"The Cardinal Pirate" Chapter 8 - "The Slaver"

“The Cardinal Pirate”

Back Cover Description

   “I am dead, may the Lord have mercy on my wretched soul and forgive me my many sins. I did what I had to do.”
   So begins “The Cardinal Pirate”, the sequel to “Surfing Treasure’s Wake.”
   Seventeen-year-old Marc is joined by Jesús and Bob, his surrogate father, as they discover the diary of Estabon Cervantas on the beaches of Amelia Island, Florida, who in 1565 joined Admiral Menendez, the founder of St. Augustine, to drive the French Huguenots from north Florida and massacre Jene Ribault and three hundred and fifty of his men.
   Recounting this horrific event, Estabon writes, “When this righteous act was complete, the once light brown sandy inlet was soaked with heretic blood. Only the footprints of our men across this bloody spit revealed the bright golden purified sand beneath.”
   Together all three read why Estabon chose a life of piracy.
   “… for I had heard about the pirates that infest the waters off the coast of black Africa. Heathens to be sure, yet as I continued to ponder Leon’s suggestion the idea soon grew in my mind. I finally agreed. We would become pirates, for that was our destiny that God had ordained.”
   But Marc’s estranged father is shadowing him, trying to steal the diary, which contains clues to the location of Estabon’s treasure.
   Finally, Marc’s father proves his love for his son but must escape from the authorities before he can make amends as each seek the treasure of “The Cardinal Pirate” of the Caribbean.

Chapter 8

“The Slaver”

   When they arrived at Bob’s house, Jesús could tell that something was bothering Marc by the furrowed intensity on his face. “Hey, man, what’s up?” said Jesús quietly. “You look white as a ghost.”
   Marc met his gaze and turned off the Jeep’s engine. “I think we’re being followed.”
   “By who?”
   “I think it was the same guy we saw at Amelia Research when we brought in the diary.”
   “Are you sure?”
   “No. But he sure looked familiar.”
   “Where’d you see him?”
   “Driving that car that was following us on South Fletcher,” Marc replied, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
   “Are you sure it was the same guy?”
   “I don’t know. But it sure looked like him.”
   “We should tell Bob.”
   “I will,” Marc replied. Then he opened his door, stepped out and walked into the house.
   Later that evening when Bob arrived home Marc didn’t waste any time.
   “Bob, I think I saw somebody following us today.”
   Bob immediately turned to face him, after setting his packages on the kitchen counter top.
   “Are you sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
   “Pretty much. Remember that day when we found the diary? There was a guy at Amelia Research. I think it was him.”
   “Why would he be following you?”
   “Probably trying to steal our diary,” Jesús added.
   “Hold on now,” Bob calmly said. “We don’t know that for sure.”
   “My money’s with Jesús,” Marc agreed.
   “Okay, let’s see what happens,” Bob said. “And remember to keep an eye out. This is getting weirder by the minute.”
   All three agreed to continue watching each other’s backs, just in case they really were being followed.
   The next morning Bob was again up early. He poured himself a cup of coffee, added some creamer and walked over to his desk where he turned on his computer. After reading the morning news he checked his email. One of the emails was from the grad student at UF; another few pages of the diary were attached. Bob printed them out and quickly scanned the translated pages. Then he spotted something–something very interesting. He set aside his half-empty cup of coffee and yelled to Marc and Jesús to wake up.
   Marc was sleeping soundly when he heard the yell. He immediately thought that something bad had happened. He jumped out of bed and greeted Jesús who was stumbling from his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
   “What’s up?” Marc asked, as they came stumbling down the stairs and into the small comfortable living room.
   “You are not going to believe this,” Bob said, swinging around his desk chair to face the boys.
   “What?”
   “Okay, sit down. I got the next few pages of the diary. I want to read them to you.”
   “Yeah, sure,” Marc said, as he and Jesús plopped down onto the living room sofa, each still thinking about sleep.
   Bob began to read.

   Then one day as we sat and mended our traps, Leon spotted a sail on the horizon. At once we froze for we concluded that our brave brothers under Admiral Menendez had discovered our whereabouts. We quickly put out our fire using our now hardened feet, hid behind a sand dune and watched through the sharp green saw grass as the intruder sailed closer.
   When the mystery ship had sailed close enough we could see that it was French. Leon and I shared our desires for fresh baked breads and wine we knew was aboard. Then we sadly watched as the heretic ship sailed away finally disappearing over the horizon. That was when Leon suggested that we outfit our small sail boat so that when the next ship sailed close we could take her.

   “They became pirates?” Marc asked.
   “It appears so,” Bob answered, picking up where he had left off.

   At first I was opposed to Leon’s idea for I had heard about the pirates that infest the waters off the coast of black Africa. Heathens to be sure, suitable only for the gallows, yet as I continued to ponder Leon’s suggestion the idea soon grew in my mind to the point where I finally agreed. We would become pirates, for that was our destiny that God had ordained.
   We set about making our small craft ready. We stripped all the unnecessary wooden benches from our boat, thereby increasing her speed tremendously. Having no cannon or firearms we knew that we would be out gunned and probably killed in our first attempt. However, we were determined and desperate.
   After we had refurbished our ship, we christened her the King’s Vengeance, for even though we were undoubtedly wanted by our own countrymen, we still felt a kinship with our King and country. We were ready for when the next ship sailed by.
   Weeks soon passed and Leon and I continued to live our lives. We had not seen any signs of the heathen Timucua and so we concluded that they must have left our little island kingdom.
   Then one fine bright day I ventured out again to check our traps by the lagoon. To my surprise all the traps had been sprung and our precious food was missing. Looking around I saw what appeared to be many sets of footprints in the sandy mud of the lagoon. The Timucua had returned. I knew that Leon and I would again need to search out and find the heathens and then drive them away. I concluded that this time we would not spare the women and children for what good is a heathen of any age.
   I quickly returned to our little fortress on the hill and soon discovered that Leon was no place to be found. Thinking that he had traveled to the mouth of the inlet to check our fish traps, I headed out in that direction. That is when I came across Leon lying behind a sandy dune and pointing out into the blue Atlantic.
   There from the low fog lying on the horizon was a set of sails, French sails. The enemy had returned and we were ready for adventure.

   “I’ll bet they were,” Jesús added, as Bob pushed on

   Leon and I waited to determine which direction the heretic ship was sailing. It made directly toward us and into our trap.
   We decided to wait until the ship came as close as it would. Being a bright sun-filled day, we knew that we could never take her by direct assault. However, God was smiling on us and the wind came out of the east pushing the remaining fog close to shore. We knew that the fog bank would be our cover as we quickly made our way to our pirate ship.
   After loading our weapons, which were a few goodly made bows, plenty of sharpened arrows, pine pitch for torches and our swords, we set sail. The French ship turned and tacked closer. We sailed into the fog bank and waited for what we determined was the proper amount of time for the heretic ship to sail close enough for us to dash from behind the misty fog and come along side before they were aware of us, having learned for our good Admiral Menendez that stealth and surprise often times will ensure victory over a superior enemy.

   “They’re going to take on a French ship using a longboat? How dumb can they be?” Marc commented.
   “Just wait,” Bob said. “It gets pretty wild.” Then he returned to the diary.

   At the appointed time, we broke from the fog and as we had anticipated, were behind the heretic ship. The French ship was fast but we were faster and quickly began to close the distance between us and the heretics.
   As we sailed upon her we could read the name of the French ship. She was the L’intrépide and her crew had not yet spotted us. Our spirit of adventure was high.

   “Holy cow!” Marc broke out. “It’s the L’intrépide! The same ship that Jesús’s doubloon came from.”
   “Hey, Bob,” Jesús inquired. “You think the L’intrépide sank off the south end, like the San Miguel?”
   “Wait. You’ll see,” Bob replied.

   Then disappointment and anger overtook us as the French finally spotted us and fired a salvo from her stern deck guns. The poorly placed shots missed our fine vessel and we carried on. Once we were within range of our bows we let loose with a volley of pine pitch-covered flaming arrows of which a few found their marks high up in the French sails, which soon began to burn terribly.
   But our fiery arrows worked too well for soon the entire ship was ablaze burning it and everything aboard to the water line. We stopped dead in the water for soon we knew the powder magazine would explode and feared to get too close.
   We saw a few white men and many black men, women and children scamper across the decks as all the heretics fought for safety. Then the powder magazine exploded leaving nothing behind except ruin and charred bodies.
   I felt remorse and sorrow for what we had done for I knew that none of the slaves could swim or survive. Our first attempt at pirating had failed.

   “So the L’intrépide was a slaver,” Marc concluded.
   “And a raider,” Jesús added. “Just like Wayne read.”
   “Bob, we should take out the Polly L and see if we can find her,” Marc suggested. “We know where she is, kind of.”
   “I agree. I’m going to send an email to Wayne along with this translation and recommend just that. Now, how about rustling up some breakfast?”
   “Sure, Bob,” Marc said, with a grin. “No problem.”
   Bob returned to his computer and emailed Wayne, briefly describing the contents of the translated pages, as well as mentioning the doubloon from the L’intrépide. He also recommended that Wayne take a closer look at all the identified targets just off the south end of Amelia Island to try and isolate the potential debris field. He suggested that they take the Polly L out and hunt for the sunken French vessel.
   After clicking his mouse on the send button, he stood up, stretched and walked over to the kitchen table where a hot plate of bacon and eggs awaited him.
   Five minutes later, John Adams noticed that he had a new email, and saw it was a copy of Bob’s message to Wayne. He quickly read the contents, including the diary attachment. John sat back and smiled. He had found what he was looking for and knew his silent partner would be pleased.