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

blessed,” Miguel replied. “However, I think we will continue yet to the Sound. It would be prudent to check for damage in sheltered waters.”
    The day wore on and soon it was night. They held the southeasterly course well into the night, the seas still battering the starboard bow and occasionally breaking over the deck. Two sailors were swept overboard by one unusually large wave. There was nothing Miguel or the crew could do for them. They were in the hands of God and His mercy.
    The pilot kept a continuous reading of the ship’s speed at the sound of each bell. When the crew changed watches at eight bells, the freshened crew stood ready to make the turn south. The wind was still astern and they were making almost eight knots. With luck, they’d make Xuma Sound by mid-morning.
    Once the turn south was made, Miguel turned the helm over to the second mate and retired to his bunk to try to get some rest. Enzo had left the poop deck only an hour before. The two men had learned they both had a deep, abiding love for the sea, and during the evening and night, they became friends.
    Miguel’s rest was fitful, but he finally succumbed. He was jarred awake just a few hours later when he was knocked from his bunk. He quickly donned his boots and made his way to the poop deck above the Captain’s cabin. The Captain had not been seen since breakfast. The wind had changed once again. It was now coming from the northeast. Impossible , thought Miguel, the wind should still be out of the northwest.
    “It’s been coming around steady for three hours,” the second mate announced as Miguel crossed the deck toward him. “I was about to send a page to wake you.” The deck pitched and heaved in seas much rougher than when Miguel had retired.
    Checking the compass, yet knowing the second mate would still have the southeast course, he said, “How can this be? The wind should have gone around to the north, but not continued around to northeast, unless….”
    “Unless the storm has changed direction,” Juan said as he came up the steps, “circling around us.”
    The storm had changed direction. Unknown to them, they’d avoided the hurricane when it was at its weakest, after having crossed the Florida peninsula. Once in the open ocean, it had passed north of them, completely destroying the entirety of the treasure fleet before gaining in strength and circling around to the southeast, then to the south. Now it was finally heading west, straight for the safe harbor at which they planned to put in. Miguel realized this, but far too late. By sailing south, they were on an intercept course with the hurricane. He made the decision. There was no other choice and little time to waste.
    “We are coming about,” he said. “We will make haste for the French harbor.”
    Again, the big ship heeled sharply in the pitching seas as she turned to the west. Just two days prior, the long, slow rollers had been coming out of the east, lulling him to sleep. Then overnight, the wind-whipped waves had come out of the west, being driven by the storm, colliding with those from the east. Now it was like being in a giant tub as it was sloshed back and forth, then side to side. Towering waves came crashing together from all points of the compass.
    An hour into their run for the relative safety of the French harbor, the full fury of the storm was on them. The ship was tossed so much that Miguel was unable to accurately read the compass. The sails were beginning to rip at the seams and the yards were straining severely. With each dive into the trough of a giant wave, the whole of the ocean rose up over the forecastle and the ship dove beneath it, sweeping any hapless sailor who wasn’t holding on to something overboard.
    The yardarm on the mizzen mast snapped and the upper half of the yard crashed through the poop deck, killing the Captain instantly in his bunk. The loose sheets whipped across the poop deck, their pulleys trying desperately to crush the skull