Chapter 11 Île Du Crâne
A song pierced the darkness, a melody floating atop the storm raging in Caleb’s mind. A voice, sweet and feminine, drifted atop glittering light, like an angel sent to soothe the raging seas with a heavenly tune. He knew that voice.
The song continued. A vision appeared. Geneviève, in a shimmering gown sitting atop a large rock in the middle of the sea. Foam-laced waves frolicked about her as she raised her chin to the cloudless sky and continued her song, the sweet notes luring Caleb to join her.
But then the notes turned discordant and jarring. Geneviève’s comely face withered, haggard and drawn. The music faded to laughter, wicked laughter. She glanced behind her.
The sea parted, forced aside by a massive rock emerging from the deep.
Waves fled, slipping back into the ocean as it continued to rise…
up…up. Two black holes appeared, carved into rock, then another in the center.
Water poured from within them as rows of sharp teeth rose from the sea, lining a gaping mouth in what surely had been a final scream of death.
Geneviève faced him again, a sultry grin on her face as she curled one finger, prompting him to join her.
A flash of green drew his gaze back to the skull. Trees sprouted atop it, dense and verdant, as white sands filled the vacant eyeholes. A lady emerged from the greenery. Miss Starr in a lovely maroon gown. She wrung her hands, anxiously gazing about, a look of lost desperation on her face.
And he knew he had to save her. He had to help her somehow.
Something bumped into his foot. The vision disappeared. The divergent notes of Geneviève’s song faded into the creak and groan of wood and the rapid swoosh of the sea.
He jerked his head up. His desk appeared before him, dividers and rulers spread across his chart.
Gray shadows slithered in the corners of his cabin, shrinking from the light.
A cold mist swept over him, chilling his bones.
“Be gone!” he shouted. And instantly they disappeared.
He’d seen them before, lingering in the darkness, but always at his command, they left.
Shaking the slumber from his head, he glanced down to find Patches rubbing against his boots.
Rot and Ruin! He’d been seeking another island to head toward, any island but ?le Du Crane, and he must have drifted to sleep. He should be above deck leading his men or below aiding with the pumps, not sleeping like a weak babe.
Reaching down, he picked up Patches and stroked her fur.
“Thanks for waking me up, little one.” The cat purred and leaned her cheek against his.
She’d been a gift from his mother, who’d told him that the affection of a pet was a reminder of the simple pleasures of God’s creation.
And if he admitted it, Patches did just that.
If only she would wake Caleb up whenever he had a nightmare, for they were not only coming more frequently, but getting more frightening.
He’d not dreamed of Geneviève in quite some time, nor ?le Du Crane.
No doubt ’twas because they were heading there that his mind had conjured up such a ridiculous dream.
But Miss Starr. She—or a woman who looked much like her—had been in many of his dreams over the past year. Yet never had she looked so forlorn, so lost before. Was he supposed to help her somehow? His glance landed on his Bible.
“Father, I’m sorry I haven’t spoken to You in a while.
I need Your help.” He glanced at the Ring still on his finger, suddenly feeling as though he’d betrayed God.
Maybe he had. “I’m sorry.” He yanked it off and slid it into his jerkin pocket.
“’Tis not You I don’t trust. ’Tis myself.
I thought I was doing Your will…” Emotion clogged his throat and he stood, set Patches down, grabbed his cutlass, and sheathed it.
He didn’t know what else to say to God except “Help me” as he opened the door and left.
?
The green cliffs of ?le Du Crane rose through the haze, biting the morning sky. The Sentinel lumbered toward the narrow harbor mouth, her torn sails flapping, hull groaning with every swell.
Desi gripped the railing amidships, the salt-slick wood warm beneath her palms as brine tasted salty on her lips.
The sluggish churn of water in the bilge pumps below added to the swish of the sea against the hull as the Sentinel limped forward.
She could almost feel the ship’s exhaustion as if it were alive beneath her feet.
Caleb stood on the quarterdeck, square-shouldered and unshaken, his voice cutting through the chaos.
“Helm, steady as she goes!”
“Aye, steady she goes!” Shorty called from the whipstaff, sweat dripping down his temple.
“Quartermaster! Soundings, call the depth!”
The splash of a lead line broke the morning mist. “By the mark, seven!” came the shout from the bow.
Caleb studied the jagged rocks guarding the inlet. “Ease sheets on the fore and main! Hands to braces. Bring her up a point to windward!”
His crew responded with swift desperation, lines hissing through blocks, sails fluttering. The battered ship obeyed…barely.
Desi held her breath as the Sentinel eased past a set of sharp, craggy rocks emerging from the sea. Just a few yards to the right or left, and they’d slice through the ship like those icebergs had the Titanic.
“Stand by the larboard anchor!” The captain’s voice cracked the wind.
Desi spun to see men manning the capstan. A cloak of intense focus fell upon the entire crew. She had been on ships before, but nothing run so precise, so raw. Caleb didn’t just issue commands; he bent the ship’s will to his own, reading every shift of wind, every sigh of water against her hull.
“Strike the tops’l! Leave her under fores’l and mizzen!”
The smaller sails filled. The ship slowed as it passed the jagged rocks and entered the harbor.
The lead line splashed into the calm waters again as more soundings were taken. Desi glanced over the railing, spotting colorful fish flitting about in the turquoise waters. Fish meant reefs, and reefs meant certain damage to a ship like the Sentinel.
Still, the captain shouted orders with calm confidence.
“Trim the mizzen tight. Keep her head to the wind!”
The Sentinel answered sluggishly, her bow easing toward wooden docks stretching into deeper water.
Beyond the docks, a bustling town appeared.
People who were as tiny as ants moments ago now formed into human beings as they hurried about their business.
Carriages and wagons rumbled down Cobblestone streets, servants and slaves carried loads on their backs.
Shouts, the clang of a bell, and the snap of a whip reached her ears. Desi stood mesmerized.
“Fenders out to starboard! Hands to the capstan. Stand by to let go anchor!”
The anchor dropped with a rattling roar.
The Sentinel swung gently in the jade-green water, coming to a rest, battered, bleeding.
But not beaten. Caleb finally stepped back, scanning the cliffs as though he expected an army to descend upon them.
An expression claimed his handsome features, one that seemed foreign to the man—apprehension, fear, even dread.
She followed his gaze to the tree-lined hills.
Movement caught her eyes along the craggy tops—fleeting silhouettes, dark against the morning sky, there one moment and gone the next.
Too far to make out faces. She glanced at Caleb.
Had he seen it too? Probably, since he suddenly gripped the hilt of his sword.
A sense of foreboding tightened around Desi as she scanned the island again.
Ridiculous! She was a modern, educated woman who didn’t believe in bad omens or superstitious nonsense.
Yet as the crew leapt onto the dock to tie off the ship, an icy wind swept across the Sentinel, flapping sails and startling gulls.
Desi hugged herself, unable to shake the sudden feeling that they’d just sailed into a harbor that would close around them like a trap.
?
Caleb gazed across the island he had hoped never to see again.
?le Du Crane, a fitting name for what happened here, what he had caused.
A vile brew churned in his gut, shame, guilt, anger, hatred, and even fear.
“Help me. Lord,” he whispered his final appeal to the Almighty.
Three simple words—words that if he had uttered them two years past, might have saved many lives.
If he had put aside his pride, vanity, and self-reliance.
But there was naught to be done for it now.
He was older, but was he wiser? He had changed, but would God risk using him again? He patted his pocket. Oddly, the Ring felt warm beneath the leather. A sign he was meant to have it? To use it in case he should stumble yet again?
His crew finished securing the ship and awaited his command, their bodies fidgeting, their expressions anxious to go ashore.
Yet as tired as they all were, it was he who must assess the brig’s damage, make a list of repair supplies, and then send men into town to procure them.
That way, they could start work first thing tomorrow, and with God’s grace, set sail the following day.
Just a few days. That’s all he needed. But was it long enough to avoid the Marquis de Montverre, especially his daughter, or worse… any survivors who remembered him?
Three hours later, Caleb stood amidships, smiling at his exuberant crew as they clambered down the ladder and sped across the docks into town.
He’d given orders to three of his most reliable men to gather the supplies they needed from the ship chandler, the sailmakers, and the shipyard.
Once they returned, he’d tasked ten of his crew to move the ballast to the port side of the ship and work through the night to repair the rent in the hull and sails.
To the rest, he’d given shore leave until the morning when they would return and relieve their fellow crewmen.