“He says he is an American and one of the ships that’s departed the battle headed north!”
“Fine lads just get him up here. We’ll have time a plenty to talk to the man once he’s aboard!” Cobb seethed. Almost grudgingly, the men began to swim back, pushing along the planks with the American aboard. Their progress was slow and Cobb soon lost patience with watching, turning to head for the helm. He got no more than a few steps from the rail when an explosion of thrashing water echoed across the sea separating the swimmers and the safety of the ship.
“Ahhhggh! Help! Help me, dear go…” the sailor’s screams shot across the water and ricocheted up into the Valor’s rigging, drawing intense attention from everyone in earshot. Then his voice was suddenly and mercilessly snuffed down into the dark waters surrounding the platform they had been pushing along. Nothing remained but an upward cascade of bubbles among a thick froth of bloody water where the sailor had vanished into the depth.
“Sharks! Sharks! Swim for it lads, let’s go! Come on!” Cobb screamed out in a panic. The two who were left dutifully pushed along the wooden planks carrying their marooned American, swimming in a frenzy to escape the killing field. One sailor swam at either side of the planks, paddling with one hand while holding onto their quarry with the other and Cobb could only watch in horror as things unfolded below. They were getting close, only a few strokes more and all three men would be climbing their way to safety aboard the Valor. Then the sailor swimming off the side nearest where Cobb stood on deck jerked in the water with a sudden and violent force. He let out a blood curdling scream, wrenching on the boards he had been propelling to lift himself up. He was drug under for a split second and then popped back up screaming and wailing, thrashing his arms to climb aboard the platform.
“Help me! Help! My legs! Help!” the sailor cried out while attempting to crawl onto the tiny wooden platform. The American sat up as the distressed sailor clawed his upper body onto the boards, he kicked his feet at the man pushing him off the fragile safety of the chunk of decking. The water became a thrashing froth of blood and screams again as the imperiled sailor clawed for the boards in vain. The platform drew close enough to the Valor that both remaining men began a mad scramble for the rope. The American gave no quarter in his struggle to be first aboard, drawing ire from the onlooking crew. The American kicked at his rescuer, forcing him under the water’s surface momentarily while climbing onto the only salvation for either. Angry shouts drifted from the crew down to the murderous scene amid the fluttering lamp light and when the American had secured his grasp on the lifeline, he began to climb raggedly.
“Hoist him up.” Cobb ordered to the men standing along the rail where the line led up.
“He can bloody climb his ungrateful ass up, Cobb,” a response zinged back from the cluster of men near the rope.
Cobb felt the wave of rage returning, that throbbing in his temples coupled with the parched throat. He reached into his waistband and hauled up a pistol. “I told you men to haul him in. Now, haul the rope up and get that piss ant aboard, now.” The crew stood motionless, staring back at Cobb in his fury as if he were impotent to enforce his order. He raised the pistol and cocked the hammer of the piece, aiming it indiscriminately among the gawking sailors. “Haul him up. Now.”
The sailors brought in the line, hauling away slowly in deliberate short pulls. By the time the American reached the deck of the Valor, he stood for only a moment on unsteady legs before collapsing to the deck. The men only gave him a look before tossing the line back over to rescue their remaining comrade from a surely impending and violent death at the jaws of some barbaric sea creature. As the sailor sloshed and scurried to grab hold of the rope, the American drew looks over the shoulders of the watching crew. He was on his hands and knees, laboring breath and crawling for a handhold to help him to his feet. Cobb walked over, stepping into the American’s view of the wooden deck and offering a hand to lift him up.
“You know how to make friends Yankee.” Cobb grunted, hauling the man up. “We do you the courtesy of rescuing you, so that you can let our brothers squander and die in a feeding frenzy. Perhaps we should have left you to die.”
“I am an American, but I didn’t float all day balancing on those planks to be tipped into the drink by your men.” The man dragged out through ragged breaths. “I’m sorry for your men, but you need to get this vessel moving. We have to go, now.”
Cobb scratched his jaw and leered suspiciously at the staggering man. His clothes were tatters, but he spoke with certainty, like a man accustomed to position and influence. Over the side, thrashing water could be heard and a scream shot through the dense night air.
“That’d be the last man of your rescue party. I traded three able bodies for you and I certainly hope you are worth the cost. I have a mind to reintroduce you to your fate.” Cobb growled, stepping up to the staggering man and grabbing a hold of his collar. The crew turned, gathering their focus on the confrontation with the image of their shipmates being torn to the depths of the sea fresh in each mind.
“I was aboard a vessel hunting traitors of the Crown!” the American blurted just as Cobb began to pull his collar toward the rail. Cobb stopped in an instant, realizing the
