The entire crew was hard at work. Sailors climbed the rigging, loosened ropes, and prepared to furl the sails, sweating under the relentless sun while the helmsman kept the course steady.The captain climbed to the quarterdeck, Trumper close behind, and approached the railing to peer through his spyglass.
"Do you intend to enter the estuary?" asked the boatswain.
"I'll need the pilot's confirmation, Mr. Trumper," the captain replied, turning to him. "Fetch Mr. Wells and have him verify whether the depth is suitable for entry once the coast is in sight."
Trumper nodded and descended to the deck in search of the pilot, who sat in his cabin before a table scattered with maps and instruments. Between his legs he held a small bottle, drinking discreetly until footsteps approached. He hid the bottle behind a trunk, straightened up, and pretended to be absorbed in the nautical chart, taking measurements with a compass.
"Mr. Wells," said Trumper, "the captain requests your presence on the quarterdeck."
The pilot rose, breathing heavily, and followed the boatswain out of the cabin. They emerged on deck and climbed to the quarterdeck.
Meanwhile, high above in the rigging, the three youths—Sammy, Kayin, and Cody—clung to the shrouds with one hand while the wind struck their faces. Sammy saw the pilot ascend to the quarterdeck and tightened her lips.
"There goes the man who owes you ten lashes," said Cody, gripping the line.
Sammy sighed. "For a moment, I thought I'd earned a promotion," she said, glancing toward the quarterdeck where the pilot watched the horizon through his sextant.
"You can't complain," Kayin replied calmly. "You've been promoted."
"To furling the sail at the top of the mainmast," Cody muttered.
Both boys burst out laughing. Sammy scowled—obviously, she didn't find it funny.
"Can you two stop being idiots? Still, I can't help feeling humiliated," she said.
"That's progress," Cody joked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Next step is accepting the reality you got us into."
"Good heavens, Cody… will there ever be a day when you stop complaining?"
The boy looked at her; his blond hair whipped in the wind. He pressed his lips together."No."
Sammy gritted her teeth. "If it weren't for the fact that letting go would send me flying, I'd break your face."
The two of them laughed again when, from the deck below, came the shrill sound of the boatswain's mate's whistle—three sharp blasts followed by a shout.
"Ease the mainsail sheets!"
On deck, the sailors hurried to loosen the sheets and bowlines, letting the great sail sag heavily. The braces creaked through their blocks as the yard swung to meet the wind head-on.
Sammy glanced down through the maze of ropes; the deck below looked tiny, the men moving mechanically as they hauled and eased the lines.
"To the yards! Furl the mainsail!" shouted Mr. Knox.
"You heard him!" cried a pirate up above. "Haul in the canvas!"
The sail boomed like thunder, swelling like the chest of a dragon that refused to yield. Standing on the footrope beneath the yard, the sailors leaned forward, grasping the canvas with both hands. With rhythmic effort, they hauled and folded until the great sail was subdued. At last, they lashed it in place. Exhausted, Sammy leaned against the bundled canvas, catching her breath, gazing toward the coastline now visible in the distance—when a glint caught her eye.
"If my eyes don't deceive me… someone's signaling," she said.
Kayin, adjusting a few lines of the rigging, turned to look where she pointed. The ship veered slightly as it adjusted course."I don't see anything…"
"I swear I saw a light at the base of the cliff."
"Maybe it's heatstroke, Sammy," said Kayin.
"Or one of your usual hallucinations—God save us," Cody added.
The girl narrowed her eyes in irritation but kept scanning the horizon. Then—another pair of rhythmic flashes, just before the ship's angle made them vanish.
On deck, the boatswain arrived with Mr. Knox, who was overseeing the work."The captain has ordered we slow down even more. Move it!" shouted Trumper.
Knox barked:"Foremast crew, to the yards! Furl the foresail!"
"God almighty… they don't give us a breath before shouting new orders," grumbled Cody.
The sailors in the rigging began descending the shrouds.
"You three!" Knox shouted to the youths climbing down the ratlines. "To the mizzen! Ease the sheet!"
"Trim the jibs, keep her steady!" ordered Trumper as he strode along the deck.
The three made their way aft. Sammy took the chance to approach the boatswain, who stood with hands on his hips, watching the sails.
"Mr. Trumper, may I have a word?" she asked.
The boatswain didn't take his eyes off the rigging."What could be more important than securing the sails, Mr. Worthy?"
"When I was up on the main yard, I saw a light. Looked like someone signaling from the base of the cliff—at the mouth of the estuary."
Trumper turned toward her."Mr. Worthy, if there were such a light, our lookout would've seen it, and he's been quieter than a nun at prayer."
"With respect, sir, I saw it. It was quite clear, and it flashed several times."
"Back to your station before I have you flogged."
Sammy hesitated. "Sir, I'm just concerned—"
"You're not here to think. Move!"
At that moment, Captain Skippy arrived."What's going on?" he asked.
"This sea rat—" began Trumper.
"Mr. Worthy," corrected the captain.
"Apologies… Mr. Worthy is speaking nonsense not worth the trouble."
The captain nodded, merely instructing him to ensure the ship was ready to enter the estuary.
"Back to your post," ordered Trumper. "One more interruption, and I'll see you flogged. Seems you've grown fond of it."
Sammy hurried to the mizzenmast to help furl the sail.
"What is it this time, Sammy?" Cody asked. "Can't you go one day without stirring up trouble?"
She rolled her eyes and joined in pulling the lines.
Soon after, the pilot began calling out degrees to the helmsman."The tide's high enough to enter, but it might fall—we'll have to wait until morning to leave," the pilot warned.
Skippy studied the coast."We'll anchor at the entrance. Lower the longboat and take the cargo ashore," he ordered, turning to the boatswain. "Mr. Trumper, form a landing party. Take the barrels in the boat."
"Wouldn't it be faster to lower both boats, Captain?"
"I said one boat, Mr. Trumper."
The boatswain nodded and issued the orders.
The Garnor began gliding slowly. The speed dropped; anchors splashed into the sea, and the ship drifted at the mouth of the estuary, rocking with the waves.
Trumper gathered a landing party of twelve men—including Cody—under Mr. Knox's command. Many were disappointed not to be chosen; any chance to set foot on land was worth gold.
The men prepared one of the longboats carried amidships. They slid it down the side of the hull, the pulleys squealing above the steady murmur of the sea. When it touched the water, the pirate aboard called out that it was ready and held it fast with a rope.
Then the barrels were hoisted from the hold, the ropes screeching through the blocks as the cargo was lowered. The men in the boat received each barrel, steadying them amid curses and laughter. Cody's hands burned as he strained to hold the lines, keeping each barrel from striking the hull. Once aboard, the barrels were lashed firmly to the sides. In the end, twenty-four hogsheads were arranged along the boat—two of them loaded "to the mark"—and Knox ordered two men forward to trim the bow.
Sammy watched the scene unfold. Her gaze drifted toward the rocky outcrop where, atop its verdant crown, stood the silent, enigmatic remains of Mayan ruins. A chill ran down her spine.
"I need to go," she said to Kayin beside her.
"What?"
"I need to go with them… with Cody. I have a bad feeling."
"Stop fussing over him like a mother hen," he replied.
At last the barrels were secured, and the men prepared to depart. They loosed the lines and began rowing toward the estuary. Among the rowers, Cody looked back at Sammy—whose expression he knew all too well—and didn't like what he saw. But there was no choice. The longboat drifted away, cutting through the waves of the open sea before clearing the sandbar and entering the calmer waters of the estuary.
One of the men called out directions while Knox kept watch on the horizon. The rowers worked in rhythm, joking among themselves. Cody glanced at the cliff marking the estuary's entrance; the ruins looming atop it seemed to watch them with hollow eyes.
"Keep those arms moving, boy," said one pirate, nudging him. "I want to reach land and drink a fine cup of fruit and rum."
"Who built that?" Cody asked.
The pirate shrugged as he rowed. "All I know is, when the Spaniards arrived, it was already in ruins. I suppose they didn't find gold—or they'd have torn it down."
"I'd have done the same," said another. "If there's one thing the Spaniards and I have in common, it's a love of gold."
"And women!" shouted another, sparking laughter all around.
"That people was cursed for idolatry," said Smith. "Just as the Spanish Empire shall be—brought low before Albion's feet."
"Here he goes again with his sermons," said a red-haired, pot-bellied pirate.
"That's why they sent him in the boat—to give the Garnor some peace," joked another, bare-chested under the tropical sun.
"As Matthew 5:10–12 says," Smith intoned, "'Blessed are ye when men shall revile and persecute you for my sake, for great is your reward in Heaven.' So mock all you want—in the end, I'll be the one laughing."
"And as Matthew—meaning me—says," replied a pirate wearing a small bonnet hat, "who votes we send him back to the ship?"
The crew burst into laughter.
"Quiet and keep the rhythm," ordered Knox, scanning the reef as they left the cliff behind. "Let's move with spirit if we want the cargo ashore before sunset. We've got more trips ahead."
A collective groan followed.
"Why didn't they send the second boat?" asked the red-haired pirate.
"Mr. Hatcher," Knox replied, "you can ask the captain yourself when we return."
The men laughed at Hatcher's expense, and even he joined in, rowing on as their laughter mingled with the slap of oars and the slow heartbeat of the sea.