A RESCUE IN TIME

Luther rolled his eyes as soon as Jailhouse Rock played on my cellphone. Initially, done as a joke, its peal now brought no joy. Instead, my stomach churned as I put the phone to my ear. “Who is it this time?”

“New guys I ain’t met yet, but they had your number,” announced Larry, our on-call bondsman. His gravelly voice over the phone producing the same reaction you get scraping fingernails on a chalkboard.

I massaged my temple, hoping to delay the headache these calls usually triggered. I put the phone on speaker, so Luther might enjoy it as well. “What’s their names?”

“Hugo Barnes and a James Weston. They yours?”

For a moment, the temptation to deny them crept into my mind. Let these two get themselves off the hook, but our lawyer made it clear that would cause problems we did not need. Questions from the authorities. Possibly the media. Anonymity our ally, notoriety our downfall. “Yeah, they are. What’d they do?”

“Got drunk, crashed a private party on a river cruise. Police report claims they invaded the boat’s wheelhouse, demanded to be taken to New Orleans.”

“And?”

“You might be in luck. The party was a bunch of state legislators on a fact-finding junket from Nashville. The women attending were not wives, so there’s a lot of pressure to keep it quiet all around. Your boys were so drunk they subdued without hassles. When the cops showed up at the dock, they brought your guys to the drunk tank at 201. Only charges were drunk and disorderly.”

Luther leaned forward, buried his face in his hands. “I’ll be right down.”

I turned to Luther. “You sure?”

He nodded. “Remember, you got a meetin’ with the brothers. They’re hot to get started on the boat. You been stallin’ and they knows it. We gots enough problems without headin’ out on their own.”

When I agreed to this, I never realized the problems I faced in shepherding a band of nineteenth-century pirates through the twenty-first century and all its delights. True, they possessed almost as much gold as the government, but at times like this, it seemed a pittance.

Our attorney preaches constantly. If this jolly band causes trouble Luther or I could not sweep aside, we both might end up in prison as accomplices or accessories. In the next breath, he usually suggests I load ’em all up and ship ’em somewhere with a better sense of humor or more easily bribed. Once there, all that gold might make a difference.

After Luther left on his mission of mercy, I downed a couple Ibuprofen, leaned back in my chair, and recalled the night our lives changed.

#

As first-mate on a Mississippi river tugboat, I had the night watch. Alone at the wheel, I strained my eyes, trying to pierce the fog enshrouding the boat but gave up. Only the boat’s radar penetrated the surrounding cloud. Since hampering night vision would not be an issue, I switched on the lights illuminating the seven acres of barges ahead making up the tow. At least now I could see if a barge broke loose.

As a child watching river traffic on the Ohio, I’d dreamed of bein’ a river-man. It took a lot of work and study to become a first mate, now here I am. Five years later, dissatisfied, wanting more to my life than being some water born truck driver. I guess like most folks in their thirties I wanted more. Didn’t appreciate what I had. I didn’t know that lesson lay right around the corner. For now, I contented myself with bein’ on the night watch since it had fewer headaches and better scenery.

I expected a full moon tonight. I love the path the moon sets on the water as it rises. Had looked forward to a night under the stars in the vast sky, lighting the river like daylight. But not with this fog shrouding the tow.

I glanced at the radar screen for the tenth time in as many minutes. The only echo from the Johnny B, a tow like ours, five miles ahead. The hatch opening behind me prompted me to glance over my shoulder. A hunched figure smoking a pipe entered, clutching a steaming mug. As he reached my side, the broad-shouldered, black man shoved his stocking cap back on his head, exposing his close-cropped gray hair while staring out the window. “Where we at, Mr. Gill?”

“That for me, Luther?”

He nodded and extended the cup.

With one hand on the wheel, I took it and nodded to the Eastern shore. “North of Natchez.”

Luther stood at the side window, puffed his pipe, and peered into the fog. “Fore they gots all this fancy navigation stuff, we’d have to tie off for the night in this kinda shit.” Luther glanced at the knot meter. “Must be gettin’ close to the Devil’s Punchbowl.”

“The what?”

“Devil’s Punchbowl. Never heard of it?”

“Nope. Listen, Luther, I don’t mind, but the company’s got rules about smokin’ inside. Cap sniffs it, and it’d be both our asses.”

“Pfft. What he gonna do, make us walk the plank?”

“No. It’s posted all over the place, and they made me swear I’d enforce all company rules.”

“I’ll tell `em you warned me, but I wouldn’t listen. Threatened to kick yo ass if you bothered me.”

“Appreciate your concern for my welfare, but they’d still fire you.”

“This my last trip. I’m jumpin’ ship in Memphis. Gots family there ain’t seen in years. This here a pleasure cruise for me, courtesy of the company.”

“You got family in Memphis?”

In answer to my question, Luther pulled out his cell phone. Tapped the screen before holding it out to me. “My sister and her brood. Got six nieces and nephews. They’s got kids a their own as well.”

“Looks like you won’t be lonesome.”

He took back the phone. Tapped it again. “This here, my youngest niece.”

“Pretty girl. Why’s she dressed like that?”

“You mean like a pirate?”

“Yeah. Halloween?”

“Nah. She an aspirin’ actress. Appears in a lot of theaters there. Belongs to a buncha amateur actin’ groups, too. The costume there’s for this group that runs around town pretendin’ to be pirates. Go to festivals, fairs.”

“Sounds cool. What about you? Ya still gotta eat. What you gonna do?”

“Retire, son. Been with the company now forty years, between my pension and social security I don’t gotta do nothin’ I don’t want to.”

“You that old?”

Luther nodded. “Sixty-seven.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Can’t fool myself, though. Things I seen. Stuff I done. This man’s been around.”

I sipped the tea, its warmth fighting the odd chill on this summer night. “So what’s this Devil’s Punchbowl?”

“Big ass crater. Lotta bad stuff tied to it.”

“Like what?”

“At the end of the Civil War, freed slaves were tole, they come to Natchez, and the Yankees would take care of `em. Over a hundred thousand of my people flocked there. Yankees didn’t know what to do with `em all. Penned `em up in it, they say, to keep the locals from risin’ up. Worked the men like slaves buildin’ roads and stuff. Women and children hung out in the camp. Real mess. People starvin’, diein’ from all kindsa diseases. No one knows for sure how many died there or where they’s all buried. But it goes back before that.”

“What happened before?”

“Was a cove at one time, but the cut set it off the channel. Pirates hung out there. They’d lure boats in by havin’ one a their women on the shore callin’ for help. When the boatmen stopped to help her out, the pirates would jump `em. That didn’t work they’d get in their own boats and haul `em in. All they had to do was kill the boatmen and steal all their cargo.”

“Cargo?”

Luther removed the pipe from his mouth and glanced in the bowl. “Yep. This here river always carried stuff. Farmers from up North would build a flatboat, load it up with their grains and livestock and float it down to New Orleans. After they get to the Gulf, they’d sell their goods, break up the boat for the lumber, and hike on home.”

“Sounds like a helluva trip.”

Luther nodded. “Anyways, after the pirates had the farmer’s goods they’d take it on to New Orleans themselves and sell it. All profit.”

“And the pirates hung out at this punch bowl?”

“That’s what folk’s claim. Some say their ghosts haunt this river. Specially this here patch. One a the reason’s I come up here tonight. Wanted to see it one last time in the moonlight. That ain’t gonna happen. Not in this fog. Ain’t never seen none like it a’fore. Especially with the breeze that’s blowin’. Even though it cold that usually break the fog up.”

The lighted instruments flickered. My eyes scanned the instrument panel. “That’s all we need is some kinda malfunction. Nothing seems wrong except GPS jumped forward a minute. Now it’s reseting. Humph. Never done that before.”

Luther chuckled. “That’s what the farmer said when his horse died. What’s that?”

I followed Luther’s eyes to the barges tethered ahead. Saw nothing unusual. “What?”

“Mighta been a bird.”

As he said this, a hook tied to a rope arched over the side and snagged a stanchion.

Luther pointed with his pipe. “There’s another.”

A twin masted schooner appeared out of the fog. As its sails fluttered, shadowy figures on its deck hauled lines attached to the hooks bringing the vessel next to the barges. With the ships secured together, the silhouettes slipped over the schooner’s rails and fanned out over the deck below. My stomach knotted as I glanced at the radar screen. “Where the hell did that come from?”

#

All the figures carried swords. Many clutched what looked like flintlock pistols. I slammed my hand on the warning alarm, summoning all crew on deck. “Luther, bolt the hatch.”

Before Luther could move, one figure darted through the doorway, held a saber to Luther’s throat while shoving his pistol against my head.

As the siren blared, the tug’s crew stumbled out of the cabin. Confused, the men stared wide-eyed as the armed figures shoved them together on the forward deck right below my station.

From out of the shadows, a man with a broad-brimmed hat stepped over the schooner’s side and strolled to the men gathered on the deck. A sword dangled from the man’s belt and his hat’s brim curved up on one side. He took one crewman aside. This man pointed to the tug’s Captain in the group’s center clad in long johns, scratching his head, his mouth agape, appearing confused as the rest.

The boarder at my side cocked the gun. “Cease this awful racket at once.”

Eager to comply with the threat, I switched off the alarm. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Ignoring my question, the boarder scowled at Luther. “On your knees. Your hands behind your head at once. We are taking command of this vessel, monsieur.”

While Luther sank to his knees, I turned to the man. “You’re what?”

“Seizing it in the name of United Provinces of New Granada.”

“What? You can’t do that. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

My first thought that some nut-house nearby had left their doors unlocked. But a ship that size? Where did that come from?

“You will know soon enough, now where are your weapons?”

“Company don’t allow guns on board.”

“Swords then?”

“Swords?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, swords.”

“Some a the guys might have knives, but no swords either.”

The boarder scoffed, sheathed his sword, and patted me down while brandishing the pistol. He extracted my wallet, opened it, and peered inside. “Is this your purse?”

“My wallet, yes.”

After removing the currency, the boarder jammed the billfold back in my hip pocket His brow furrowed as he studied the bills. Below, one boarder escorted the Captain away, as the man in the hat climbed the wheelhouse stairs. As he entered, the first passed him a bill. “The Captain here claims they have no weapons.”

The second man’s eyes narrowed as he studied my face, then trailed down to the bill. His dark eyes twinkled as a grin appeared below his bushy black mustache. “He is not the Captain, merely the first mate. The Captain is below fetching his britches and the cargo manifest.” He held out a twenty-dollar bill to me. “Why do you carry his picture?”

“Andrew Jackson?”

The man nodded.

“I don’t understand.”

“Why do you carry his picture? Has he become important?”

“You don’t know?” My mind raced. This one must have missed the last med pass at the hospital as well.

“Why would I ask if I did? Well?”

“That’s money. He was president and his picture is on all those bills.”

The boarder scowled, held out a dollar bill. “But not this one.”

“That’s right. See the one in the corner. It has a different value than the other. The one with Jackson’s picture’s worth twenty of the other.”

“And this one with the five on the corner is also less than the one with Jackson, but more than the other? So they hold Jackson in more esteem than these other two?”

Not according to any history I remembered, but then this guy might think different. Unsure how to answer but remembering his buddy still had the gun I shrugged. “Not sure.”

The first boarder placed his hand on the hatted man’s shoulder. “He got us the pardon after the battle, Jean.”

Jean gave a dismissive wave. “But he stole all our goods and slaves.”

Jesus, I thought. Could these guys be on some kind of drug binge I had yet to learn about? Already on edge from Luther’s story, this delusional talk between these two made my knees shake. A group of armed druggies has just taken this boat and crew. I had no desire to stress or incite them either. Play along, I told myself. Buy time. The drugs may wear off soon, and we can all laugh about this together. Right? I told myself before talking. “You’re…?”

“Jean Lafitte? Oui and this is my brother, Pierre.” He threw back his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and placed a hand on his sword hilt. “You have heard of me?”