Author’s Note: Here is the revision for “Devil’s Gold” as promised. I decided I had to change some things if I planned on continuing it. It is part of my pirate series that includes “Captive at Sea” and two other planned future installments. If you were a previous reader of this tale, I hope the new one will satisfy you and perhaps surpass the original. If you are new, then welcome and please enjoy the story. I thank all of the readers in advance who originally helped to get this story written (you know who you are) and I thank all reviewers who give their support and constructive criticism. It’s appreciated. Let’s get on with it then…..

DEVIL’S GOLD

PROLOGUE

21 May 1743

This is how it ends? He wondered, struggling to get a breath. He was scrambling now; thrashing his arms and legs wildly, trying to get above the turbulent water as it forced him down. Each time he nearly reached the surface, another wave would crash down. The weight of the water was astounding and he briefly entertained the thought of giving in and letting it take him straight down to Davy Jones’ locker. He had always known he was destined for the cold, dark abyss. It was the fact that it was now happening sooner rather than later that was irking him.

He didn’t want to go down without a fight, though. It wouldn’t be a good enough “end”. He was going to be a legend. He didn’t come this far to be so close, standing on the threshold of infamy just to let it slip away in the final moment. He had worked too hard. He couldn’t let it all be for nothing. He thought of all he had done in so little time. He’d managed to become the richest pirate along the Barbary Coast in the past five years, an accomplishment he was most proud of. It had earned him a very nefarious reputation in the process, but he had accepted that price. It was a small one to pay for his gain, one that he could live with.

What he couldn’t live with was the fact that he was now drowning, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, at the age of twenty-nine. He couldn’t accept that. It can’t end this way. It can’t! He harshly told himself. Willing himself to be strong, he managed to pop his head above the water for a moment, stealing a breath. It was enough to keep him going, even though his movements were causing him to use up the oxygen quickly. He realized that if there was one thing useful about sailing, it was that you learn to be a good swimmer. He was grateful for that. If it hadn’t been for that ability, he would not have made it out of the suction caused just minutes ago by his sinking ship.

The crew was lost, having all perished over the last few days of dehydration and scurvy. His quartermaster had contracted malaria several weeks earlier in Northern Africa. The disease had killed him within a week. The ones that had survived the onslaught of disease and starvation lived only long enough to steer the ship into a rocky gulf during the storm, having not the mental or physical strength to correctly mind the helm. Those that had not succumbed earlier to death’s cold hand were most certainly deceased now. He was sure of it. The only reason he had any strength at all was due to the fact that he had kept a secret stash of fresh water and dried meat aboard his ship. He had been determined not to allow the ailments of the crew to befall him.

When most of them had fallen ill in the past week, he’d known that there was no chance to save them, even with the proper medical care on land. He had plucked the bare essentials from the cargo hold and kept them in his private cabin, sparing him the ill fate of starvation. Several crewmembers had gotten sick shortly after leaving the northwestern African coast, having stopped there for supplies. They had set course for their secret hideaway out west, having to get rid of a large amount of booty gathered from one of the Persian emperor’s ships. It would have fetched quite a big price and probably would’ve set them up for life, even if their secret stash was already more than enough. It was all gone now, however, all of it sitting in the bottom of the ocean where it would remain for eternity. He knew that if he didn’t do something fast, he would share the same fate as his sunken treasure.

He swam to the surface as best he could. He was weak and had suffered an injury to his left hand when the ship had struck the rocks. He’d lost his balance in the commotion and fell onto a pile of demolished wood. Instinctively his hands had shot out to brace himself for the impact, but his weight had brought him down hard. A stick of wood had gone completely through his palm as a result. When he’d ripped it out, it’d left a hole in his hand roughly an inch in diameter. The saltwater was making it feel as if someone were repeatedly stabbing the wound and it was still bleeding profusely as he worked his arm in the water. He knew it was only a matter of time before the oceans’ predators smelt the blood and then come to feed in droves. Being eaten alive was not an idea he was very keen on.

It was that very thought that gave him the strength and determination to challenge death once again. It was something he’d done many times over the years. He had always won. He didn’t see why this particular instance should be any different. Although his hand was injured, his legs worked fine and he used them to his advantage. He kicked his way to the surface again, this time determined to stay above the water. When he got there, he was surprised to find himself moving closer to the coast. The water was extremely rocky and the rain was crashing down from the sky, pounding onto the sea in giant droplets. It was night so it was almost too dark to see clearly but he could make out some things. He could see rocks, many of them scattered about. They were big, jagged monstrosities, protruding out of the water like little volcanoes. He neared one and would have collided with it, but luckily managed to veer off to the side as the turbulent water swept him by.

As he quickly looked around, searching for lights from another ship or a sign of land, he wondered just how far off course they had actually gone. He saw no sign of life from where he was floating. He didn’t think that he was anywhere near his hideaway, so there was no help from there. No one but he and his deceased quartermaster knew its location. They had never trusted the rest of the men with the information. It could have brought on a mutiny. Now, Pickett was dead, leaving him as the sole keeper of the treasures’ location. The problem was that he had no clue where he actually was, except that it was in the Northern Atlantic between Africa and the islands of the Caribbean. That was too large of an area to pinpoint an exact location. They had strayed off course and had not been able to sail out of the current in the past two days. Besides that, there were more important things to consider.

How he was going to survive was his first priority. He had numerous obstacles to face. The water was threatening to crash him into the rocks. The intensity of the waves was slowly increasing, making it difficult to stay above the water. It was inevitable that he would soon run out of strength. He decided the best course of action was to somehow climb onto a close group of rocks to catch his breath. After that, he could figure out what to do. He just wanted out of the stormy water for now. Then, he could think more clearly, when he wasn’t scrambling for breath and dodging nearly certain death.

He caught sight of some rocks that looked easy enough to cling to and worked his way toward them. He knew he had to be careful not to break a bone on them or allow himself to be knocked unconscious upon crashing into one. However, his need for any type of relief from the dreadful waves overpowered his caution. He kicked his legs like a frog and frantically paddled over to the rock, grabbing the smallest one in his strongest grip. Unfortunately for him, the rock was covered in slimy algae and he slipped off, falling back into the water. He accidentally got a mouthful of seawater as he went and he coughed harshly, sputtering as he tried to clear his lungs. He got over it quickly and went back to his task. He swam back in the direction of the rocks but this time a heavy current suddenly knocked him right into the solid mass. There was a flash of searing pain in his right knee as he hit and he winced, shutting his eyes tightly. He felt the flesh scrape from his knuckles but held on just the same. He refused to be ripped from what he viewed as his only savior.

Finally, with much effort, he managed to climb onto the rocks and out of the water. He was grateful but only for a moment. His appreciation faded when he realized his injuries were a bit more severe than they had seemed. His right knee was swelling up quickly, nearly immovable from the wound, which was more than just a scrape. From the feeling of it, he deduced that the bone was mostly likely cracked, at the very least. It was painful, too. He let out a loud bellow when he tried moving it over the rock, the pain shooting up his leg with tremendous force. He held it still until the feeling subsided a bit and gritted his teeth to steel himself from the waves of pain washing over his leg. He managed to rip a part of his shirt to tie around his wounded hand as he sat on the wet stone. He grimly admitted to himself that his efforts to survive the shipwreck and storm were not proving so good.

He couldn’t give up, though. To do so would make him weak, which he refused to be. He told himself it was only a cracked bone and cut on his hand. Both could be dealt with and he could still make it. He put his hands flat on the rock below to steady himself and took this time to scan his surroundings. It was a better view from where he was, so he took advantage of it and looked for something that could be of some use. Again, he saw no ships as he looked out over the ocean. That was somewhat unnerving to him. There was currently no chance of rescue in that direction. His own ship was completely gone. There was relatively no evidence it had ever been there at all. He saw no pieces of it floating by, no remains of his crew, nothing. He turned and looked in the other direction.

The rain was making it difficult to see, so he squinted through the darkness. Shortly, his hope began to reignite. Off in the distance, not too far, he could faintly make out the outline of some kind of land formation. It looked like a small island to him, from what he could see. Somewhere behind him, far away, lightning flashed but not enough to illuminate the object good enough to make anything other than a slight conjecture. He didn’t care how big it was. It was land, that’s all that mattered. Land meant salvation. For someone in good physical condition, it looked to be within swimming distance. He, however, was no longer able to boast about his athletic capability.

One thing was for certain, though. Whatever island that was, past the shore, it was his only chance to survive. If he stayed upon the rocks, he would surely die. That was the only thing he was positive of anymore. He just wasn’t certain if he could make it with an injured leg and hand in the middle of a storm.

You can’t be sure of everything, though, can you? He asked himself. Life is uncertainty. If you know how it ends, where’s the fun in that?

He had always surrounded himself in mysteries. He preferred to not know what the fortune tellers predicted or what was off the edge of the maps. He had always thought that to know the future would be such a boring existence. To have no surprises would be too mundane for him. There would be no point to anything. He preferred to keep that point of view even now. He didn’t want to know if he would make it or not. The excitement lied in the journey. He could accept that. Even if he didn’t make it, at least he would remain true to himself and not die a coward. He would hate that. The stories would never survive that, never flourish as he wanted them to. His disappearance would cause plenty of tales upon the high seas, perhaps more than had ever spawned from his notorious life as a pirate. He knew he would never be found. Perhaps that would be better. He could remain a mystery forever.

So it was, with this final thought, that Andrus Laronn, captain of the ill-fated Sea Devil, pushed himself off the group of rocks he was perched upon. He slowly began floating toward the mass of land directly in front of him, although it was a ways off. He helped himself every few seconds with a swift kick from his good leg. He knew he must be going into shock because he couldn’t feel the pain as bad as he did before. It made him tired but he kept going. The storm wasn’t letting up. In fact, the water was choppier as he swam along in the direction of the shore. Still, he kept going. He knew his destination was getting closer and closer. That’s the only thing that kept him kicking. His injured knee felt tingly, like it was asleep, and his hand stung with saltwater. It was hard for him to stay above the water but he managed, only swallowing a few mouthfuls as he went.

Shore was closer, he could see it. It was an island, though definitely smaller than the one he had planned to retire on. The waves were bigger, perhaps fifteen feet, and they pummeled the rocky beach as they came down. He pushed along, sometimes allowing the current to help him move forward and other times working hard against it as it tried to take him back out into the deep waters. He took a better look at the shore as he swam. He had sailed many places in his years at sea, but he had never come across this island or its rocky gulf. He wondered if it was inhabited. Some islands were overrun by natives and if this was one of them, he knew his presence would be most unwelcome. The only weapons he had were four flintlock pistols, a marlinespike, two daggers, and a trusty cutlass. While they were his preferred arsenal, they would not be enough against an entire hostile tribe.

He noticed that most of the shoreline was surrounded by large rocks, almost barrier-like around the island. There was only a narrow passageway in between them that led into the shore. That was over to the east. He moved closer to it. Unexpectedly, a wave hit him then, making him tumble beneath the water in somersaults before reemerging. The combination of the heavy rain pounding the water and the swirling waves rolling back and forth made it a difficult task to accomplish. He was glad that the passageway was only a short distance away now. Once he reached it, he would rest easy.

Another flash of lightning sparked the night skies, crackling as it struck. The thunder boomed almost immediately after, as the heavens roared above him. He kept a close eye out for any enormous waves that should arise. He did not want one sneaking up behind him and causing him more injury this close to the rocks. Since he could not walk across the rocks due to his bum knee, he opted to crawl upon shore. However, to do so, would require him to float through the passageway, which scared him more than anything in his current state. One wrong move and it would be all over for him. He managed to get to its entrance, but upon looking further down it, his faith crumbled. It looked like a death trap.

There was a sharp curve halfway down the passageway and it was much longer than he’d previously thought. The water was rushing through there so swiftly, it looked like wild rapids. Currently, he was being held up against a rock by the oncoming water, not wanting to move for fear of having every bone in his body broken. He didn’t scare easily, but since he was completely alone, he could admit to himself that he was terrified. He was shivering, but not just from the cold water, and his heart was beating heavily in his chest. It made him fully aware of how much he was still alive, which in turn, made him suddenly fear dying. He knew it would do no good, though. No matter how much he opposed the idea or feared the outcome, he had to do it. He could silently debate it forever, but eventually he would have to face it, or be swept out to sea.

Knitting his brows and adopting the hardened expression he had perfected for so many years, Laronn didn’t think about the negative side to what had to be done. He just put it out of his mind. Before it could re-enter it and make him lose the nerve, he released his hold on the rock and was swept into the passageway with such force he thought he might die within seconds. He didn’t, though. Instead he made it nearly to the curve with hardly any trouble. He twisted and turned but sustained no further injury. The curve proved to be more a problem, however.

As he was speeding down the passageway toward it, he came to the conclusion that he was traveling much too fast for his liking. If he didn’t slow down, his decision could prove to be a fatal one. He tried to maneuver his body away from the oncoming rocks but found it was not that simple. Because of the storm, the current was fluctuating. It pushed him with much force but pulled him back and to the right as the water attempted to return to the open sea. This made dodging the rocks an arduous task. He was caught in what felt like a whirlpool. It spun him and flipped him painfully in the water as each side fought to take him. He swam against it, headed further into the winding canal. Just let me get to shore, he prayed. Moments later, he was quite satisfied that he made it past the curve without getting killed.

He was feeling the need to congratulate himself as he rounded the bend. The beach should not be too far off now. He sighed inwardly. His relief was short-lived. Beyond the bend, the small canal narrowed and was even more formidable than before, with several pointy rocks in various locations along its stretch. There were at least two more, smaller curves but they still posed a problem with the combination of the rock obstacles. He wanted to give up. He wanted to surrender and drown before something else could happen to him. He knew what would happen. He’d make it through the canal only to find another problem waiting for him beyond it. Andrus didn’t know how much more he could take. His right leg was numb from the knee down. His hand was doing alright but the saltwater still bit it like a snake.

Normally, Laronn was a strong man but he found his strength running on low now. Even if he made it through the canal and to the beach, he wasn’t sure that he’d survive for long without medicine. His lifestyle had taken him to the edge but he knew it would bring his downfall. He just had never thought that it would be so nondescript and lonely. He’d always thought that he would fall in battle if he ever died a captain, or retire and succumb to old age if possible. He never thought it would turn out this way. Outwardly, he still couldn’t swallow his pride, so he fought against the current as he was pulled in. He knew it was hopeless. He wasn’t going to make it. If the rocks didn’t get him, the turbulent water would. Still, he battled it, tooth and nail. Even after he struck the first protruding rock in the middle of the canal, scraping the flesh from his upper arm, he didn’t give up. The mixture of the current, the narrowness of the canal, the rocks, the dark skies and his injuries made it near impossible to avoid death. He was battered as he was drawn further into the canal; a fitting punishment for his lifetime of selfish, malevolent activities.

The pain was almost unbearable as he neared the shore, coughing and cringing. He had numerous cuts, could feel them all over like a thousand knives. Several of his fingers were broken. Nausea quickly engulfed him, making him gag as he stifled a vomiting reflex. He could no longer swim, but the water was not deep enough for him to sink so he floated about wherever the water took him. This is how it ends, isn’t it? He thought once again, closing his eyes briefly. The pain and hopelessness was too much for him to take. He didn’t care anymore. He felt a wave come, throwing him mercilessly as it crashed down. His eyes opened briefly, cloudy but still alive. He possessed eyes that were viewed as strange by some, but only those who had gazed into them closely. They encompassed both darkness and light within them but were bloodshot now and without spark. When he opened them to glance at his position, he wished he had just kept them closed so he would not have seen what was coming. He collided with a black rock directly in front of him before he even had time to stop it. His head struck it and the lights went out. Everything went black for Captain Laronn at that point, just fifteen feet from the unknown islands’ shore.