True pirates, part 3

September 2023

By David Roper

We were headed out into the Bermuda Triangle on a delivery from Rhode Island to St. Thomas on an untested vessel. With me was Hobie, a fellow river pilot who’d never sailed or been on the ocean, and two other crew, Mark and Artie, who were – how can I put this mildly? – of highly questionable character. These two weren’t exactly shanghaied, but close.

We were finally offshore, day one at sea. The sea state was changing, and the wind was rising. Mark and Artie took over as Hobie and I headed below. I collapsed into the pilot berth, hoping to fall asleep before seasickness took over. But there was annoying rolling coming from the shelf above Artie’s bunk. I pulled myself up to find the source. It was the large rum bottle they’d purchased with the provisioning money I’d given them in Rhode Island. The money was not for booze, and I’d felt I’d been had, telling them to put the rum in the bilge and keep it there until we made landfall. Then we’d celebrate. I had naively thought that would appease them. Wrong. This time, I stored it myself, wrapping what was now a half-empty bottle in a towel and sticking it in the bilge.

Hobie was seasick throughout his off watch and into our next watch. Incapacitated, in fact. So I headed to the cockpit to take the watch alone. Surprisingly, Mark stayed up on deck with me for an hour, just staring at the rolling seas while I steered. The wind and waves were growing, but manageable. I tried to make conversation, asking him what his plans were once we got to St. Thomas. He didn’t answer right away, just continued to stare aft at the horizon, as if yearning for something left behind. “I got some stuff lined up,” he said, finally, without looking at me.

“Boat stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Charter captain stuff?”

“Short term. Couple of private clients. Yachts.”

“Short term?”

“Yeah. Let’s leave it at that.” He grabbed the binnacle bar and pulled himself up. “I’m headed below now,” he said.

An hour before my watch ended, Artie came up on deck. I was surprised to see him. He worked his way forward by the shrouds on the windward side, took a leak, and came back to the cockpit. He turned to me. He had a profound look on his face. “You know that 50% of drowned men are found with their flies down?”

“I’d heard that.”

“Yeah. The trick is to wrap your arm around the lower shroud, then don’t let go of your unit no matter what, and you’re fine. Complete circle, you know.” He laughed. “Did you see how I did it?”

“No. Sorry, Artie, I didn’t catch that.”

“Well, you’ll be surprised by what you see and learn from me and Mark while we’re on this trip.”

I’d been curious about Mark’s dismissal of my question about his upcoming jobs on St. Thomas, and thought I might learn more through Artie, who seemed to think less carefully before he spoke. “Hey, Mark says he’s got private work, down the Islands,” I said, casually.

Artie let out a cynical laugh. “Private all right.”

“On private yachts, he says. Maybe good money?”

Artie smirked. “Oh, yeah. All in a day’s work. I’m hoping he cuts me in.”

“One day’s work?”

Artie looked aft at the now-building seas. “That’s all it takes.”

“Whoa. You guys smuggling?”

“Hell, no. That stuff’s dangerous. Mark has a special side business.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. Insurance.”

“Oh, yacht insurance?”

“Yeah.”

“He sells it?”

Artie turned to me, obviously perturbed by my questions. He shook his head dismissively, but not fully; he wasn’t able to keep his mouth shut. “He sinks yachts, okay? For the rich owners. For their insurance money. Usually tows a Boston Whaler or something like that behind him on a ‘delivery’; then when offshore he goes below, grabs the 20-pound sledge he brings along, whacks off a couple of the main thru-hulls, gets in the Whaler, throws the sledge into the deep blue sea, and heads to shore. Job done. One day. Clean as a whistle. Big bucks.”

“Wow,” I said, nervously.

Artie looked at me suspiciously. “Don’t tell Mark I told you unless you want to end up like that sledgehammer. Got it?”

There was movement below deck. Mark’s head popped out in the companionway. “Don’t tell Mark what, Artie?”

“Nothin’, Mark. Just some opinion from our great captain here on his theories about this approaching weather system.”

“Yeah. It is a low that’s brewing. Glad we’re skipping Bermuda and shooting for the Southeast Trades. We should be able to outrun it, even in this pig of a boat.”

“No, no,” I said. “The charter company and the insurance company require us to stop in Bermuda to check in, Mark.”

Mark shook his head. “Ah, insurance companies.” He smiled at Artie. “You gotta love insurance companies.” He slipped into his worn foul weather jacket and came up on deck. “You’re off watch now, Captain. Better make sure that your watch buddy is feeling better in four hours, or you’ll be real busy alone up here if this weather hits.” He grabbed the wheel from me. “And we’re not stopping at Bermuda.”

“Wait a minute, Mark. I’m the captain here.”

He smirked, then winked at Artie. “Yeah, sure you are.”

David Roper’s upcoming novel, “The Ghosts of Gadus Island,” is scheduled for publication this year. Dave is the author of the three-time bestseller “Watching for Mermaids,” as well as the sequel “Beyond Mermaids” and the novel “Rounding the Bend.” All are available through Amazon.com or roperbooks.com.