Message-ID: <2977eli$9708151450@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: author22 Subject: Ghost Ship in the Bermurda Triangle. The Pirate Affair. 10-A. (M/M) ADULTS ONLY Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.gay,alt.sex.first-time,alt.sex.masturbation,gay-net.erotic-storys,alt.sex.magazines,gay-net.erotic-storys,alt.sex.stories.moderated Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <33F47DEA.7B18@ix.netcom.com> The Pirate Affair Chapter Ten Copyright 1997 by AUTHOR22@aol.com The trip south was full of concern. Were they the only ones to survive the wreck of the Bloody Cutlass? Should they make off with the stashed booty? The cook and his young mate cautiously hiked along the seashore, constantly alert for any other human being. If they should encounter others from the ship, then they would need to divide the treasure. Also, there were the Indians that Captain Frank had mentioned who might be friendly if they could pay. The last category was their greatest concern: Might the King's men find and hang them? --------------- Anne Bonney didn't give much thought to any encounter. She had rested, and intended to head north and maybe west. The first thing she needed was a change of clothing, and next would be a good horse; with those things she could start a new life; maybe join a horse regiment. Having narrowly escaped the hangman's noose she must give up the sea. If anyone was looking for her, it would be as a woman, or as a seaman. --------------- Doctor Radliffe had searched the ship looking for his charge. She was not onboard. The common conjecture was that Anne had jumped overboard to escape capture by the pirates. Privately, he realized one truth about the woman; she was a survivor. It would take more than a bit of ocean and a few pirates to bring about her end. During the voyage, he had begun to realize that Anne could not settle down as the wife of a doctor. Her taste for risk made a lesser life impossible. He suspected the truth, she had escaped him, not the pirates. However, the good doctor's tribulations were not the major topic of gossip. The Captain and First Mate had become quite concerned about the two female passengers. When he had agreed to transport them to France the itinerary should have put them at their destination months ago. Both girls were teens, and could not be expected to supervise one another. On more than one occasion he had heard snippets of conversation from his crew that gave foundation to a growing suspicion that the girls were "entertaining" in the privacy of their cabins. This extended voyage, multiple pirate attacks, and delays in Tortuga and Jamaica, had made it impossible to fulfill his obligation. The girls should be returned to their parents in New Orleans at the earliest opportunity. Scott and Jerry were still onboard the Seagull, following the Swan Louie north to the Carolinas. After the wrecking of the Bloody Cutlass the two ships sailed on to the small seaport of Saint Augustine. The Captains rowed ashore to report the destruction of the pirate vessel. After leaving the fort, they stopped at a waterfront inn for a pint. It was then their concerns developed into a plan. After asking the bar keep about possible ships destined for New Orleans, he realized the only responsible thing to do was to send them back by land. They returned to the fort and sought the council of it's commanding officer, and learned that there was a well trodden trail that led due west across country. It appeared to be a relatively safe route. While the Indians were not at war with the whites, neither were they friendly. There existed an uneasy live and let live attitude. The pressing thorn in the Major's side, when it came to the Seminole's, was their willingness to give safe harbor to those outside the law; in particular run-a-way slaves. In the three years that the officer had been in Saint Augustine there had been no reports of Indiana attacks on travelers. However, the trail was little more than a path, and certainly was not suitable for wagon travel. Travelers must ride horseback, and camp along the trail. The trip could take as little as a week, or as much as ten days. ------------- As the cook, Jacques, and his boy, Arcadia, made their way south they did not go unobserved. Out of sight, hidden among the shrubs and trees were a small band of Indians who had been attracted by the sounds of a ship crashing upon the rocky point. An idea had begun to form in Jacques mind. If they could keep all of the treasure and make their way to New Orleans they could use the money to open their own inn. He had heard that the French seaport was expanding rapidly. His boy had taken to cooking with a talent that had surprised him. ------------ The shoreline in the vicinity of the wreck site was flat, but not barren. The growth was mostly shrubs that had grown to the height of small trees. There was an occasional grove of palms. The area was devoid of the thick, mountainous growth that was indigenous of Tortuga. Ann Bonney moved inland and into the undergrowth like a wild animal. Out of sight, out of danger. She crouched, looking first west, then north. There was no one along the open beach front. A noise behind her startled her. It was a light, fast moving sound in the bushes. It must have been some small animal. She possessed no weapon. That would not do. She began to search for something that might substitute, and settled upon a knotted branch three feet in length and weighing about ten pounds. She swung it left and right, getting the feel of it, and then attacked a small tree devastating it. The blood coursing through her veins brought back life and energy. She was on her own. She was again in charge of her own destiny. The attack on the small tree had not been a wise thing to do. The noise blanketed the deployment of the six Indians that now crouched, hidden from her view, awaiting the signal to take her. She heard the shrill sound of a bird, and she knew she was in trouble. There was something about the sound that was not quite right. A dumpy dark man with long black hair stepped from behind a bush directly in front of her. His left hand bore a hunting knife at the ready. Even with his knife, she was sure she could take him. Her hand tightened on the club. She lifted it, swung it back in readiness for a forward attack. Suddenly she was sitting on her butt. Someone had grabbed her weapon and pulled her backward. She looked around, and counted six Indians. They did not appear to be angry or attacking her. They just stood there observing their catch. The first man spoke to the others in a language she could not understand, and motioned one of the others to tie a rope around her wrists. She heard the word Chipacasi and wondered if that was his name. A second, but distant, bird screech was replied to. Minutes later six more people emerged from the shrubbery. Two of them, like her, were tied at the wrists. They had apparently put up more of a struggle than had she. The older captive's shirt was shredded, and his pants torn. The younger one was totally naked, his sizable male member hung softly half way to his knee. The torn trousers told her that they were sailors, and probably from the Bloody Cutlass. It was then that she recognized the boy. He had brought food to the captain's table when she and Mary had accompanied Jack Rackham as dinner guests in Tortuga harbor. She hoped they would not recognize her. Then she realized that what she was wearing told everyone that she too was a sailor. The first Indian looked at the new captives, and said something to one of the others, who handed the boy a cloth to bind around his loins. "Are you from the ship that ran on to the point?" Anne turned to face the speaker. While he was dressed as were the others, he was obviously not Indian. His skin was black, his hair was kinky and tight against his skull. "No. I was a passenger on another ship which collided with that one, and I was thrown overboard." No one addressed the obvious lie. Her attire was that of a seaman not a passenger. Arcadia, now covered in a deer skin loin cloth, looked like one of the Seminoles. He was thinner than most of them, and his hair was black, long, and straight. His skin color matched that of most of the tribe. Again there was an exchange in the unknown language. A man, just slightly older than Arcadia stepped forward, untied him from Jacques, and led him as though the boy were his personal prize. Each of the captives found themselves in the custody of one of the eight Indians. The black turned toward Arcadia. "Skatdow has claimed you. While you are with us, you will be his responsibility." An evil smile gave extra meaning to the rest of the message. "You are his slave, and will obey his every command. If you give him any trouble he has the right to feed you to the alligators." Skatdow's smile was reassuring, and fantasies began to develop in Arcadia's mind. The hike to the Seminole village was a short one. Squaws, children, and other braves came into the clearing. They had expected the exploration to reward them with tangible things salvaged from a ship wreck, not three additional mouths to feed. A heated discussion was taking place amongst the older men. That was interrupted by a heavy set woman whose voice was demanding, and authoritative. She apparently had had the last word, turned to Jacques, took his binding and led him to her tepee. Even in a foreign language the laughter, and intonation left little doubt why the old woman had acquired the Frenchman. Skatdow led Arcadia to a pile of wood, pointed toward an Axe, and mimed the command to cut it. The boy thought to himself, "It's too damned hot." The Florida sun was now high in the sky and would remain so for quite a long time. Sweat poured from his forehead and into his eyes, burning them. He wiped his arm across his face, and then groaned at the size of the pile of logs to be chopped. The boy approached the dreaded task, lifted the axe, preparing to split a log at his feet. A dull pain throbbed in his left shoulder, yet he drove the axe downward until he heard the wonderful crunching sound of splitting wood. At first he was pissed at Skatdow for assigning him this task. But he reasoned it was an attempt to convey the message that he was Skatdow's property, and must be obeyed. "I sure wish he could 'a found a lighter axe." Its weight was meant for a full grown man. The muscles in his left shoulder and back cried out each time he raised the heavy blade. Clumsily, he drove his weapon downward with a momentary hatred for his master. He groaned loudly realizing it was a bad chop. The axe head had buried itself deep in the log's yellowish flesh. He tugged on the handle without success, cursing at the sharp pains in his shoulder. Sweat ran down his back and under his loin cloth causing an itch on his butt. The leather garment seemed to have tightened from his sweat. He tried to put his hand inside to scratch himself, but it was too tight. He loosed the drawn string allowing the under cup to sag down. A slight breeze wafted from the east. The feel of air passing over his butt and sweaty thighs was most welcome. He took a firm grip on the axe handle, and lifted the heavy log from the ground. He took several deep breaths, ignored the pain, raised the log even higher, then dropped it with force. A loud crack was his reward as the log split announcing the blade's freedom. He celebrated his conquering of the log with a short rest, then propped another log upright. This time his axe found its mark with care and split it. He kicked the two pieces away and quickly readied another while trying not to notice how many were yet to be chopped. He only allowed his eyes to admire the completed work. Everything around him became a blur as he concentrated on his task. He set up another log, lifted the heavy axe while ignoring the pain, swung downward, and "crack!" He repeated the wearying drudge. >From time to time a villager would stop by to watch the new property at work. After awhile the pile of firewood outnumbered the logs to be cut. His axe swung faster in spite of the pain. He wondered how many Indian men would stop by to watch. The younger ones were clad in simple breechcloths. He liked to look at their tanned bodies and daydream about the primitive rites they likely performed with each other. A tight bulge had formed in the front of his leather covered crotch. He had become excited from thinking about wild savages and wondered about their sexual habits. He had no onlookers, so he decided to take another breather. He clasped the axe blade in his hands, and dropped the wooden handle over his crotch. Without conscious thought his hips ground his groin against it. He closed his eyes and daydreamed: He was swimming in a river with his new Indian friend. Their breech cloths were piled together on the bank. They were swimming as youths do; a bit of tag, naughty hands touch daringly where they shouldn't. His authoritative companion leaves the water which then glistened on his firm, brown behind. In his reverie Arcadia's feelings were titillated into action. The sensuousness slipped from fantasy into reality. He consciously ended his lusty daydream. He was too close to climaxing! One part of him wished to get caught, but a wet puddle in the crotch of his loin cloth would be visible to all. Furtively he looked around, to make certain that he was not being observed, and was embarrassed to discover two small boys pointing to him and laughing. He repositioned himself vertically, pulled the breech cloth firmly upward, and retied it. Once again he raised the heavy axe and continued his chore, replacing his musings with hard work. Surprisingly the pain in his shoulder had disappeared. ----------------- Anne, who now, was answering to the name of Arnie, had been assigned to a hunting party. That party of five proceeded, on foot, south and west into a swampy region. There was a smell to the air which came from stagnant water. Only the sounds of an occasional squawking bird, and the ever present croak of a Leopard Frog could be heard. Then that changed to absolute silence. The lead brave signaled them to stop. He looked around with both his eyes and his ears. Then there was a furtive rustle in the saw grass followed by the sounds of something moving through water. They stepped forward, a foot at time, in an attempt to see more yet not spook the wild life. At first the tannin brown pond looked like it was devoid of life, except for a small ripple in the vicinity of a log. A kite bird swooped down, gliding along the surface of the water, hoping to find an insect for it's dinner. The ripples dampened into nonexistence. The bird circled, and landed on the log. And still all way quiet. Quite suddenly there was a ferocious movement as a heavy tail lashed out of the water striking the tiny fowl. Instantly a mouth of flashing white and red appeared at the end of the log. Two rows of keen teeth snapped shut as a scissors-like jaw closed and the bird became the meal. The alligator slid through the water, then submerged, and absolute silence returned to the swamp. The Indians moved closer to the pond. Just ahead of them, laying quietly on a flat point of land was another 'gator. He seemed to be asleep as the sun warmed it's body. Ann moved closer while the others stood still. She had seen alligators in Jamaica and had always wanted to hunt one; now was her chance. She turned toward the nearest brave, pointed to the knife at his waist. The brave shook his head "No". She shrugged her shoulders, then leapt at the reptile, grabbed the end of it's tail, and swung it in circles around her head. The startled animal was being held by centrifugal force. Ann released the creature. It sailed through the air and struck a nearby cypress tree with such impact that the trunk vibrated, and the hanging Spanish moss swayed wildly. The unconscious reptile lay on its back. The Indian who had refused her the knife placed it in her hand. She moved fast; she would have to kill the 'gator before it regained consciousness. A quick plunge in the neck, just below the jaw, was followed by a forceful downward cut. This animal would be their meal. She moved away from her prey, and returned the knife to it's owner. A sound of approval came from the astonished hunters. Two others stepped forward and proceeded to gut the creature, and then tied it to a pole. The party returned to the village, and Arnie's (Anne) status had changed. --------------- The tepee's of the Seminole Indians was not like those of their northern counterparts. They were neither conical nor portable. Each dwelling was rectangular, constructed from logs. The shelters were little more than four poles supporting a roof made from palm fronds. Each was built upon a wooden platform which raised the floor at least two feet above the bare ground. Long blades of saw grass had been woven into curtains which could be lowered to provide a degree of protection and privacy. Mostly, they remained rolled up allowing what ever breeze there might be to cool the interior. The one exception was the tepee to which Jacques had been taken. In the late afternoon the village women gathered, and began preparing a community meal. A fire had been built. Once the burning had changed from flames to coals they roasted chunks of the alligator along with a number of rabbits. It was during that meal the captives learned that slavery was not customary among the Seminole. Mostly that practice was limited to short intervals during which captive whites were taught the lesson of how unfair slavery was to other humans. The invading Spaniards had taught their ancestors well more than two generations ago. The cruel memory of the Spaniard Narvez feeding the chief's great great grandmother alive to snarling greyhounds would remain forever as her screams still echoed through the ages; the event being lived and re-lived in the history of the tribe. Jacques had proposed that they remain with the Indians for a week or two until they would be safe from arrest. They offered to pay for their keep. In the end, the negotiation permitted them to retrieve the treasure, buy horses and supplies, and then proceed west as soon as they felt it to be safe. The Indians assumed that the price included all three of the captives. Jacques was not happy about that, but kept his peace, not wanting to sour the deal. To himself he resolved to talk to the seaman. That night the sleeping arrangements surprised them all. Arcadia slept in Skatdow's tepee, but the curtains remained up, and they slept at opposite ends of the structure. Jacques returned to the privacy of the old woman's quarters. Ann retired, as had Arcadia, sharing the tepee of the Indian who would not loan her his knife; curtains rolled up, and laying at opposite ends of the structure. All three of them slept soundly, each having exhausted themselves in the performance of their assigned tasks. Early next morning she was awakened by the sounds of someone on horse back, entering the village at a gallop. Her eyes flinched at the brightness of the sun. As he dismounted two braves came out of their huts, and crossed the open ground. The stranger was an Indian, but he was dressed in a piece meal assemblage of a Spanish army uniform. The eldest villager hugged the soldier to his breast. They spoke quietly, then the rider rode back to the east from whence he came. The early morning visit had stirred the village. Squaws came into the open and asked what it was about. Soon it became common knowledge that the fort had sent a party to scout the beach to verify the destruction of the Bloody Cutlass, and look for survivors. The Indian was from this village. While he was employed by the Army, he was placed there by his chief to keep the Seminoles apprised of army action, and policy. He was a spy. He reported that the Seminoles had searched the area, and there were no survivors. Nevertheless the four horsemen rode south along the beach with an eye to the sky for circling birds. Before noon they had returned to the fort. ------------------ The Seagull and the Swan Louie were moored within hailing distance of one another. The closeness of shared danger had bonded the two crews; to a point. However the French ship did not know the Seagull's deepest secret: Two of it's crew were ghosts. Lucy was delighted when she heard the news that they were to be returned to New Orleans. Julie was not. She had left home as a virgin. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /