Pirate by Steven Becker

Author:Steven Becker [Becker, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical
Publisher: The White Marlin Press
Published: 2015-05-21T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

By the height of the moon in the sky, I could guess it was about midnight when we gave up our makeshift camp to the mosquitos. The swarming bugs attracted by our unbathed bodies made it impossible to sleep. The incessant buzzing of the bugs and the grunts of the gators after our close call and the loss of Johnnie unnerved us. Silently, we separated the canoes, pulled the poles from the muck and started to float into the night. My leg ached, but I struggled to take the first turn at the pole, using a distant star to track our course.

I assigned two-hour shifts and we took turns at the helm through the night using the stars to navigate. Despite the discomfort of the canoe, I slept fitfully during Rory’s last watch and woke with the sun. The landscape had changed overnight. Mangrove islands were visible in the distance and I sensed the water flow had increased. I scooped water with one hand and brought it to my mouth. To my disdain and relief, it was brackish; the fresh water diluted with salt from the incoming tide. My relief was that we were close to the coast, but my worry was that we were out of fresh water and could no longer rely on the miles of fresh water that had been around us.

I took the pole and checked our course against the position of the sun. My mouth was dry, but I continued in silence, knowing the others suffered the same fate. In the distance I could see clouds and my first thought was rain. During the summer these clouds would blossom into anvil-based thunderheads, but this time of year I thought it might be a land mass they were attracted to. The mangrove islands on either side of us became closer and denser as we floated by them and I felt the water change beneath us. Another hour and we were in a seam, like you find in a river, that turned us to the west. The channel was deep and clearly delineated now that the sawgrass was gone and soon we had to lash the poles to the boats and use our paddles.

The mood lightened as the channel opened to reveal an expanse of islands in the distance. At first I was jubilant, but as I continued to monitor the river’s western course, I started to worry. Gasparilla had travelled the route from the Keys up the west coast of Florida and this area looked familiar. I glanced at Rhames who would have noticed as well, but he was laid out and resting, his face toward the sky. I would have to wait until he finished his shift paddling to confirm my suspicion. For now I would keep quiet. If I was in fact correct, we were in the Shark River, a tidal basin that emptied into the Gulf of Mexico, miles of open water away from the protection of the Keys.

I allowed the group to revel in the accomplishment of our escape from the river of grass and kept my thoughts to myself.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.