanned the deck, I realized our mistake.

The cloth strips we had cut from a sheet and pinned to our lapels were uniformly white and clean. They knew we had come from the north where there was fighting. Our markers should have been at least torn and dirty. The only likely conclusion he could draw was that we were traitors or the enemy.

“Stand down, Captain.”

I stepped away from the gun and motioned to Nate to do the same. A fight would not work to our benefit and was contrary to our goals. We needed to reach Rivas and make our way to the coast.

“We’re not what you think.” I explained how Walker had taken our ship and forced us to join his endeavor. Slowly, the man eased his guard until when I finished, I think he believed me. “We’re willing to pay our way,” I added.

The man appeared satisfied. He turned out to be one of Vanderbilt’s agents in Rivas, responsible for collecting fares and expediting the travel between San Carlos on the eastern shore of the lake to San Juan del Norte on the Atlantic Coast. That meant he was an important man in the scheme of things. Someone we needed as an ally.

The developed route had standard fares. There was probably some graft, but it was organized, not the corrupt machinations of power-hungry locals. If it were the latter, I would have offered some gold immediately. An honest man would have taken the gesture for what it was—a bribe—which would undermine our relationship.

My gut proved correct, and a few minutes later we followed the small boat into the harbor. Our white badges were less scrutinized there and proved valuable.

Having been chased by governments and pirates, I am always looking for intelligence. Discovering the progress of Walker and his men was even more important now that my family was involved. I doubted I would learn if the Lion was still where we left her, but I could get a general feeling for things.

I left Gerald and Nate aboard, with orders to reprovision and, with the derringer in my pocket, disembarked. The atmosphere around the port and town showed no sign of the war. Commerce was everywhere. From what I had learned, when there was money to be made, men focused on little else.

As a major stop along the Transit Route, Rivas had a telegraph. If there was one place to get current news, it would be there.

The man behind the counter, whether intentionally or not, adopted the vernacular of his work. He spoke in clipped sentences, omitting articles and adjectives when he felt they were superfluous.

“Any news from Managua?”

“Democrats have taken town.”

I suspected he wanted to add “stop” to the end of the sentence. “Are they on the move?”

“Granada in danger.”

“Is the route safe?”

He shrugged. “No reports of trouble.”

I thanked him and moved on to the next best source of news: the saloon. The talk was of little else there. Where the telegraph operator had been succinct and factual, the information here needed to be parsed. The news was essentially the same from both sources.

My next stop was the offices of the Accessory Transit Company, Vanderbilt’s outfit that ran the route. I approached the clerk and asked for passage for two men to San Juan del Sur.

He looked up and studied me. Men such as this were worriers. If I was asking for passage here, it meant that we had not started our journey at the eastern terminus. Outliers were trouble and he became wary. He would certainly know the Democrats had taken Managua and were heading this way. He eyed the clean, white badge pinned to my lapel.

“And a passage to San Francisco?”

He was trying to assess my intentions, not sell a ticket. I looked the man in the eye. We would need him now and later when we crossed the Isthmus. I decided to tell him the truth.

His concern was for the company, not any political faction. Maintaining his portion of the route was all-important.

“If you’ve no baggage, I can get you mules and a guide. The trip is only a dozen miles, but not easy.”

We made arrangements to leave at first light. My next priority was arms. My hope was that we could reach the coast and, with any luck, find the Lion at anchor. From there, we would have to sell the ship and book passage back to the Atlantic. If the stars aligned, we would be back in Rivas in three days. The more likely outcome was a week. With Walker and his men approaching Granada, if the city fell quickly, he could be here by then.

There was every chance we would need to fight our way across the Isthmus. To that end, I purchased several more rifles and ammunition. Enough to arm Nate, Gerald, and me without the shop owner thinking we were part of the incursion. With what we had aboard the Lion, that would be plenty of firepower.

I was back at the steamship a few hours later, accompanied by a cart that carried our purchases. The mood aboard lightened when the crate was open and the new rifles distributed. After checking the ship, I sat down with Gerald and Nate.

“Nate and I will cross to San Juan del Sur tomorrow. The man at the ATC said it was a dozen miles, but if they’re using mules and not horses, it can’t be easy.” I looked at Gerald to see if he could offer any further information.

“Heard it can take some time, especially if the weather’s poor. Never done it myself.”

We’d had fair weather since arriving in country. In the tropics, that could change in a heartbeat. If the terrain we were to cross required mules in dry weather, I could only imagine the quagmire we would find ourselves in after a storm.

With Walker, Shayla, and now the weather on my mind, I found it hard to sleep. I was awake well before dawn and roused Nate.

Whether it was a notion I’d convinced myself of or if it was actually true, I felt that my overthinking had kept us alive on more than one occasion. Crossing the foothills to San Juan del Sur was easier than expected. The path was well-worn, and with the weather holding, we reached San Juan del Sur a little after noon.

That alone made me happy. What brought both a tinge of worry and a great deal of joy to my heart was the sight of the Lion swinging at anchor in the harbor.

“She looks like she’s seen some action,” Nate said.

The ship was clearly listing. “Right, but she’s here.”

I could see the excitement and relief on Nate’s face. Our reunion would be both a blessing and a curse for him.

Some conversations are better had over a drink. This was one, but we had no time. I had spared him my suspicions until the reunion was imminent.

“We need to talk about Janey.”

His reaction was not what I expected.

“I’ve heard the talk.”

It had to have been Rhames or Blue. Neither could keep a secret.

I tried to hide my relief that I wasn’t the one to break the news. If I could draw him out without expressing an opinion, it would work out better for us. We sat quietly on our mules, watching the harbor. I was anxious to get aboard and find out if Shayla was alright. The ship was heavy in the water, below her water line, soot-stained, the sails in tatters, and the port-side railing gone. Her condition would hurt our financial prospects. Nate studied the ship for a different reason.

Nate was too old to speak to like a child and too young to treat as an equal, at least as far as the ship was concerned. He was capable and smart but lacked experience. I had taken command at his age, though, and wondered if I was correct in my assumption. Had Rhames not backed me on the beach that day, I might never have discovered what I was made of. Maybe Nate’s time had come.

Seeing the battered ship furthered my sense of urgency. That meant that Walker’s men were on our tail. If I’d had my way, I would have let Nate take his time and talk when he was ready. The situation wouldn’t allow that. He knew about Janey, or at least the rumors, and that was enough. I had to trust my son to handle his own problems.

“What do you make of her?”

“Janey or the ship?”

“The ship.”

“That damage’ll cost us. We’d better go see what happened.”

Despite knowing what was going through his mind and my own concern for Shayla, the crew, and the ship, I smiled. Nate was certainly a Van Doren.

I dismissed the guide and asked him to stay close as we would need him for the return trip. Nate and I headed down to the harbor.

We left the mules at a hitching post and found a tender willing to take us to the Lion. I couldn’t take my eyes off the damage as he rowed us toward her. The ship would be near worthless. That was as it was. If we had the gold, we would be fine. As I evaluated her from bow to stern, my worry about the people aboard became my only concern.

“Ahoy the ship!” I called up as we approached, worried now that there was no lookout or even anyone visible on deck.

31

Nate was first aboard. I followed. Our ships became a part of me and though we’d had her only a short time, seeing the Lion in this condition was a blow. Nate went below while I inspected the damage.

When I reached the area it appeared that the fire had started, I smiled.

“Aye, bit of trickery put them off.”

I glanced around and saw Rhames sitting on the deck by the binnacle. His face was pale, and a chill ran through me when I noticed the bandages wrapped around his legs.

“Still alive?” The age-old greeting between warriors following a battle brought a smile to his face and his mug of rum to his lips.

“Could be better.”

I was concerned about Rhames, but more so for Shayla, and couldn’t help scanning the deck.

He read my mind. “They’re below. Locked up the girl and removed the gold. Ship’s been taking on more water than the pumps can handle. Nial says we ought to take her out of the harbor and scuttle her.”

From what I had seen, it was the correct decision.

“Go about your business,” he said. “It’ll take more than this to do me.”

I grasped his hand in a warrior’s grip and ran toward the open hatch. The relief when I heard Shayla’s voice directing the crew was palpable. I jumped down to the deck and embraced her. The water was already ankle-deep, which meant the bilge was flooded.

The reunion was short-lived as Nate and I joined the crew. Shayla had formed two lines, one to remove the gold and the other to bail. The stack of gold bars on the deck told me they were winning that battle, the rising water that they were losing the other. The questions running through my mind would have to wait.

With the salvage effort in hand, I sought out Nial.

“We have to get underway before we sink in the harbor.”

I could see from their expressions that they were almost at the limit of their endurance. “If she sinks here, the authorities will hold us responsible. We could be detained or worse.”

Yerba Buena harbor in San Francisco where we had left the Panther was an anomaly. With the rush to reach the gold fields, many boats had been abandoned where they had docked. The harbor had become terra firma. Elsewhere, leaving a ship to sink at port was an offense. Not only did it clog the harbor, but it became a hazard to navigation.

I estimated Walker’s progress. If he took Granada with the ease the telegraph operator indicated he had taken Managua, we would be hard-pressed to miss him in Rivas. An advance force could actually arrive before we returned.

Saving the gold was every bit as important as moving the ship. I had seen the two skiffs anchored alongside the Panther. They wouldn’t hold the entire crew and our cargo. I pulled Shayla away and asked her to coordinate the transfer. A few minutes later, the skiffs were loaded with what gold they had recovered and half the crew. She would send the boats back for us once they were unloaded.

I waited for them to leave, then hurried to the bow. With the wind and tide working in tandem, it would have taken a crew to row the ship over the anchor in order to raise it. As we planned to scuttle her anyway, I simply cut the rope. We rushed to raise sail, and with little room for error, mainly because I misjudged how poorly the ship would handle, we started to move away from the port.

The harbor was little more than an open bay, and within a half hour, we were clear of the channel. We backed the sails and hove-to while we waited for the skiffs to return.

They pulled alongside a few minutes later. Rhames came beside me. We watched together as the skiffs were loaded. The scene reminded me of that day on the beach when the Navy had taken down El Floridana and Gasparilla. I had the feeling Rhames was remembering that fateful day as well.

“Nial, open the forward seacocks. I’ll handle the aft. Everyone else to the boats.” I had only given the order to abandon ship once before. Even though we had planned on selling the Lion here, it was still bittersweet. Sacrificing a ship to the ocean was plain bad luck.

As I was about to drop into the aft hold, I saw Nate escorting Janey to the rail. Once we had identified her as the culprit, I had forgotten about her. There were no clear rules about how to deal with theft aboard a ship. Some, mainly the over-disciplined British, would call it treason and hang the perpetrator. Ironically, the same penalty would probably apply aboard a pirate ship. Stealing from other pirates was frowned upon.

I rarely had reason to discipline our crew, mainly because we were always small and like family. Many of the offenses, such as insubordination, did not exist on our ships. Anyone was free to speak their mind. The penalty for serious disagreements was to be put off at the next port.

In most cases, I let Rhames handle these matters. This one, as the offender was female and had been in a relationship with my son, was my problem. If the circumstances weren’t complicated enough, the pregnancy added to the dilemma.

It had to be Nate’s decision. I owed him that.

With the volume of water coming into the boat, it hardly made a difference when I opened the seacocks. The boat would have been underwater in an hour without our assistance. These things tended to happen slowly at first and finish quickly, often faster than was expected. With this in mind, I climbed out of the hold and dropped down to the remaining skiff. Nial was right behind me.

We were just in time and fortunate to be a hundred yards away when the ship gave a fatal groan and disappeared beneath the surface.

There was a bright side. We wouldn’t have to wait for a buyer or deal with an agent. As soon as we reached the port, we could retrace our steps back to Rivas. The ATC agent I had spoken to said there was a steamship every other day. That meant tomorrow.

Our guide was in the saloon where we had left him. Unfortunately, in the time it had taken for us to take care of our business and for the local agent to round up enough mules and a cart, he was drunk. The trail had been well worn, but he knew the terrain and where the bandits operated. At some point he might sober up enough to be of help. I didn’t suffer drunks. After a moments thought I decided the trouble to take him was more than any benefit he could provide.

Before we left, we had make a decision about Janey. As it was a family matter, Nate, Shayla, and I took a walk and stood under a shade tree.

I didn’t want to say that it was Nate’s problem. I did look to him first for a solution. As captain, I would have the final say.

“We can’t leave her with the locals.”

Shayla nodded. I agreed as well. To have an American woman facing Nicaragua’s version of justice, whatever that may be, didn’t seem right.

“We can’t drag her along, either,” Nate said.

I let the silence hang for a few heartbeats to make sure he was finished. “If I may?”

“What about the baby?” Shayla asked the unspoken question.

Nate dropped his head and stared at the ground. “I’m not sure it’s mine. I was under no illusions about her life before we got together. We just seemed to hit it off. Now I look like a fool.”

This was not the direction I wanted the conversation to go. “If you’re not attached to the child, I have a suggestion.” Before continuing, I glanced at Shayla. Nate might have suspicions about the father that I know Shayla shared. She was close to being a grandmother, and I wasn’t sure whether that desire would overshadow the lineage of the child. She nodded for me to continue.

“Walker is going to take the country. I’m sure of it, if what I’ve seen of the Legitimizers in Managua and Rivas are the best they have. We could leave her in Rivas, in the care of the ATC agent there. She chose Walker. Let her have him.”

“And he, her,” Nate added.

“Right then. We are in agreement?” I was glad the conversation was over. Walker’s reward for reaching Rivas would be a penniless and pregnant Janey—exactly what they both deserved. Anxious to get underway, I started back to where the crew was waiting.

“Right, then. Mount up and we’ll get started.”

The agent voiced his concerns about us leaving this late in the day, especially without our inebriated guide. The route had appeared safe, but he warned of bandits. We were a well-armed force, so I didn’t expect trouble there. The weather was the other worry. There was little shelter along the way, and the route was too difficult to navigate in the dark. Any trouble or delay and we would have to make camp in the open. I was firm, willing to face the challenges in order to reach Rivas ahead of Walker.

Shayla, Nate, and I mounted our mules and moved next to the cart.

Janey stared at me from her place in the back of the cart, where she was bound next to the crates of gold that had ruined her. Rhames sat across from her. I smiled. Spending the journey in the company of the pirate was a little revenge. Though I might have gotten some satisfaction from leaving her to wonder about her fate, it would have been cruel. She had cost us nothing, and catching her had probably saved a good deal of trouble later on.

“We’ll leave you with the agent in Rivas. Walker should reach the city in a few days.”

She seemed relieved. I jerked the reigns, moved toward the head of the column. With Blue and Lucy scouting ahead, and Daniel and Conner as our rear guard, we left San Juan del Sur in a cloud of dust.

32

The first section of the route was the hardest. The trail wound around through the foothills, which added miles. The mules handled the uneven terrain easily, but the heavily-laden cart slowed our progress. Abandoning the gold—or Rhames—was not an option, so we moved at the best pace the mule-drawn cart could travel. Janey was on the opposite side of the cart, avoiding the pirate as best she could, though he appeared to sleep most of the way. It was still some payback to see her discomfort at being so close to him. As daylight dwindled, we had barely made it out of the foothills. The terrain ahead was flat and we would easily reach Rivas in the morning. The mules might have made it, but the cart found every hazard. We had to accept the inevitable.

We started looking for a suitable campsite—one that was easily defensible rather than comfortable. Every one of us, save Janey, was more interested in preserving our lives and wealth than getting a good night’s sleep. From our vantage point in the foothills, we could see the ocean behind us. Large cumulus clouds had formed with the afternoon breeze. None were the anvil-shaped thunderheads that could turn the trail into a morass.

Our other concern was bandits. We’d passed several ambush points since leaving the coast. Lucy and Blue had returned several times to report signs of men, though. None appeared to be lying in wait now. With the gold we had taken the rifles and ammunition from the Lion. As a fairly large, well-armed force, if there were bandits, they would need reinforcements and would probably attack before dawn.

A campfire was out of the question. Through our travels we had spent some time ashore, and I knew the comforting effect of a fire. In this case, it would have signaled our presence, but also blinded us to anything outside the camp. We could easily go a night without a cooked meal, and with the tropical climate there would be no need for warmth.

A likely spot presented itself. Rocks surrounded a clearing that looked like it had been used for the same purpose. With less than an hour of daylight remaining, we stopped. It was just enough time to set up camp and hobble, feed, and water the mules. Janey remained in the cart. The crew, especially Nate, ignored her, but she seemed complacent. I thought about tying her to the cart but let her be. Rhames remained across from her. Spending the night with the old pirate would be enough punishment.

Where at sea, I trusted my men on watch. Here, I remembered Walker’s commentary on the attributes of the native force and posted the villagers as pickets. Adding Blue and Lucy to their ranks gave me a degree of comfort.

Walker had gained valuable firsthand experience with his failed incursion into Baja Sur. From what I’d seen, his observations were correct. It wasn’t a question of bravery. Standing watch alone on a dark night with the threat of attack can be every bit as unnerving as battle itself. The issue was more of training. Fighting as a coherent group had been proven time and again. The natives excelled as trackers and sentries but were not trained in modern warfare, which was the reason I suspected Walker’s filibuster would succeed.

We settled into small groups as darkness enveloped us. The sounds of the night, which a fire generally obfuscated, were a chilling reminder of how exposed we were. The moon provided some illumination but was often covered with clouds.

Nate was out checking the sentries, which gave me some time with Shayla. We weren’t alone, but far enough away from the rest of the crew that we could speak in whispers without being overheard.

She brought me up to date on their trip down the coast.

Once Shayla finished the story, I got up to check on the old pirate.

Lucy was with him, changing the bandages on his legs, which allowed me to see the extent of his injuries. They were bad. Without the bushwoman, he might well have died. I watched her as she worked, trying to gain any insight into his true condition. Her expression showed only impatience with him—a good sign.

“Big bastard’s like a child,” she said, chuckling and turned to him. “Stop it or no more rum.”

He stopped squirming and bit down on his shirt. I waited until Lucy finished and handed him a mug.

“Still alive?”

He took a long sip of rum. “I think she’s getting revenge for some ill-perceived slight.”

“Probably.”

I had questions. With Janey within earshot, they would have to wait. I stayed until he had finished the mug, refilled it, and left him.

“What do you make of him?” I asked Shayla. I’d seen men die of less and others survive worse. At some point, it was their attitude that doomed or saved them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the old boy as scared of anything.”

“Maybe he’s realized he’s mortal.”

“He was carrying on about this not being his time.”

“Nothing we can do about it.”

“He’s got the men spooked,” Shayla said.

“As long as we have the gold and are making progress, they’ll be alright.”

“So, Rivas tomorrow, then a steamship across the lake?”

I was glad she was looking toward the future. “If we can get out of Rivas before Walker and his men arrive, we should be home free.” I knew the moment the words left my lips that I shouldn’t have said them. Shayla shot me a look saying as much. We were certainly not as superstitious as Rhames, but tempting fate was never a good idea.

Nate woke me sometime during the night to take over for him. I rose quietly to make my rounds. The sentries remained alert, but I changed the watch, speaking to several of the men as they came off duty.

Two men said they had heard something in the brush. That was far from unusual. There were many nocturnal critters in country like this. I suspected it was an armadillo or coyote.

That was until Blue appeared as if from nowhere.

“Horses. The spore is fresh.” He was out of breath.

I gave him a minute to recover. Like all of us, Blue was showing his age. “Which direction did they go?” From his state, I knew he had followed.

“Toward the lake. Only two men.”

That ruled out bandits, who tended to travel in packs. Though I was relieved that we were safe for now, a feeling began to grow inside me that the men had been scouts.

With our backs to the foothills, the trail ahead would be level and open, which ruled out an ambush. That left Walker. Somehow, he had learned of our movements. I didn’t doubt a man as clever as him would have people in place.

It took a long moment for me to realize it had to have been the telegraph. Walker would surely have spies in Rivas and probably some among those, employed by the ATC. I recalled the willingness of the telegraph operator and expected I had my man. It was too late, though.

Walker’s scouts would reach Rivas before daybreak. Before he had breakfasted, The colonel would know our whereabouts. If he had spies in Rivas it was likely he had them in San Juan del Sur as well, and if he did, he would know the makeup of our party and that we had the girl—and the gold.

Though the rewards were great, bringing a foreign force into an unknown land was problematic. Despite the promises of land and riches, morale would dip with every setback or delay. Our gold would go a long way to boost the morale of his force. I wasn’t sure if he was a vengeful man. He seemed pragmatic and dedicated to his cause. Even if he cared not for my family and crew, the gold was enough for him to send troops to Rivas to intercept us.

A quick calculation told me it would be a close thing.

Though it appeared there was no immediate threat, I moved among the men until the gray light of the false dawn broke the horizon. After relieving the watch, I woke Nate and told him what had occurred.

It could be a mistake to break up our party, but knowledge of what lay ahead was more important. Nate was familiar with the route, knew what to look for, and knew how I thought. I sent him ahead with one of the men. He would ride directly to Rivas, scout the town, and make sure Gerald was ready to leave at a moment's notice.

My original plan had been to leave the steamboat and book passage with the ATC. My belief, then, was that with just the few of the old-timers, we would blend in among the other passengers. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea now. The talk among the men, including several of the villagers, was to remain together. It would be a tight fit, but with our delay and the size of our party, it made sense to use the steamboat to cross the lake. With Walker after us, leaving the ship would be a mistake, and with it, we could defend ourselves. For now, San Carlos was firmly in Vanderbilt and the Legitimizers’ control. We would have to deal with transiting the river and what lay on the other side when we got there.

Walker knew where we were and when we would arrive. Arranging for a different location for Gerald to meet us would have been ideal. My lack of local knowledge worked against me here. We would have to go through town.

I got everyone moving quickly, and we started a forced march. With the hills behind us the going was easy, and we were able to make good time. We were in open country and exposed, but there were no pinch points for an ambush. I still sent men out in every direction.

Once we were underway, I dropped back to the cart to check on Rhames.

“Trouble?” he asked.

I glanced at Janey, who seemed disinterested. With no chance of escape, her fate was determined. “Scouts in the night. I sent Nate ahead.”

“Bastards.”

Though Janey was incapable of harming us, I still didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that Walker was on our trail. “We’ll regroup before we reach the town.”

“Aye, a cannon would be nice.” Rhames winked.

I smiled, seeing the improvement, at least, in his spirit. Men withered and died when they could no longer do what they were meant to. Even an outside chance of a fight had brought the old pirate life.

Another worry occurred to me as we closed on the town. We had avoided any rain, which had been a godsend. In exchange, with the hot climate, the trail quickly became dusty. I glanced back and saw the cloud of dust behind us. Anyone watching would see us coming.

The same worked in reverse. With the town on the horizon, I was in front and saw a small cloud coming toward us. It appeared to be a single rider.

Nate appeared a moment later, and I kicked the mule into a hard trot to meet him.

“Any sign of Walker?”

“No.”

I waited for him to elaborate. He wouldn’t have ridden back if there wasn’t a reason.

“Gerald knows a cove away from the harbor. We’re to meet him there.”

33

We arrived at the rendezvous without incident. That in itself was a different experience. The lake was quiet, though, lacking even any small fishing boats. I scanned the shoreline looking for any sign of Gerald and the steamship.

“Do you see anything?” I asked Nate, who had climbed into a tree for a better view.

“Nothing.”

It was becoming clear that something was amiss. I’d had scouts out all day looking for Walker’s men. No sign had been found. That didn’t mean they weren’t there. We were a large group and could be seen from a distance. I came to realize that the flaw in our plan was the steamship.

Over the past few days I had become comfortable and started to trust Gerald. I wondered if I had misjudged him. The other worry was that the ship had been taken.

The rule of law differs between countries. Some are as rigid as a British naval vessel. Others are as lax as the American West. When a military action is imminent, laws are often thrown out entirely. There was a real possibility that the Legitimizers had commandeered the ship to fight Walker.

As we approached the town, I regretted leaving the guide. We weren’t lost and could easily follow the road running along the lake to reach Rivas. What we lacked without the guide was that dose of local knowledge, which was often the difference between success and failure.

“We’ll wait an hour.” I spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. Just in case we had walked into a trap, I posted sentries facing inland and two more lookouts watching the water.

The wind was against us as well. If we had been waiting on a sailing ship, I would know which direction it would approach from depending on the wind. The sails would also be visible from a distance. With the wind from the north, the telltale plume of smoke from the steamship’s funnel would be blown the other way. We would have to wait until she was hull up.

The minutes crept by slowly. As the time passed, my apprehension grew. After waiting almost two hours, there was no choice but to send a party to Rivas. I was certain a few of us could get there and back without being seen. The sortie would also give us a chance to handle our other problem: Janey.

I pulled Nate aside. “We have to find out what happened to Gerald.”

“He should have been here.”

Nate sounded defensive. This had been his plan, and it appeared to have failed. I wasn’t about to cast any blame. There were countless reasons that Gerald hadn’t made the rendezvous.

“I’ll leave the main party with you and take Blue.” I knew he would want to go, but one of us had to stay. I worried that taking Janey might make this more difficult for him. “We will take Janey and leave her with the ATC agent in Rivas.”

Nate seemed relieved. “We’ll be ready.”

Blue set out on foot while I rode one of the mules with Janey in tow. The bushman had an aversion to the animals and, with his loping pace, was just as fast anyway. Traveling on foot also gave him the ability to scout.

Rivas was only a couple of miles away, and we reached the town in short order, relieved to see no sign of Walker or his men. Our first stop was the ATC office. The agent appeared thankful to see us, if for no other reason than he would get his mules and cart back. He wasn’t surprised, though, which told me that Walker’s scouts had informed him of our whereabouts. The mood soured when I told him they were several miles away.

“Any news of Walker and the Democrats?”

“They’ve taken Granada. It’s only a matter of time.”

The way he said it was clearly apolitical. As long as the route was safe, his job was secure.

“There’s another matter.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Janey had stood quietly next to me while we spoke. I presented her now. “Can you hold the girl until Walker arrives? She’d rather his company than ours.”

He considered this for a minute and surprisingly accepted. I hadn’t considered that having the girl would give him some leverage over the colonel. He motioned to a backroom, where I left Janey without a word.

I would have preferred to check the docks first, but was relieved to be rid of the girl. She knew the location of our group and our possession of the gold, but I suspected the whole town knew by now.

I was both relieved and disturbed to find the dock empty. There was the possibility that Gerald had been delayed leaving and was at the rendezvous now. That hope was dwarfed by the nagging feeling that he had taken the ship for himself. If that were the case, I couldn’t blame him.

Loyalty, be it through endearment or money, is not bought. It is a symbiotic relationship that develops over time. Like growing a garden, a seed must first be planted before the plant can grow. Gerald and I were barely at that stage of our relationship. I gathered he was a betting man. If he thought that Walker and the Democrats would be victorious, he would stand to make a large profit.

Speculation was pointless. The fact was that the ship was not here—or in sight. The only thing we could do was to return to the rendezvous and see if he was there. At least we were relieved of Janey. That in itself had made the trip worthwhile.

My worry had been for nothing. Blue and I reached the camp to find the steamship lying just a few yards off the shore. Nate had already brought the gold aboard and was now loading the crew. Gerald waited in the wheelhouse.

I waded out to the ship and climbed aboard. Time was of the essence. “What happened?” I asked Gerald.

“Bloody valve again. Wouldn’t hold pressure.”

“Are we good to cross?” This was one of the problems I saw with a mechanical conveyance. If one part failed, the ship was powerless. Some ocean-going steamships had sails, but the craft, built for flat water relied solely on steam.

“Could go either way. We’re a bit crowded as well.”

“Some of the villagers prefer to stay,” Nate said.

“Get a bar of gold for each and wish them well.”

The villagers were ecstatic about their newfound wealth, and several others joined their ranks. The ship still sat low in the water. The weather appeared clear and it wouldn’t be a problem unless a storm kicked up.

“The extra weight will put a strain on her,” Gerald said.

He had seen the gold and would cooperate. “No choice.”

He nodded.

I nodded. “Any sign of Walker?”

“Not yet.”

I had noticed how quiet the town was. Somehow, the locals knew the troops were close. Gerald didn’t wait for orders and had us underway.

The relief to be on our way was short-lived. The ship appeared sluggish and slow. Gerald’s face was tense as he manipulated the valves to gain more speed. If he did it was negligible and not worth the additional fuel or strain on the already suspect valve.

“Let’s save the power for if we need it.”

He nodded. “She’s behaving badly.”

I estimated we were making four knots, about half of what she was capable of. That meant it would take the entire day to cross the lake. In theory, every mile put us further from Walker’s grasp. At some point, we would be an afterthought in the scheme of things. We hadn’t reached that point, though.

“We need to decide which route to take. The faster is back between the islands and mainland. Otherwise, we can head north, circle around the top of them and head southeast.”

“Which are you advocating?”

“Could go either way.”

The sooner the ship reached its destination, the better. “We’ll take the chance that we’re ahead of Walker and go south.”

“Aye, aye.” He gave me a mock salute.

There was no need to post lookouts. Because of the lack of space, a ring of men formed a cordon around the ship. Most were facing out so as not to be in the face of the man next to them. I glanced around looking for Shayla, assuming she would be with Rhames.

“The wife and the little woman are in my cabin with the old geyser.” He cocked his head back to a small compartment. The door was closed. I knocked and pulled it back to find Lucy, Shayla, and Rhames crammed into the cabin. There was no room for me, so I remained in the doorway.

“How is he?” Rhames appeared to be in a bad way.

Neither answered, which confirmed my thoughts. There was nothing we could do about it now except pray, and none of us leaned in that direction.

“We should reach San Carlos around dark.”

They nodded and I stepped back, closing the door behind me. Gerald cursed, but that wasn’t uncommon. If he had been quiet, I would have worried.

The mood had grown tense as we entered the channel between the volcanic islands and the mainland. It would remain that way until we reached the open water on the other side.

The crew seemed to hold a collective breath as we finally emerged from the shadow of the second island.

The expected relief never came as the sound of gunshots echoed across the water. The men on the port side, away from the town, strained to see across the boat, which unsettled her.

“Back to the rail,” I called to them. Though our fate lay just out of sight, the smell of smoke was clearly present.

Another sound, similar to the artillery shells, sounded, but this time it was from the ship.

“Blast that,” Gerald moaned.

We lay dead in the water, the east wind pushing us toward the battle.

34

We limped along under partial power. I had the wheel as Gerald and Nate scrambled to fix the broken apparatus. They had isolated the problem and explained it to me in layman’s terms, which I still didn’t comprehend. To make matters worse, the sound of the stricken boiler did nothing to mask Rhames moaning in pain in Gerald’s cabin just behind me.

If there was any good news, it was that there had been no sign of pursuit. The lake was free of vessels as far as the eye could see. The constant cursing from Gerald had also stopped, which had me even more concerned.

We were probably five miles across the lake, a quarter of the distance we would need to travel to reach San Carlos. I was stuck in a situation of my making, but out of my control.

Action was a cure-all for these kinds of situations. I stopped asking Gerald as he continued to answer with, “It could go either way.”

Our options were limited. We had the manpower to row but no oars. The short mast mounted to the roof of the wheelhouse was intended for a flag or light. It wouldn’t take the strain of a sail. We were stuck with steam, a mode of transportation I didn’t trust.

I heard a “Bastard!” and “Bloody hell!” from below. I smiled, thinking they were making some progress. A long minute later, Gerald appeared by my side.

“Might have it.”

“Could go either way.” I couldn’t help myself.

He ignored the comment and took a wrench to one of the valves. I jumped back as it loosened, expecting a blast of steam. Fearing the worst when nothing happened, I was surprised to see Gerald smile.

“Got the bastard isolated now. A little workaround and she’ll be good as new.”

He disappeared before I could ask how eliminating part of the mechanism would make anything better. The chatter from below seemed more jovial now as Nate and Gerald completed the repair.

“Rhames is getting worse.”

I hadn’t heard Shayla come up beside me. Wondering if this could be for the better, I studied the water ahead. Rhames would not want a lingering death. If a sail appeared now, he might be first on deck to die in action.

“Can you get Lucy?”

Shayla disappeared and returned with the bushwoman.

“He’s obsessed about dying in bed. I’ve seen worse kill a man.”

Lucy spat to ward off the evil. She was every bit as superstitious as Rhames.

“Make some magic.”

I knew she wouldn’t be convinced, but I had seen enough of this kind of business to know that men believed in what they saw. “He won’t know.”

“You’re playing with things you know nothing about,” Lucy said.

I glanced at Shayla. She caught my look and nodded. It was her turn. “Maybe something to lighten his mood.”

“The old bastard’s had enough rum, and the cannon won’t fire.”

The ship suddenly lurched forward before I could answer her. I experienced my own version of magic. Gerald appeared a minute later, a broad smile on his face.

“Well done.” I had no idea if the repair would last. For now, we were making good speed. If this continued we would be across the lake in a few hours.

My concern turned back to Rhames. A fight would cure him, but that was the last thing I needed. For now, all I could do was to trust Lucy and keep an eye on the horizon.

EPILOGUE

San Carlos, on the eastern shore of Lake Nicaragua, seemed to be in a different country than Rivas on the opposite coast. Forty miles of water lined with inhospitable shores was a good enough barrier to give us a measure of security.

All but two of the villagers had decided to stay in San Carlos, mixing among other tribes that had been relocated. We said a heartfelt goodbye to them before preparing to head down the San Juan River, the last leg of the journey to the coast.

Decisions awaited us there. Our destination remained New York, but our mode of transportation was uncertain. Every time I stared out at the horizon, eyes were on me, wondering what I would decide.

Nate was pressuring me to consider buying a steamship. Shayla, to book passage with another ship. Nial and the men had remained with us. Their last chance to join Vanderbilt’s canal-building operation would be in San Juan del Norte. My gut told me they wanted to stay with us.

Though I always looked ahead, for now, reaching the coast was foremost on my mind. The repair to the steamship had held—at least this far.

“Will it make the coast?” I asked Gerald.

“She’s a temperamental bitch. Could go either way.”

I had come to interpret his response as an affirmative. “You’ll manage.”

“Any plans when we reach the Caribbean?” he asked.

We’d had this conversation before, and I knew he wanted to reach New Orleans, where he could ply his trade on the Mississippi.

I almost used his own answer on him but held my tongue. Gerald was the type who would take insult at turning his words against him.

“I’m leaning toward buying a ship.”

“A steamship?”

As if I had a choice. My legacy and how I would hand over things to Nate were still on my mind. I knew what my son wanted.

“If we can find something suitable.” It was the first time I had said the words out loud.

“I’m your man, then.”

I nodded.

Gerald stepped back into the wheelhouse, checked the gauges, and started cursing again. Knowing the ship was in order, I turned my attention to the future.

That the age of sail was over was clear. The realization still hurt enough to turn an old sailor toward a future on land. For me, that would be short-lived. Thoughts of my father came back to me, though not as often as they once had. The image of him behind a desk, hovering over his papers, was still clear. There were certainly better opportunities for a man of means, but I couldn’t get that picture out of my mind.

There were other matters to consider besides my immediate family. Rhames, Blue, and Lucy would be affected by my choice. I owed it to them to choose in their interests as well.

The conundrum was Shayla. What she said, and what I felt she wanted, were two different matters. I’d never been duplicitous with her and wasn’t going to start now.

With plans for the future rattling around inside my head, one had begun to crystallize.

Procrastination was not a good attribute in a leader. In our line of work, decisions were never etched in stone, so I could live with it.

We’d buy a steamship in San Juan del Norte. As a business decision, it was the right choice. If things didn’t work out, we could deal with that in New York. Nate would get his legacy and Shayla her culture.

The river passed by in a blur. I stayed to myself. Shayla and Lucy were with Rhames. Nate and Gerald were thick as thieves, and Blue was trailing a line from the stern.

We spent the night in a protected cove just shy of San Juan del Norte and left at first light.

It had been a while since we’d seen the sun rise over water. The Caribbean greeted us as an old friend. Our future was uncertain, but Walker was behind us. He’d probably take the country. Thankfully, we’d be long gone.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Always looking for a new location or adventure to write about, Steven Becker can usually be found on or near the water. He splits his time between Tampa and the Florida Keys - paddling, sailing, diving, fishing or exploring.

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Mac Travis Adventures: The Wood’s Series

It's easy to become invisible in the Florida Keys. Mac Travis is laying low: Fishing, Diving and doing enough salvage work to pay his bills. Staying under the radar is another matter altogether. An action-packed thriller series featuring plenty of boating, SCUBA diving, fishing and flavored with a generous dose of Conch Republic counterculture.

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★★★★★ Becker is one of those, unfortunately too rare, writers who very obviously knows and can make you feel, even smell, the places he writes about. If you love the Keys, or if you just want to escape there for a few enjoyable hours, get any of the Mac Travis books - and a strong drink

★★★★★This is a terrific series with outstanding details of Florida, especially the Keys. I can imagine myself riding alone with Mac through every turn. Whether it's out on a boat or on an island.I'm there

Kurt Hunter Mysteries: The Backwater Series

Biscayne Bay is a pristine wildness on top of the Florida Keys. It is also a stones throw from Miami and an area notorious for smuggling. If there’s nefarious activity in the park, special agent Kurt Hunter is sure to stumble across it as he patrols the backwaters of Miami.

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★★★★★ This series is one of my favorites. Steven Becker is a genius when it comes to weaving a plot and local color with great characters. It’s like dessert, I eat it first

★★★★★ Great latest and greatest in the series or as a stand alone. I don't want to give up the plot. The characters are more "fleshed out" and have become "real." A truly believable story in and about Florida and Floridians.

Tides of Fortune

What do you do when you’re labeled a pirate in the nineteenth century Caribbean

Follow the adventures of young Captain Van Doren as he and his crew try to avoid the hangman’s noose. With their unique mix of skills, Nick and company roam the waters of the Caribbean looking for a safe haven to spend their wealth. But, the call “Sail on the horizon” often changes the best laid plans.

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★★★★★ This is a great book for those who like me enjoy "factional" books. This is a book that has characters that actually existed and took place in a real place(s). So even though it isn't a true story, it certainly could be. Steven Becker is a terrific writer and it certainly shows in this book of action of piracy, treasure hunting,ship racing etc

The Storm Series

Meet contract agents John and Mako Storm. The father and son duo are as incompatible as water and oil, but necessity often forces them to work together. This thriller series has plenty of international locations, action, and adventure.

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★★★★★ Steven Becker's best book written to date. Great plot and very believable characters. The action is non-stop and the book is hard to put down. Enough plot twists exist for an exciting read. I highly recommend this great action thriller.

★★★★★ A thriller of mega proportions! Plenty of action on the high seas and in the Caribbean islands. The characters ran from high tech to divers to agents in the field. If you are looking for an adrenaline rush by all means get Steven Beckers new E Book

The Will Service Series

If you can build it, sail it, dive it, and fish it—what’s left. Will Service: carpenter, sailor, and fishing guide can do all that. But trouble seems to find him and it takes all his skill and more to extricate himself from it.

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★★★★★ I am a sucker for anything that reminds me of the great John D. MacDonald and Travis McGee. I really enjoyed this book. I hope the new Will Service adventure is out soon, and I hope Will is living on a boat. It sounds as if he will be. I am now an official Will Service fan. Now, Steven Becker needs to ignore everything else and get to work on the next Will Service novel

★★★★★ If you like Cussler you will like Becker! A great read and an action packed thrill ride through the Florida Keys!