Escapes! (19 page)

Riley cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to Porter: “Don't let him come back until they let me go!”

Porter put his hand to his ear and shook his head — he couldn't hear the captain over the roaring surf! Riley kept shouting, but his cries were lost in the din.

Finding nothing, the old man started back.

“Stop him!” Riley cried. He shot forward to the line. Strong hands grabbed his arms, as two men pulled him out of the water. Riley looked down at the scimitars they pointed at his chest, the metal blades glinting in the sun. He was their prisoner.

By now the old man had reached the sand, and the men started dragging Riley by the arms toward the dunes.

Riley thought fast. With frantic gestures, he signaled that a stash of coins was buried on the beach. The men stopped. One group headed for the spot he'd pointed out and began scraping at the sand. Two others sat Riley down with his face to the sea and pointed their scimitars at him — one to his chest, one to his head.

When they find the money, they'll probably shout, Riley thought. And my guards might look away for an instant. He'd have only one chance. Slowly, he drew his legs under him.

An excited shout was heard from behind. Riley's guards jerked their heads around. In a flash Riley sprung out from under their weapons and dove for the beach.

Riley knew he was running for his life. Sprinting to the water's edge, he felt his pursuers close on his heels. He plunged headfirst into the waves and pushed his way underwater with desperate strokes. He didn't dare come up for a breath! Finally, his lungs bursting, Riley broke through the surface and gasped for air.

He stole a quick look around. The old man was close behind, up to his chin in the rough water. His arm was raised, his spear aimed at Riley. As he pulled back to let it fly, a huge surf rolled over both of them, hurtling the old man onto the beach.

Riley turned and swam furiously toward the wreck. Wave after wave broke over him. Each time he surfaced he glimpsed the crew on board, shouting and urging him on. At last he threw his arm up along the side, but a heavy surf pushed him down. Then he felt the grip of his mates' hands hauling him up.

Riley collapsed on the deck, exhausted. Over him stood Savage, the second mate, watching the beach. “What's happening?” Riley panted.

“Nothing — they're just staring out over the water. They can't believe you made it! Wait, now they're dragging our cargo toward the dunes.” After a few moments, Savage shook his head. “I can't see them anymore... they're gone.”

But they'll be back, thought Riley, pulling himself up. And there will be more of them. He gazed grimly at the rough sea. They wouldn't survive for long out there in the shattered longboat. But what else could they do? The wreck would soon smash to pieces. And the beach meant either slavery or death.

The longboat was their last chance. The crew threw in what little provisions were still on the wreck — a small keg of water, some salt pork, and a few figs. The eleven men took their places in the leaky hull, and two started bailing out water.

Riley put it to a vote. They could take their chances out at sea, or they could stick close to the rocky coast — and risk another wreck or attack. The men all agreed. They'd take the sea.

Riley's eyes were bleary from searching the horizon for a vessel. Six days at sea, and still nothing. Only the odd flash of lightning broke the gloomy haze. Under his feet the hastily patched boat creaked, and water seeped in constantly. He looked at the sunburned bodies of his crew, at the exhausted men who had to be prodded to keep bailing. His mouth was so parched that his orders came out in a hoarse whisper. How much longer would the water and pork hold out? As it was, their rations were barely giving them strength to row.

When the sun rose on the seventh day, Riley knew they couldn't go on. Then a shout broke through his grim thoughts.

“Land!”

Hope swept through the boat as the men turned in the direction of their mate's outstretched hand. Riley craned his neck — there it was! Far off, a perfectly smooth coast. No hill broke its straight line.

A desert, he realized, his heart sinking.

The men rowed for the coast. On shore Riley staggered from the boat and looked around. Jagged rocks loomed overhead, stretching as far as he could see in either direction. The men unloaded what was left of their water and salt pork and began to walk eastward along the coast — maybe they'd find a place to dig for water or get inland past the cliffs.

A fierce sun beat down on them. Hunger gnawed at Riley. He trudged onward, his eyes on the stony, red ground beneath him, baked hard by the sun. Spotting a few locusts, he grabbed them to stuff in his mouth, but they crumbled to dust at his touch.

I brought these men here, he thought. He stole a glance at young Horace, who was bravely keeping up with the bigger men. Riley had promised the cabin boy's mother that he would take care of him like a son.

After sunset, a crewman named Clark suddenly pointed ahead. “I see a light!” he cried.

A campfire! Hope thrilled through Riley. He saw the same feeling on the faces of his crew, but he raised an arm to hold them back. “Let's make camp for the night,” he said. The men began to protest, but he shook his head. “Whoever they are, we don't want to alarm them by surprising them in the dark. Better to go in the morning.”

The men wet their mouths with their last drops of water and settled down to sleep on the sand, which was still hot from the sun's rays. Riley lay awake, haunted by fears. They were unarmed, defenseless. Tomorrow they would probably be captured as slaves.

We must do what we can to stay alive, he told himself. Stay alive long enough to find a way, somehow, to get home.

Clambering over the dunes, Savage and Riley peered down into the valley nestled between sandy hills. Men and women milled around a well, fetching water for their camels — hundreds of them! Glancing up, a few men spotted the sailors and began to run toward them. At their sides, Riley could see the glint of steel in the sun — scimitars and muskets! Pulling Savage with him, he stepped forward.

The strangers wasted no time on words, and began to strip off the sailors' clothing. More people came running, and the air filled with shouts and excitement. Fights broke out over the windfall of new slaves.

The sailors were dragged away by their new masters, and women drove them toward the well with sticks. His shoes gone, Riley found it hard to walk barefoot over the hot sand, but each sharp whack from the stick sent him forward. Riley turned to the woman behind him and opened his parched mouth, pointing to it. She drew water from the well and began filling bowls.

The sailors fell upon the bowls of water. Slow down! Riley told himself. It was dangerous to drink so much at once when you have been dying of thirst. But he couldn't help himself. At last Riley raised his head from the bowl and, wiping his mouth, looked around.

The crowd was breaking up as each family moved off, its goatskins filled with water. We're going to be split up, Riley thought with horror. Porter and five other mates were already being led away on camels, their eyes wide and terrified. Riley had time only to grasp their hands as they passed. An instant later they slipped through a crevice in the cliff wall, and disappeared out of sight.

Riley clutched at the camel's hair, hanging on. His legs stretched painfully across the animal's broad back. Its backbone is as sharp as the edge of an oar's blade, thought Riley. Worst of all, the camel's sides, bloated with water, were perfectly smooth. Riley kept sliding down toward the camel's tail, then pulling himself back by its hair.

Frightened by the stranger on its back, the camel ran about, bellowing. Riley searched for a bridle or halter to guide it with — but found nothing. All he could do was hang on. Nearby, struggling in much the same way, were four of his shipmates — Savage, Clark, Horace, and Dick, the cook.

Up ahead their masters sat cross-legged on wooden saddles, their camels trotting across the flat landscape of sand and gravel. Women and children rode in huge baskets strapped to camels' backs.

The sun beat fiercely on Riley's bare skin and reflected off the sand, blinding him. Riley closed his eyes. His swaying camel felt like a small boat in a stormy sea.

Night came, and still there was no sign that the band of desert nomads would stop. The wind turned cold and cut through Riley's skin.

I can't take any more! he thought wildly. He looked down at the ground racing beneath him. If I fall off I could break my neck, he thought. But staying on was too painful. He let go and quickly slipped off the camel, tumbling to the ground. The group did not even pause. Riley scrambled on foot to keep up, the sharp stones cutting his unprotected feet.

At last the caravan stopped. The nomads milked the camels and gave the slaves a little to drink. Women quickly assembled tents for shelter from the cold night wind. Riley staggered toward a tent, but was beaten back with a stick. He and his crew were sent to lie down next to the camels. They collapsed onto the stony ground, where the desert wind swept over them unchecked.

Weeks passed in a blur of burning sun, swaying camels, and night winds. But Riley forced himself to stay sharp and listen to his masters' talk. It reminded him of Spanish — ancient Arabic, he guessed. He even learned a few words, and by watching their faces and hands, could catch the drift of their conversations.

That was how he discovered they were turning back to the well where he and his men had been captured. They couldn't survive any longer without water for the camels, whose milk was keeping them all alive.

Looking at the starved faces of his crew, Riley's heart sank. We're not going to make it there, he thought.