They were now several hundred yards in from the entrance of the channel, and when he glanced around, Ruark stared in amazement. The sloop’s captain had tried to make the entrance under full sail. In making the turn, the small ship had careened heavily with the press of the wind. Her bowsprit had swung past the course and was locked fast in the tangle of wood. Now she heeled slowly broadside in the channel entrance, firmly jammed in the floating gate while her stunsail and mizzen rigging became entangled in the tall mangrove that marked the far side. Nothing larger than a dory could make passage into the channel, and it would be hours before they could chop the ship loose and pull her free.
The small cannonade sounded again, but it was hastily aimed, and the ball shattered the trees well off the port beam. The schooner rounded a shallow bend, and the other ship was hidden from sight.
Ruark concentrated on threading the ship through the narrow channel. The swamp was several miles deep, and it would be well over an hour before they were into open water. And until they were clear of the swamp, one mistake could leave them aground like the other ship. It would be impossible for them to drag it free. If the pirates didn’t catch them, they would die the lingering death of the swamp.
Shanna scrounged food from the captain’s cabin, gave a share to Gaitlier and Dora, and brought a plate of dark bread, meat, and a large slab of cheese to Ruark at the wheel. She balanced it on the binnacle and, as he concentrated on guiding the ship, fed him mouthfuls.
“They were having a feast below.” She tried to laugh lightly, but her brow knitted with worry. “We shan’t starve at least.” Her eyes wandered to his leg, where the splinter still protruded boldly.
“What’s that you have in the bottle?” Ruark asked.
“Rum, I think,” she murmured. “ ‘Twas with the rest.”
Taking the flask, Ruark poured a healthy draught down his throat. Instant fire was his reward, burning its way downward as he choked. It was issue rum, uncut, black as sin, and just as potent.
“Water,” he gasped when his breath came back to him, and Shanna hastily handed him a gourd from the bundles Gaitlier had brought. Ruark drew on it to his pleasure, and the fire waned to a warm glow in his belly. The rum served to numb the ache that had begun to seep upward from his pierced thigh.
Shanna set the tray aside and took a packet from her waistband. She unfolded it to reveal a small tin of salve and strips of cloth bandages. Laying them out on the deck, she spoke over her shoulder.
“This was all I could find in the cabin.” She rose and stared up at him, concern etching a frown upon her brow. “Will you let me tend your leg now?”
Ruark glanced down at his wound. A small ring of dried blood showed on his pants with a thin streak going downward. He shook his head in reply. As long as he was standing and alert he would press on.
“Nay, love, not now. Not until we’re clear of this swamp.” He smiled at her to gentle his words. “You may have your turn at barbering when we’ve a good sail set on open sea.”
Shanna hid her frown and tried to mask her anxiety; the thought of him in pain distressed her sorely.
The sun grew lower in the sky, but the heat did not abate. A myriad host of insects descended to bite, sting, gnaw, and otherwise torture them. The breezes eased until the ship barely crawled along. Sweat trickled down their bodies, soaking their clothes and making the garments stick clammily to the skin.
The air pressed in around them, and the rank smell of the swamp clogged the very nostrils. Indeed, the sky held a greenish cast as if it reflected the slime that covered the waters through which they sailed.
Then suddenly the sky seemed bluer. Ruark glanced around. The trees were fewer, the channel wider, the slime was gone, and wavelets lapped along the hull. There was a whiteness in the water as they passed over a shallow sandbar. Ruark held his breath. A slight scrape on the hull, a jerk on the rudder, and they were free, sailing into the deep blue of the Caribbean. The course was maintained until the swamp was only a vague blur on the horizon.
Then he turned the ship easterly to sail along the southern side of the string of islands. On leaving them, a northeasterly course would bring them to Los Camellos in a day or two.
Gaitlier came aft, and for once there were wide grins on all faces.
“Do you think you can raise the mainsail?” Ruark questioned. “We’ll make better time, but ‘tis the most this crew can handle.”
Gaitlier was eager and took Shanna below on the main deck. In a moment they were marching the capstan round as the huge sail on the mainmast creaked slowly upward.
Going aloft to rig the topsail was out of the question, so Ruark trimmed the ship on course and had Gaitlier lash the wheel in place. Ruark rejected the idea of going to the captain’s cabin, for he was not sure of his ability to return, so Shanna and Dora fetched blankets to make a pallet and prepared a space for him against the rail, while Ruark carefully directed Gaitlier on the course, pointing it out on the map, and gave instructions on reaching Trahern’s island.