Now, you must be wondering about our boats, the Hiatus and the Lehac, still anchored out in a bend in the harbor. We left the local party at about 9 or 10. We didn’t want to overstay our welcome. 

Unbelievably, we threaded our way back via the dinghy, without a local guide. Dumb luck? Most certainly. Especially in light of the local pirates. Knowing the danger, we discussed our defense plans on our journey back.

Both Shelton and Island Eddie knew that area of the Caribbean. They believed that it was unlikely that any regional pirates would strike until the wee hours of the morning, when most sane people would be asleep. Surprise was their most potent weapon. 

Our boats were anchored, side by side. We figured that it shouldn’t be very difficult to secure a perimeter so that only one guard would be needed. Fortunately, we had a plethora of alarm materials readily available. Not being ones to waste time, we set to work immediately.

We stretched a line of high-test fishing wire around both boats. Then we attached clusters of empty beer cans across any potential point of invasion as well as a string of cans in any place that we thought they might try to gain access to the lower cabins. If one line were broken, it would set off a chain reaction that would readily alert us to intruders aboard. Overall, we were nervous about being in pirate waters but ultimately grateful for Shelton’s armament.

I took the first watch, amply equipped with an awesome Magnum. Four hours passed with no significant signs of intrusion. Right on schedule, Joe Bob, Shelton’s 17 year-old son came up for his shift. I laid the Magnum on the dash and told him it was loaded… then I asked if he knew how to use it.

He bowed up in typical teenage fashion and pronounced, “I’m from Texas. My Dad has an arsenal hidden in the hold. What do you think?”

Not being one to argue, I headed for my berth on Island Eddie’s boat. Dodging our traps, I finally made it next door to Eddie’s boat. The first thing he asked was, “Who’s on guard?”

I assured him that Shelton’s son, Joe Bob, was on guard and that he seemed to be very capable in the gun department. My eyes and my body were screaming sleep. The only thing I wanted was to be horizontal. Trust me, it didn’t take long. I stripped and was out like a light in record time.

Less than 3 hours later, I was rudely jolted awake. I didn’t know what triggered my internal alarm, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I called out to Joe Bob but got no answer. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the pistol I had hidden in my cabin and headed for the bridge.

Most Island Wanderers tend to sleep nude and I am no exception. Getting dressed was not an issue. I crept out of my cabin, clad only, in a 357 magnum.

In the salon, I met up with Eddie. He too was resplendent with nothing but a fully automatic machine gun and the belts that went with it. Bleary eyed, but tense, we quietly agreed not to shoot each other and went in search of the real culprits.

We were both crouched low, awkwardly duck-walking toward the hatch, every nerve poised on a pin at the slightest sound. Oblivious to the potential danger, I took the lead. I probably could say that it was sheer bravery and manly bravado that made me take the point, but it wasn’t. Considering our current mode of attire, I simply had no wish to inspect Island Eddie’s dangling jewels up close and personal.

I crawled up the stairs, conscious of every swell of the ocean and the odd creaks that every boat makes when it’s at anchor. Cautiously, I tried to peer through the inky blackness of night, but saw nothing.

“Joe Bob,” I hissed. There was no answer and my hackles cranked up another notch. “Joe Bob?” a tad louder this time. Again, nothing.

I snaked out onto the deck and low crawled down the port side of the boat. Still not seeing anything that would merit alarm, I motioned for Island Eddie to cover me. I slipped over the rails onto Shelton’s boat and finally spotted Joe Bob in the pilot house across the cabin.

He looked dazed and confused, staring down at his hands as if they’d suddenly become alien appendages. He too was clad only in a gun belt with his pistol clasped loosely in his hand.

“Joe Bob” I softly urged, “who fired that shot?” He didn’t answer; only shrugging his shoulders as he blindly stared back. “Were we boarded?” I asked, my voice more urgent this time.  

Still no answer but he finally looked at me and not through me. My nerves were still coiled like a spring. “Dammit Joe Bob, what happened?”

He gave me that guilty shrug that is characteristic to almost all teenagers. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “It just went off!”

Finally, he confessed. He’d started getting sleepy. To keep himself awake, he started playing with the gun and boom….it went off. Now we had to figure where the bullet went and where his girlfriend and dad were.

We traced the trajectory through the dash and finally found that the bullet had lodged in the headboard over his girlfriend’s head. 

It’s a good thing that they serve great rum in the islands. With the gunshot, Joe Bob’s girlfriend screaming and the imaginary pirates, Shelton never heard a thing. He slept through it all. It would seem that the good Lord does look after drunks and sailors.  

The next morning we got the single side band radio working but my 7 day vacation had now stretched into 30 days. We had not been around an actual telephone for weeks but I knew that there were two calls that I had to make.

First, I called my boss. Determined to get the jump on him, I started speaking as soon as he answered. “Now, before you say anything, I just wanted to let you know that I quit.” That was the end of that story. Come to think of it, I never did get that final paycheck.

Next, I called my girlfriend. The iciness of her tone came through loud and clear over the staticy connection. Then, she said something about a new boyfriend. End of story number two.

Oh well! I leaned into the wind, staring out at the broad expanse of endless blue ocean and my siren muse take flight in my mind. “So what if you don’t have a girlfriend?” she cajoled dreamily, “look at what you do have.”

Ahhhh, my siren muse is always right. I have the singing surf, sugar sands, gentle breezes, and lots of islands left to explore. So enough with the reminiscing. Let’s hop on over to St. Croix.

Tune in next Month for Chapter 4: “St. Croix or bust (and why do I have to make a choice?)”