When Barbados was but a lump on the horizon, Charles saw it was turning night in the direction of the island.  That was impossible.  It was still mid-day!  He quickly realized what it meant, remembering how the storm he and Frederick had endured appeared at that distance.  No wonder the sails filled so quickly and so easily pulled them free of the beach.  The winds were greater than they realized.  As Charles watched, the darkness grew ever nearer and wider.  He knew one of the things common to the sailors, was to always watch to the front of the ship, but seldom look aft.

Charles hurried forward to the wheel and found Scarface had relieved Timmy.  "Frederick!  There's what looks like a powerful big storm coming at us from aft!"

Scarface shouted, "HELLO THE CROW'S NEST!  WHAT BE THE WEATHER AFT?"

The man up high in the crow's nest turned aft and shouted back, "WEATHER ARUNNIN' AT US!"

"Laddie, hurry and tell Timmy we got us a storm acomin' on."  

Charles could already see a change in the waves by the way the little ship rolled under his feet as he made his way back to the sterncastle.  He didn't bother to knock, but pushed the door open and blurted, "Bad storm coming from aft, Captain!"  Timmy hurried to the stern rail with him.

"You be right, lad.  Looks like a sure enough bad un."  Timmy watched the darkening sky and muttered to himself, "We couldn't be havin' worse luck then this."  They moved back to the wheel and Timmy looked up into the sails.  "One thing be in our favor, it's a followin' storm.  Steer her about ten degrees starboard, Freddy.  If we can get as far south as the first island before she catches us, we can turn and run directly afore the wind."

Timmy yelled orders to get men into the rigging, ready to furl some of the sails when the storm caught up with them.  They had no way of knowing how bad the storm was, but from the speed with which it overtook them, Charles guessed it would be real bad.  Again, he thought back to the terrible storm he and Frederick had weathered in their frail craft and wondered if they would be any better off aboard this ship that was in imminent danger of sinking even on a calm sea!

Just two hours after he spotted the storm, the sky rapidly darkened, and the wind howled ominously through the rigging.  The tops of the waves turned to shiny colored froth at first, then little storms began to rage atop every wave.  The water leaped and swirled in mid-air and was blown crossways into the wave ahead.  The ship began to heave up and down, as it encountered ever-larger waves.  The entire front of the ship disappeared under water as the bow dove down in the trough and was consumed before rising again to top another giant wave.  Everything that wasn't securely tied down was washed overboard.

Charles tied a line around his waist and fastened the other end to the handrail running across the front of the sterncastle.  This area afforded the best protection from the wind and rain.  It was nearly impossible for anyone to stay on their feet on the rolling, pitching, windswept deck.  Charles shuddered, when he thought about how much of the water coming over the bow must be flowing into the hold.  He was amazed the storm had caught up with them so quickly.

Timmy yelled at him to go to his cabin to ride out the storm, but Charles pretended not to hear.  He sure didn't want to be trapped in the cabin if this derelict decided to roll over before the winds, or break in two on the crest of a wave.  At least, on deck, he might grab onto something that would float!

The full fury of the storm overtook them.  Brilliant lightning and ear-splitting thunder surrounded their little half-rotted ship, crackling and booming so loud as to be deafening.  Charles once more found himself clinging to a ship for dear life.  He couldn't believe he was once more caught in the grips of such a storm.  Each time a wave crashed over the bow and came rolling down the deck, Charles closed his eyes and held his breath, as the angry wall of water tried to wrest him loose and throw him overboard.

The powerful wind drove the Mary Jane through the waves as it had never been intended by its builder.  It was an inter-island type vessel, not built to withstand the fury of a storm on the open ocean.

As the storm worsened even more, Charles wondered about the wisdom of their leader.  Surely Timmy knew they stood little chance in a storm with such a fragile and aging craft.  An eerie, screeching sound brought his eyes wide open, and he looked up just in time to see the mainsail rip down the middle from top to bottom.  It was the sight and sound of doom!  Now, they had two mainsails of half the original size.  But that didn't last long.  Suddenly, one whole side of the sail ripped away and fell to the deck, but still tethered to the ship by a dozen lines.  A number of crewmen rushed to secure the half-sail, but it was too dangerous to approach, flapping like some huge, wild animal in its dying throes.

With half the mainsail gone, the ship was totally unbalanced and out of control, with the remaining half of the mainsail tended to turn the ship.  The men still clinging to the rigging on the high yardarm didn't need the order to get rid of the sail.  Deckhands loosed the sail's lines, and those overhead laboriously hauled the wet, ragged sail upward.

Charles watched, almost hypnotized.  He could see no way they would ever get the flapping sheet to the top and secured and he was right.   They couldn't.  Though the men hanging precariously high in the air valiantly struggled for what seemed much longer than it was, they couldn't haul the soaked flapping sail upward.

Finally, one of the men pulled a knife from its sheath, and the other men took their cue from him.  They began sawing through the lines securing the sail to the yardarm, and it let go with a crash,  vanishing over the starboard side of the ship.  The deckhands finally managed to cut all the lines holding the other half of the sail to the ship, and it, too, disappeared over the side.

Without the mainsail, the ship was much harder to control.  It rolled on its side coming off every wave.  Charles listened to every loud creak and groan emanating from the old hull, and knew each time it rolled on its side, the ship would continue on over and drown everyone aboard.  Every now and then, a loud cracking sound pierced the howling wind, and he knew the ship was breaking apart under his feet.  Never, could he have imagined the screams of pain coming from the ship he knew was slowly dying.  They rose to the top of a wave, then slid down into deeper and deeper troughs, as the storm continued to intensify.  Between each wall of water that smashed him about, Charles thoughts kept going back to Scarface telling him what poor condition the ship was in.

From the vantage point of the deck of a real ship, it now seemed impossible that he and Frederick could have survived such a storm in their small boat.  He didn't know if it was due to his friend's skill as a sailor, or just plain luck that they'd been spared.  Charles remembered Frederick telling him, "The sea does some strange things that men cannot understand."

The strange part about the present situation, Charles wasn't afraid, as he'd been in the longboat.  Listening to, and watching what was happening with a strange detachment that transcended the reality of it, Charles was calm inside.  He watched as the wind, howling banshee-like through the rigging, slowly devastated what remained of the sails.  When one is tied to his ship and can do naught but wait for the storm to ease or for his ship to slide beneath the waves, the time seems to pass with infinite laxity.

He thought about the loose bolts in the mounting for the mainmast.  If they had remained loose, the mast might have been torn from the ship by the wind.  The lower end of the mast, being mounted to the very bottom of the hull, could have ripped an irreparable hole in the bottom of the ship.  And, that would have been the end of not only their hunt for the treasure, but of everyone aboard.

Charles marveled at the beautiful displays of lightning coming from the storm clouds surrounding them.  At times, the sea was more brilliantly lit than if they were in full sunshine.  He wondered at what made the lightning, and the noise accompanying it, and laughed that he could wonder about such things with his life in such peril.  If anyone had been able to see or hear him laughing, they would have thought he'd gone daft!

He watched Scarface struggling endlessly with the wheel and once more wished there was something he could do to help.  When the ship tried to slide sideways down a wave, Scarface turned the wheel as quickly as possible into the slide, then immediately spun it in the opposite direction, as they rode to the top of the next wave.  Charles knew Frederick must be getting on to sixty years old, but he was still very tough of mind and body.  He knew if anyone could save this old ship from the sea bottom, his friend could.

Charles was shaken from his thoughts by the excited voices of the men scrambling down from the rigging.  He looked up just in time to see the island dead ahead!  They were no more than thirty ship lengths from the beach, and there was nothing they could do to steer away.  The best effort they could make was to try to slow the ship before it crashed into the island.  The mast for the foresail was mounted in a huge iron stirrup bolted to the deck.  The men let go all the lines holding the mast in place, and it crashed down toward the bow of the ship.  This, at least, took the sail from the wind immediately.  The mast crashing down tore everything from its path.  The bowsprit, the spinnaker sail, and the bow rail all disappeared into the ocean, along with a good deal of planking ripped loose from the deck.

Now, Scarface had no choice as to where the ship went.  All he could do was hang onto the wheel and pray!  He only hoped the ship would remain pointed straight toward the island.  They would be better off running aground straight ahead.  If the ship turned sideways to the waves, they might roll over before reaching the beach.  With the terribly imminent danger ahead, Charles still felt detached, as if watching something happen of which he was no part.

As the island swiftly approached, the worst of things happened! The hull hit a reef lying just offshore.

The jolt of hitting the reef was so great it threw Charles to the deck and slung him to the end of his tether.  It felt as though the line around his waist had broken all his ribs.  He gasped for air and found it hard to breathe.  The noise of the ship's encounter with the reef was even more deafening than the wind and thunder.  Rotten old hull planks and timbers of the Mary Jane screamed out in pain, up through the boiling waters.  Charles thought the earlier sounds of the ship coming apart were painful, but this... this was the most awful of sounds - screeching and rending sounds, as the very hull of the ship was ripped apart into splinters.  The old ship, which should have been buried years ago, was finally dying!  But not without protest, uttering shrieking screams that seemed to come from a ghost world - like some great prehistoric beast dying.

The momentum of their headway carried the ship beyond the reef and toward the beach, trailing debris in the water along the way.  The only thing the crew had to be thankful for was the fact that the reef was close to the beach.  Even though rapidly sinking, the remains of ship plowed on ahead, driven by it's own momentum, the waves, and the howling wind. When what remained of the ship finally grounded itself, it was under water nearly to the rails.

Scarface was thrown from the wheel toward the bow when they hit the reef.  The ship no sooner stopped moving, than he rose to his feet, a nasty gash in his forehead dripping blood.  He moved as quickly as possible, back to where Charles lay helpless on the deck.  Scarface had to fight his way through the awesome waves washing over the ship from the stern.  What was left of the Mary Jane tossed up and down violently, throwing Scarface to his knees.  He crawled and clawed his way up the steeply sloping deck to Charles' side and cried out, "Be you all right, lad?" 

Charles looked up at Scarface, raised one arm to him and tried to speak, but nothing would come from his throat.  His middle hurt so badly he knew he was surely dying.  The water washed over the deck in ever-larger swells, threatening to sweep both of them to their doom.  Everything loose about the deck was a danger, as the water bashed it about.  Scarface removed the line from Charles' waist and dragged him toward the front of the ship, slipping and falling on what was left of the rolling, heaving deck a half dozen times.  Again, the water all but washed them overboard, and the wind itself was strong enough to knock them off their feet.  Scarface grabbed what was left of the rail on the port side of the ship and dragged himself and Charles slowly toward the bow.

He yelled above the wind and water, "Can you swim, Laddie?"  All Charles could do was shake his head to the affirmative.  Frederick grabbed a small coil of line washing about on the deck, and slipped his head through it so it hung from the shoulder, down across his body.  He said, "Hang on, Laddie!" as he threw his arms about Charles and jumped as far from the ship as possible.

They didn't have far to fall to the water.  The ship was mostly submerged.  Charles closed his eyes and mouth as they dropped into the water and plummeted a short distance below the surface, then bobbed back to the top.

"Swim, Laddie!"

Charles began swimming toward where he thought the beach should be.  There was no way to know for sure.  Even if the sky wasn't dark as night, he couldn't see for all the saltwater in his eyes.  He hurt so badly, he knew he'd never make it!  Swimming as best he could, Charles prayed the island was straight ahead.

Scarface swam just behind Charles, and they didn't have to swim far before a wave lifted them and unceremoniously deposited them on the beach.

Scarface pushed Charles ahead of him until they were out of the water, then struggled to his feet and grabbed Charles by the arm.  He half carried and half dragged his young friend toward the trees.  The wind was so strong as to cause them to stumble and fall several times before they made the tree line.  They continued into the trees for a distance before Scarface stopped against a tree with Charles in front of him.  Now, Charles learned the reason Frederick brought the coil of line.  He quickly wrapped one end of it around the tree and made a knot, then tied the other end first around himself, then about Charles' middle.  Charles tried to say something, but the pain in his sides and head was too intense for him to speak.  Scarface pushed him to the sand and lay down between him and the wind.

Charles knew Frederick had saved his life.  He was sure he would have drowned had Scarface not untied him from the rail and carried him to the front of the ship.

...

He saw his mother sitting in front of the fireplace in her old rocker as clearly as if he'd stood in front of her.  Then, an unexplainable calmness enveloped him.  The storm that dumped Charles and his companions on the beach seemed but a terrible nightmare.  He ran his fingers through the diamonds and rubies filling the chest he and Frederick dug up under the palm tree.  The jewels sparkled in the sun.

Then, he took his mother through the door of the finest house in England, which he had just purchased.  Now, he rode a horse, with his brother and sisters each mounted on their own fine steed.  His uncle Anthony stood watching, jealous of Charles' good fortune.

...

He awakened with a start to complete silence! A million stars sparkled in the clear night sky.  Charles was disoriented and had no idea where he was.  He started to rise, but a sharp stabbing pain in his side forced him back to the sand.  Groaning, he rolled over on his stomach, and pushed himself up on his knees.  He took hold of the tree he had lain against and pulled himself to a standing position.  His head seemed so light, he had to lean against the tree to remain standing.  The stars became blurry specks of light when he tried to focus on them.

Leaning his back against the tree, he looked about in an effort to figure out where he was.  There was Scarface, lying on his side, facing away from him, loudly snoring.  He shook his head from side to side, trying to clear away the webs that pervaded it.  Taking one halting step, he found though he was wobbly, he could stay on his feet.  His head ached with a fierce pounding, and this pain was only exceeded by the pain in his side.

Charles had no idea where he was walking, but felt the need to do so and moved through the trees until he found himself on the beach.  Planking and rigging from the ship lay scattered along the beach in both directions and illuminated by the bright moonlight.

It hadn't been a nightmare!  He remembered the terrible wind beating the sand and rain against his face, as they struggled across the beach and into the trees - the ferocity of the waves that threw them upon the beach, as it would so much flotsam and jetsam.  Charles looked out at a sea so calm it seemed a moonlit mirror.  The slightest hint of a breeze moved the fronds of the trees almost silently.

Charles felt the need to get into the water, though he had no idea why.  After all, it should have been the last place he wanted to be after it had tried everything it could to kill him!  He walked slowly to the water's edge, then continued out until the water was above his knees.  He sat down and put his face into the water.  It felt so cool.  With the coolness of the water on his face, he realized how hot he was.  This puzzled him for a moment, then he realized he must have a fever.  The cool water was just what he needed.

He had no idea how long he sat there, his arms folded across his knees, his face lying on his arms with the cool water washing up against it.  The stars faded, and when he raised his head, he saw a tiny edge of the sun peering over the horizon.  This time, he was able to stand without first rolling over on his stomach.  Charles smiled and thought what a wonderful healer the sea can be after its attempt to be so deadly.  He thought perhaps it was the sea's way of apologizing - as if saying, "I'm sorry I tried to kill you, so now let me make it up to you, and we'll be friends again."

Slowly walking back to where he left Scarface snoring, he saw that Scarface wasn't his only bed companion.  Twelve other bodies lay about on the ground. 

Scarface rolled over and sat up.  "How you be feelin, Laddie?"

"I, uh, I don't know."  Charles sat on the sand, his back against the tree.

Scarface arose and squatted before him.  "I thought we'd lost you sure, Laddie."

"What....uh, what do you mean?"

"You've been awful sick, lad. I didn't think you'd last it out.  Be you hungry?"

"Thirsty."

For the first time since he'd awakened, Charles realized his throat burned with thirst and his stomach ached for food.  "Yes, both.  I'm hungry and thirsty both."

"Let me get you some water first."  He went to a keg and filled a dipper.  Charles watched as if in a trance.  He wondered how they saved a water keg, and more than that, a dipper!  He hungrily drank down the dipper of water and asked for more.

"Nay, lad.  You must eat somethin' first.  Too much water on your empty belly'll make you wish you'd died."

Before, Scarface hadn't used the word, "died."  When he did, Charles was nearly overcome with panic.  Had he truly almost died?  Scarface handed him a piece of dried meat, which he ate down after barely chewing it. Then, Scarface gave him two pieces of fruit.  When he'd finished the fruit, he felt much better.  It was juicy, so it had relieved his thirst and burning throat somewhat.  Scarface gave him another dipper of water, which he drank more slowly than the first.

"Why don't you lie back down for a while, Laddie.”?

"I think I'd rather sit against the tree."  For the first time, Charles realized the other men had awakened and were watching him.

Timmy said, "Glad to see you're still with us, lad."

"Gladder I am to be with ya, Captain."  Timmy and the others laughed.  "Frederick, I do not mean to embarrass you in front of everyone, but you saved my life.  I thank you for that."

Timmy said, "He not only did that, lad, but he has not slept in three days, lookin' after you."

"Three days?"

"Aye, lad.  Tis been three days since the sea dumped us here."  Charles realized only about half the crew was present.

"Where are the others?"

Timmy looked solemnly toward the ocean and said, "I'm afraid we weren't all so lucky, lad."

"You mean..?"  He stopped in mid-sentence, realizing what Timmy meant.

"Aye, Laddie, some of the crew has gone to their rest in the sea."

Charles was stunned.  He hadn't imagined that anyone had not survived.  If he survived, why not everyone?  He silently counted those left.  The number came to seventeen, including himself.  That meant twenty-four men had perished in the storm.  It was the first time since his father died that he had faced death.  His father's death had been understandable.  He had a sickness.  But why should he have survived the storm, while others perished?  It was cause for many hours of contemplation.