Chapter Seven

A Nocturnal Outing

Boston Whaler: A light, sturdy, unsinkable boat used commercially and for pleasure.

The boat Will saw through his window was stationary. If Drury and Bennett were there why weren’t they attacking? He turned to where Harley slept. Her breathing was regular and he didn’t want to wake her unless he had to, not after she’d shouldered so much of the effort to get them away from Wavelength.

Will tiptoed out of the room and heard Aubrey’s gentle snores. The man needed his sleep as much as Harley. So Will headed out the dockside door down to the concrete pier. If Drury and Bennett were on this boat, he’d yell and warn Harley. As he got closer, the boat moved in but not aggressively. It was only when he waved from the flying bridge that Will recognized Sherman.

“Sorry if I woke you, Will. I was just — well, couldn’t sleep,” said the fisherman.

“You worried about Aubrey? He’s sleeping. So’s Harley.”

“Oh, good,” said Sherman, his shoulders slumping with relief. “Hey, I’m up, you’re up. So why don’t I show you how pretty Hamilton Harbour looks at night?”

With Will aboard, Sherman moved off to deeper waters and around the point of land that arced in protectively.

“Am I right in thinking that Aubrey was sitting on that boiler, hoping a big wave would take him off?” asked Will, hoping for an explanation that would make sense of things. “Why would he do that?”

Sherman’s jaw twitched to the side as if he had trouble with the question. “A boat, a well-balanced one like mine here, sails through a storm just like she has for years, takes the best and the worst that the wind, water and skies can do to her, and keeps tracking until one day, this big wave comes along. A big, unexpected wave that slams her so hard that she staggers under the blow. Her load shifts and damages her structure, which causes her to list. Now that new reality robs that beautiful ship of all her grace. Well, Will, under those conditions, not all ships can right themselves or make it back to harbor, no sir, no sir. And that also happens to men on this ocean we call life.”

Will didn’t entirely understand but he did know that sorrow had damaged his own grandfather, had staggered him like he’d been hit by a big wave. It had taken a whole year for him to get back on track after his son, Will’s dad, had died. Some assumed he wouldn’t make it.

“I’ve been thinking about that wreck where we found the coins. Wouldn’t there be a record of her sinking and of her cargo? I mean, a big ship like that must o’ had a big crew and its sinking wouldn’t go unnoticed, would it?” asked Will.

“There were a lot of blockade runners operating out of Bermuda back then. My great-grandfather being one of them. Good money to be made helping the South.”

“I thought Harley said Bermuda and Britain had abolished slavery in 1834, so why would Bermudians help the South keep slavery?”

“Follow the money. Britain abolished slavery but she wasn’t above letting her shipyards build and sell those sleek and fast blockade runners, no sir, no sir. ‘Specially not when you were paid in cotton. With the blockade making it hard to get anything in or out of the south, the value of tobacco and sugar went up, but their biggest export, cotton, shot up in value because all the textile mills in the American North and in Europe were starved for it. Blockade runners would only accept payment in coin or cotton that they could sell to the British or French for a small fortune. Remember, Will, wars are fought for patriotism and profit. Follow the money is what I always say.”

“Did the same go for Bermuda?” asked Will.

“Well there were a lot of family links between Bermuda and the Carolinas — we’re on the same parallel. And with so many new people arriving to run the blockade, cost of housing and food here climbed out of reach, so people needed to make more money. That included black and white Bermudians, ’cause money is a color-blind magnet when you got to feed a family on an island where the cost of food and shelter went through the roof. My great-grandfather more than made ends meet as a blockade runner.”

“I’m sorry, what are or who were blockade runners?”

“You know the Civil War in the US pitted the North against the South over keeping or abolishing slavery?” Will nodded. “President Lincoln implemented the Anaconda Plan, a blockade meant to choke off trade that fed the people and the economy of the South so’s they’d give up their plan to break away from the rest of the country. My great-grandfather served on boats that tried to get around the blockade to bring the South goods that were critical to its survival and — hang on!” bellowed Sherman, throwing the helm hard a-port as a Boston Whaler cut across their bow and roared past them. The man at the helm cursed and yelled back at them, “Bloody idiots, watch yourselves or you’ll catch it.”

“That’s Drury,” blurted Will, recognizing both the voice and the expression. “That’s the guy who kidnapped us and shot at us. Follow him,” said Will, stabbing his finger at the receding boat.

“We wouldn’t likely catch him even if we wanted to,” said Sherman, trailing in the faster boat’s wake. “No running lights on, so not much good goin’ on, s’all I can say,” added Sherman as he turned to stare after the boat that fled into the darkness.

Within minutes they were inside the harbor.

Sherman pointed to the dock where the now-lit Boston Whaler was tying up.

“Why’d he run without lights and then turn them on now?” asked Will.

“Probably didn’t want anyone knowing where he’d come from. But in here, without lights he could cause an accident or draw the attention of the police marine unit.”

Sherman handed Will binoculars. He trained them on the Boston Whaler and saw Drury scamper across the road in the direction of the big cruise ship way down at the other end of the dock, all lit up so you couldn’t possibly miss that giant floating village.

Sherman brought them parallel to the dock. They saw Drury dash across the well-lit street, zigzag between tourists from the cruise ship, and disappear into a doorway wedged beside a colorful column. A second-story light came on. Will trained the binoculars on the second floor but the lit window had a set of blinds so he couldn’t see anything.

The ride had chilled him and his teeth chattered. The hoodie and bathing suit weren’t much to keep the ocean’s coolness at bay.

“Best we get you home, Will,” said Sherman, heading back out to the mouth of the harbor.

Will was so tired he didn’t remember stepping off Sherman’s boat or going back into Aubrey’s house.