Tales of the Rope novel Chapter 4

Chapter 4: A Sandy Wench Continued

The sun was low in the sky when I heard voices. But they were behind me and I couldn’t turn my head enough to see. Suddenly they stopped and I held my breath. The language had not been English or anything else I recognized. My fears were confirmed when several brown skinned natives cautiously walked around to where I could see them. They were a savage lot, dressed in rags that barely covered their loins. There was some red paint streaked across their cheeks and on their chests, and their hair was black and disheveled.

For a while they just looked at me. I tried to smile back. Then, figuring that I couldn’t be in a worse position, I asked them to dig me out. I’m sure they didn’t understand a word and my motions with my chin towards the sand seemed to amuse them. Then they jabbered among themselves with much gesturing towards where the ships had been and at me.

Finally they approached closer, but I didn’t like the smirks on their faces. They seemed to be speculating on what I looked like under the sand, and their intention of ravishing this gift from the sea was obvious.

Just as the first one knelt to scoop sand away, a shot rang out and suddenly the savages were running away. Turning my head, I could make out a figure on the beach, not too far away. He was standing here with a smoking pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other. When he approached I could see he was white, probably English. But his clothes had seen better days and his hair was rather long and unkempt. Still, he was not an unhandsome man.

“Oh, kind Sir, thank you for rescuing me from those savages,” I cried out in gratitude.

With a lack of emotion on his face he stared down at me. “Ye came from that English ship?” he asked curtly.

“From the Queen Anne, yes. We were attacked by Captain Blood. He sank the Queen Anne. He killed all the crew,” I added. “The other two girls are now aboard his ship.”

“Why didn’t he take you?”

“He didn’t like me.”

“Why? Are you ugly under that sand? Or have you,” he sneered, “some foul pox that will make a man’s rod fall off in a month?”

“I assure you, Sir,” I retorted indignantly, “I am not ugly nor have I any disease.”

“Good.”

I didn’t like the way he said that. His gaze would have made me squirm, had I been able to move. “Sir, please dig me out of this sand.”

He ignored me but, after another good look round our deserted island, he lectured me on what I am sure he considered the facts of life.

“I was the captain of a fine merchantman out of Portsmouth, until that Captain Blood sank her out from under me. A cannon ball cut the main mast and I was thrown overboard. The only way to save myself was to swim to this island. I nearly starved. When I finally made my way to Tortuga I was tired of being chased by pirates.”

“Please, Sir, dig me out.”

“Quiet, wench! I worked until I had enough money, then I set out for a quiet island to live in peace.” He paused to look at my raven tresses. “It was quiet on my island, which is very near here. Until now. I heard the guns and came to investigate. My island provides me with everything to live on, fruits, animals, even a fine fresh water spring. But there has been one thing missing.”

Here it comes, I thought. Damn men!

“There were no women. Until now.” He sat down on the sand next to my head. “Perhaps I shall claim what Captain Blood has cast off. He owes me that much at least.”

“Please...?”