Fallen Mangrove (Jesse McDermitt Series Book 5) Read Free Page A

again; this turn would put them on a southerly course, directly toward the narrow and quite shallow gap between Curateo and San Salvador. The deeper passage into Xuma Sound to the south of San Salvador could only be approached from the east, and with the wind out of the west, that was impossible. The navigator had assured Miguel that the northern entry to the sound, although shallow, would allow the Magdalena passage if he were to stay to the center of the gap between the southern tip of Curateo and Little Island to the east. The gap was only slightly more than two leagues in width and it meant sailing a broad reach along the whole coastline of Curateo.
    “Señor Nieves!” Miguel shouted to his first mate on the main deck. The man turned and looked up. “Prepare to come about! Send a page to inform the passengers!”
    Pablo quickly grabbed the nearest page and shouted instructions in the boy’s ear. As he scurried off, Miguel turned to his guest. “Perhaps you’d find more comfort in your cabin, Señor Navarro.”
    Enzo grinned. “With your permission, Master de Benito, I am much more comfortable on the deck of a sturdy ship, than restricted to a stifling box of a cabin.”
    Having seen the page return to the deck, Miguel said, “Very well, Señor.” Then shouting to the first mate, he said, “Coming about, Señor Nieves!”
    As the crew began to haul on the rigging, Miguel spun the helm to the right, the Magdalena responding immediately. The great ship heeled over precariously as it turned, then righted itself slightly as Miguel brought the wheel back to center and the wind filled the sails from abeam, keeping the heavy ship heeled a few degrees. The crew quickly ran up the lateen-rigged mizzen sails on the quarterdeck to aid is steerage, hoisted the bowsprit sails, and brought down the topsails.
    “Your crew is exceptional, Master de Benito,” Enzo said.
    Miguel liked the younger man. “Thank you, señor. And please call me Miguel.”
    “Then you must call me Enzo, Miguel.” He extended his hand and Miguel took it momentarily before bringing it back to the straining wheel.
    For the next three hours, the two men talked while Miguel wrestled with the wheel against the quartering wind. The ship was constantly battered by wind and wave as it fought its way forward against the white-capped rollers taking them broadside. At last came the shout from the forecastle, “Land ho!”
    “Where away?” shouted Miguel above the rising wind.
    “Ten points off the starboard bow! Two leagues!” came the reply from the sharp-eyed lookout.
    “Tis much too early,” the navigator said, having joined Miguel and Enzo on the poop deck for this last leg toward safe anchorage. “Curateo should be at least another seven hours.” Juan Castellano grabbed his own compass and quickly went down the stairs, crossed the main deck and climbed up the stairs to where the lookout stood on the forecastle.
    Minutes later he crossed the main deck again, rejoining Miguel and Enzo. “I fear I’ve made a mistake in calculating our position yesterday,” he said. “The land before us is not Curateo, but Lucaioneque. We must sail southeast for twenty leagues to be aligned with a northern approach to the Sound and it will be an additional twenty leagues before we arrive there.”
    Miguel gave the orders and the crew responded instantly, taking the ship away from the rocky shores of the uninhabited Lucaioneque. After an hour, the wind began to lessen and turned, coming directly astern. This pleased Miguel, as it meant the worst of the storm had passed and was moving north.
    Enzo had stayed with Miguel and Juan at the helm throughout the storm, offering observations from time to time on the stalwart crew’s abilities. He noted the compass and, perceiving the slight wind change, said, “It seems the worst of the storm has passed well to the north of us. Perhaps we need not the safety of Xuma Sound?”
    “Yes, Enzo, it appears we’ve been