Read Online Skeletons On The Zahara by Dean King - Free Book Online

windage that pinned them against the rocks. They did, but 2,800 pounds of anchor had no effect against the heave of the Atlantic. The thundering surf rammed the Commerce onto the rocks again and again, until the brig, facing the beach to the southwest, lodged in a jagged crevice.
    Waves broke one after another over the stern and starboard quarter, sweeping the decks. Each deluge of foaming sea sent the men sprawling or scurrying for a handhold to keep from being washed overboard. Riley quickly realized that there was no hope of saving the Commerce, which would soon bilge and fill with water. But, carrying only a light cargo, she sat high on the rocks, and her oak timbers could stand the beating for a while.
    He ordered part of the crew to bring provisions up from the hold and to draw water from the large casks. They emptied two quarter-casks of wine and began filling them with water. On deck, he and the rest of the crew hauled in the small stern boat, which was being pounded by the waves, and slung it so as to keep it from beating against the side of the brig and staving. They cleared away the larger longboat and hung it in tackles, ready for launching.
    The Commerce wedged deeper into the mandible-like rocks with each surge of the sea. Water poured into her hold, yet the men remained orderly and calm. Those working below had already brought up half a dozen barrels each of water and wine. Three barrels of bread and four of salt meat were also on deck, ready to be loaded in the boats. They had secured a variety of chests and trunks, including some with clothing and Spanish coin. Riley still had not seen land and had no idea how close they were. Not knowing what his next move would be was the worst part. He had to act decisively— both to save the crew and to convince them he could save them. For now, his close ties with his mates and men were paying off. He could sense their alertness, their sharp determination to follow his orders. But if they saw any wavering, any weakness, on his part, then their discipline might collapse and all could be lost. As he considered his next move, Riley instructed the men to load his books, charts, and navigational instruments.
    Around midnight, as the brig settled and the waves broke with increasing strength over the deck, Riley studied the billowing horizon around them in the dim light of a quarter moon rising to the north of east. At last he made out the coast, the charting of which to this day, the Royal Navy's Africa Pilot cautions, is “reported to be inaccurate,” primarily because it is constantly changing. The Sahara abuts the sea in a mutable front of rust- and dun-colored cliffs, black rock, and slopes of wind-scoured sand. As the sea undermines the desert, the rock and sand tumble in, altering the shoreline and creating new hazards. Riley strained to see in the dark. Catching faint glimpses of reflected moonlight, he determined that the shore was not far, perhaps two hundred yards. Reaching it was their only chance.
    The crew cut away the port bulwark so that they could launch the boats with greater ease. Riley had them attach a line to the small boat and lower it into the calmer water in the lee of the brig with himself and Porter on board. The two men shoved off. But as soon as they cleared the brig's bow, the whitecapped sea met them full force, capsizing the boat. Both men were repeatedly swallowed in the churning surf. As they fought to stay afloat, the current dragged them to the south and west, then tossed them onto the beach some three hundred yards away from the brig. The boat washed up beside them.
    Riley and Porter caught their breath and vomited salt water into the sand. After hailing the brig, they seized the boat, emptied it of water, and dragged it, still attached to the brig by the rope, out of the surf. They maneuvered it up the beach to a point directly leeward of the wreck and secured it to a number of pieces of driftwood from the brig, which they then drove into