Hawk's Feather (Perry County Frontier Series) Read online

  The ship was ordered and loading hatches opened. Using the foremast boom, cloth bales were brought to the deck and heaved overside. With them went the merchant's hopes but each lightened the schooner and, empty, she might slide free before high tide.

  Heat did not die with the sun and men slipped in their own sweat, but, the tide could change before dawn and they needed to be ready. By daylight they could hope to free themselves.

  After midnight a soft land breeze rose. If they had not been aground their few remaining sails would have carried them away.

  The pirates too were active, but following the wind rise, their noise died and their fires grew faint.

  In the master's cabin Mathew Covert pointed to his charts. "I believe us to be here. We are stranded on Johnson Shoal. Directly ashore is Cayo Costa Island. The inlet is called Boca Grande, within is a vast harbor but no settlements lie near this place. If we fail to get off . . . well, we must get off for there is no other choice."

  Jonas felt his mouth dry, for there had always been other choices.

  A hail from the deck brought them outside.

  "Lookout reports movement seaward of us, Captain."

  The ship quieted and they could hear the splash of rowing and an occasional voice.

  "Well, they are back. We will leave our anchor lines slack as long as we can so they will not suspect.

  "Keep an eye out for now. If they try to board we will be ready."

  Aside to the mate, he added, "Let us hope their numbers have not increased."

  With growing light the incoming tide promised to float them and confidence grew. As the waterline rose a seaman in the hold listened for the first grinding hints that the ship was ready to free itself. Then they would work at the windlass and up all sail. Even the light wind would move them and they would be away.

  "Enemy in sight!"

  There they lay. Five boats this time and a clumsy looking raft with a mast and furled square sail, all grouped beyond rifle shot.

  "Damnation!" This time there was despair in Mathew Covert's voice. An instant later Jonas knew why.

  From the raft's deck a cannon of some size boomed and almost instantly its ball tore through the ship's rail sending deadly splinters whirling as it ricocheted down the deck to crush a hatch coaming.

  From the pirates a great cheer arose but the men of the Ruth Covert were concentrating on their own actions.

  The capstan groaned as the anchor cable came taut. Sails rose in a rush and the ship groaned and leaned in its sandy cradle.

  A second ball came aboard causing no apparent damage. Covert ordered the jolly boat into the fray. "Get as close as you can and aim for that cannon, Jonas."

  Jonas dropped onto the boat's rear thwart as the cannon boomed a third time. Someone screamed on deck and screamed again. The oarsmen strained and the jolly boat fairly lifted from the water.

  They ran from behind the protection of the schooner and drove straight for the raft. This time the cannon seemed to thunder almost in Jonas' face and he heard the projectile whine overhead.

  Whine? Even as they closed Jonas realized the pirates had switched to some kind of chain shot. Their effort would be to destroy the sails. That done, the clumsy raft with its single cannon could pick the schooner to pieces.

  The range was long for Jonas' light rifle but the bodies were thick around the cannon. Jonas halted his rowers while he took the shot. A figure jumped away holding an arm or shoulder and Jonas went to work reloading.

  Again ready he looked up to find all of the small boats bearing down on his jolly boat. Figures ducked as his rifle swung across them but his target was the raft. As his sights settled the cannon went off. Smoke obscured the target but Jonas shot anyway.

  He could not wait too long. The pirate boats would force him out of range. But, he vowed, they would pay for it.

  He managed another hasty shot at the cannon and crew before the boats drew too close. Then the jolly boat withdrew a little and Jonas went to work on new targets.

  Beyond range of pirate muskets, Jonas began a steady fire into the closest boat. Quickly the exposed craft sought cover behind another. By Jonas' fifth shot the pirate craft were in a whirl, unable to chase the jolly boat within range of the schooner's muskets. They could absorb Jonas' fire or retreat.

  Flee they did, but only to spread wide. Then they came again, each attempting to inch closer, huddling behind their bulwarks when the rifle swung their way.

  Exultant shouting caught Jonas' ear and the jolly boat slowed as its rowers too looked for the cause. Aboard the schooner the foresail had fallen in a crash of boom and gaff. A single jib still pulled but, even as they watched, shrouds parted and the crack of the already weakened mast announced a new break. The single jib fluttered and hung like a broken wing. With the jib went the schooner's final chance.

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  A searing sun crept above the Florida landmass dazzling the eyes of the pirate gunners who sighted into it, but their cannon continued thundering and its balls crushed into and through the grounded schooner's planking.

  Jonas fired his last charge with little expectation. His rifle bore was powder fouled and accuracy was sadly reduced. Willingly his rowers pulled for the shelter of their battered ship. The pirate boats followed as closely as they dared.

  On the Ruth Covert's safer side the ship's longboat was being supplied. Her mast was raised and a tumble of kegs and baskets lay between the thwarts.

  Aboard the schooner all was shambles. Men lay dead and Mathew Covert limped badly. The mate appeared from below and a smoke column followed him.

  Grim as death, the captain waved his men to the longboat and survivors leaped for it with almost unseeming haste.

  Jonas and his oarsmen gulped water from an open butt, uncaring that it slopped and wasted. The ship was being abandoned and Mathew Covert was leaving as little as possible for the pirates.

  The captain caught Jonas' arm. He pointed to a small water keg and a hamper of biscuits. "Load your stores and pull away. Our course will be south, then to the west. When we have outdistanced these people we will take you in tow.

  "Quickly now, they will see the smoke and try to board." Covert gave Jonas' shoulder a final squeeze and turned away.

  Jonas' pair of oarsmen was already dropping into their jolly boat, and with a final salvo the last of the ship's crew abandoned their stations and leaped to the longboat. Jonas went over the side and, as his men pushed off, Captain Covert too left his dying schooner.

  Fully manned, the longboat fairly shot from behind the schooner's protection with the tiny jolly boat close behind. Almost within reach, a scow heavy with pirates was plowing toward the schooner's rail. Jonas had time to see their mutual astonishment as a bare thirty yards separated the enemies.

  Frantically pirates swung muskets until their boat seemed only gun muzzles. With a dozen rowing, the longboat was already distancing itself but the jolly boat lay like a fat plum waiting to be plucked.

  Almost in unison the gun muzzles swung to them and Jonas Hawk was gone. Like an eel he was overside and swimming deep.

  The water was soup warm and closed above him like a protecting blanket. The crashing thunder of the muskets reached him but he did not pause. His heavy boots pulled him down and he let them while he struggled to put distance between himself and the jolly boat.

  Jonas swam better than most. Many did not swim at all and that had seemed strange among men who lived on the sea. His best hope was to be ignored in the hurry to douse the shipboard fires. Lungs nearly bursting, Jonas stroked until his vision blurred. Then he surfaced, gasping in desperate haste, fighting for a breath that would allow him to sink again.

  He had time. A dozen yards away the jolly boat floated, shattered by musket fire. An arm hung overside and Jonas assumed his rowers had taken the musket blasts.

  Jonas shed his boots and weighed the possibility of using the jolly boat. It was taking water and a gunnel showed sprung planks; the boat was finished.

 
; Aboard the schooner, men cursed and occasionally a figure showed. Smoke rose over everything and, as Jonas treaded water, a lance of flame darted high. There was satisfaction in knowing the pirates would gain nothing.

  Jonas rolled onto his back and began stroking easily for the shore. It was probably a short mile to the beach, far beyond anything he had swum before, but the incoming tide would help and—he had no other choice.

  Once away from the burning hulk Jonas rested often. The schooner blazed stem to stern. He wondered how many fires the mate had set. Likely he had trailed an open oil keg the ship's length and lit the center of it as he came on deck. No question that he had done it right.

  For a time Jonas could see the longboat's sail as it turned westerly, but it grew small and was gone. Jonas stroked his weary way toward land, wondering at how long it took even with the tide helping.

  His feet touched bottom a hundred yards from the beach. Jonas staggered erect, thankful to rest exhausted arms. The terrible sun struck and he knew he had been wise to keep his shirt. Unaccustomed to it, a sun of such heat could burn his unprotected body to a cinder.

  The current had swept him far south of the wreck and, as that put him further from the pirates, he was pleased. Near shore he swam across a narrow swash channel but ahead lay sand beach and the protection of an almost impenetrable looking jungle. The sight was not encouraging but at least there was cover where he could rest and consider his situation.

  At the water's edge old learning snapped into place. Tracks! Coming ashore he would leave a perfect trail for anyone to find. Yet, how to prevent it? As far as he could see the beach ran white and unblemished.

  A few hundred yards to the south the broken mainmast had washed in with the tide. It lay far up the beach, and in shallow water Jonas waded to it.

  Only a strip of sand lay between the mast and the jungle edge. Jonas expected he could disguise at least a few steps. To the north the cannon raft was heading in towed by a pair of small boats. Jonas guessed he should hurry.

  Balancing carefully, Jonas walked the half buried mast. Two steps on the sand would carry him to the jungle edge. Jonas took them, his footprints digging deep in the smooth sand.

  Everything within the jungly growth seemed sharp. Thorny ends poked at him and even leaves had sharp edges, well within, he found a broad leaf and filled it with clean dry sand. Back at the jungle edge he carefully filled his first footprint. It was easier than he had hoped. He quickly hid the second. Examining his work, Jonas doubted the sharpest eye would pick it out.

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  Chapter 7

  Water, where would he find water? The question burned in the mind of Jonas Hawk as powerfully as the sun glared on the beach below his perch.

  The morning breeze had gone around and blew from the water, affording enough relief to halt the sweating that had threatened to drain him dry.

  At first Jonas had scurried about the island searching for a spring or even a stagnant swamp but mosquitoes and sharp growth limited his searching. A form of oak grew with vast spreads of branches. Among higher limbs he found he was hidden from below and exposure to a breeze reduced the insect problem immensely. He chose a large tree whose outer branches gave view of the beach where he had come ashore. When pirates came, and they would for wreckage continued to drift ashore, Jonas could know if his presence would be detected.

  Finally he could think about the schooner's loss and the death of shipmates. How many had died? More than a few but he had not had time to count. His mates in the jolly boat were surely dead and, when it pulled away, the longboat had not been overcrowded. Few they might be, but Jonas longed to be among those now sailing their fragile craft far out in the Gulf of Mexico.

  Instead, he was alone, trapped on a pirate-infested island, countless impossible miles from safety. In his youth Jonas' father had talked of his own escape from Shawnee Indians and a winter flight through the Allegheny Mountains until, almost starving, he had stumbled onto Rob Shatto hunting along Tuscarora's southern flank. Jonas gritted his teeth and tightened his guts. Surely his situation was no worse. He doubted even pirates could be as deadly as aroused Shawnee. He would hang on and see what he could make from his sorry situation.

  Men came in late afternoon. They were four in number, bizarre figures, overdressed in gaudy rags. They were preceded by a pair of dark, almost naked savages that Jonas took to be Indians. If the pirates searched for booty, the Indians looked for tracks. Like hunting dogs they scouted, noses and eyes cast down watching the sand.

  Patiently the Indians waited while the whites hauled floating wreckage ashore or examined flotsam already grounded. The tide was again turning and they hurried along before good things were again washed away.

  Despite their search, little that was useful was found. Jonas eyed it all hungrily. To a man with nothing, the poorest possession could be golden.

  As the Indians reached the mast and its tangle, Jonas' muscles tightened but the savages leaped across and a moment later the pirates clumped their way around the end. Jonas' tracks were gone forever.

  Down the beach an Indian called excitedly and splashed into the shallows. Until the other assisted, Jonas could not identify their find. They got it ashore and Jonas recognized the wreck of the jolly boat.

  A body was unceremoniously dumped aside and the broken boat pawed through. One pirate knelt by the dead oarsman and stripped something away. A leather belt, Jonas thought. The Indians stayed longer and one of them dragged the body into deeper water where the tide would sweep it away. When the party returned Jonas saw that one Indian wore the seaman's shirt while the other had the man's canvas pants wrapped around his waist.

  Only a little to the east, lightning forked and thunder banged. From his tree Jonas could see a storm forming. It grew swiftly into a thick and dark wall with clouds black as soot hanging above. Within the storm powerful winds might play and surely there would be rain. The tempest was moving toward them and Jonas hoped it would not veer aside. The pirates joked among themselves but quickened their pace. Jonas baked in the heat and prayed for the rain.

  Finally it came, a cold whisk of wind followed by a few rain drops. The sky blackened and Jonas slipped to the ground to find broad leaves to catch what water he could. He heard the rain coming like a thousand finger taps and saw it appear through the gloom like a solid wall. As though he stood beneath a waterfall, the deluge fell on his welcoming body. His mouth lay open and it filled again and again while his pores seemed to absorb the water's cooling life. Jonas scrubbed his body clean and rinsed his clothing as ram hammered the jungle and drove the sea flat. The land shed the water in instant rivulets and Jonas wished for some way to store it.

  His thoughts turned to the wreckage the pirates had examined. He tried to remember the jolly boat as he had seen it torn by shot and half sinking. Probably the boat was beyond repair but maybe, just maybe, it could be salvaged.

  The storm and the night were Jonas' best cover. He hopped to the broken mast and sloshed through the shallows to the half awash wreck.

  Jonas could spare his shipmate's body only a moment's prayer, watching it drift with the sea, soon to sink and join the others who died with the Ruth Covert.

  The boat was savaged. It leaked through a dozen splintery holes and a gunnel was blown away with a pair of planks sprung at the stem.

  Still, repair might be possible. A single oar lay in the boat's bottom. Tossed higher on the sand by the uncaring pirates lay the wreck's greatest gift, the small water keg. With rain pelting him Jonas shook the keg at his ear and heard the gurgle of water. Hope ballooning, Jonas heaved the boat back into the sea and began floating it toward the grounded mast and his only path in and out of the water.

  Jonas carried the oar and precious water keg well into cover. Then he evaluated his chances with the heavy boat. He heaved the craft upside down and let the water run out.

  Raising the bow until the boat stood on end he balanced its weight trying to decide whether he could lift it.
r />   Jonas was on the small side. Quick and wiry, he did not possess massive strength. Yet, he had to try. He bent at the knees, taking a thwart against his back. The boat's weight settled and he lifted. Into it he poured back, legs, and will, but the boat barely raised. He could not take a step, though his life might depend on it. Jonas let the weight fall gently into shallows fearing he could not get the boat across the beach without leaving ineradicable tracks.

  The rain beat with a million stinging fingers. It turned his body cold, and pleasure in its relief was gone. To the north, lightning flashed and its thunderclap was immediate. Jonas guessed the storm was at its height and would soon subside.

  Then he saw the way. The lightning had shown it. Jonas grinned at his own stupidity, hardly believing he could have ignored something so obvious.

  Channeled by jungly growth, the rain deluge drained from the island in natural channels. Not even streams, barely noticeable when dry, the channels ran only an inch or two deep, but, the swift flow would immediately obliterate any scrape made in it. Jonas could drag his boat up a channel and within moments the sand would again be unmarked.

  He moved quickly, choosing a channel that allowed passage deep into forest cover. He again dumped water and began dragging the heavy craft up the beach.

  Anything too heavy to lift did not drag easily. Jonas Hawk clawed for every inch. He moved the boat in a series of jerks as he dug in and threw his full strength into the effort. But the boat was moving. A tortuous foot by foot it crept closer to the jungle.

  Now Jonas prayed that the rain would continue and continue hard, because his feet drove deep into the sand and the boat's keel scraped an inches-deep groove in the beach.

  Close to the undergrowth the beach flattened and once he could grip trunks and roots each straining heave gained more ground. Jonas' body began to lose strength but he dared not rest. The sky still poured its chill cascade but he could not tell if the clouds thinned. Such storms never lasted long. This one had been heavy with rain and weak of wind. The opposite could have been true. At sea thunder storms were a menace. On land they could flood and uproot. To Jonas Hawk, this storm was an unparalleled blessing.