Buccaneer by Tim Severin

again after Gutteridge had loaded the logwood and brought him back to Jamaica. Maybe he would have earned enough money from the logwood sale to invest in a commercial enterprise and start to make the fortune that would impress the young woman into accepting him as a formal suitor. Riches, by all accounts, were swiftly gained in the Caribees.
    Eventually he did fall into a deep sleep, only to be woken shortly before daybreak by a rattling noise. The wind was so strong that the fiercer gusts were shaking the entire fabric of his shelter. Unable to rest, Hector swung his legs over the side of his sleeping platform, and stood up. To his shock, he found that he was standing in six inches of water.
    As the light rapidly strengthened, he saw that the entire camp site was under water. In places it was submerged to a depth of at least a foot. The flood was flowing inland like a vast river. He dipped a finger into the water and sucked on it. He tasted salt. The sea was invading the land.
    Splashing his way out of the hut, he found Jezreel assembling a bundle of his possessions, his guns and powder, a coil of rope, a water bottle, a hatchet, food. ‘Here, take these, you may need them later,’ he said to Hector, handing him a spare water bottle, a cutlass and a gun. ‘What’s happening?’ enquired Hector. He had to raise his voice for the sound of the wind had now risen to a steady roar. ‘It’s a North,’ shouted the giant. ‘December and January is their time and this looks to be a bad one.’
    The big man looked round to make sure that he had everything he needed, then led Hector inland towards a swell of rising ground. As they waded through the water, the young man observed that the water level was constantly rising. It was now halfway up the supports of his sleeping platform.
    ‘How much higher will it flood?’ he shouted.
    Jezreel shrugged. ‘No way of telling. Depends how long the gale blows.’
    They reached the knoll. Here stood a single enormous tree, fifteen or twenty feet around its base. Lightning must have struck it, for all but a handful of the upper branches were shorn away, and those which survived bore no leaves. Jezreel went to its farther side. There the lightning had left a jagged open gash which extended almost down to the ground. Jezreel swung his hatchet and began to widen the crevice, enough to jam in hand or foot. ‘You better climb up first. You are more nimble,’ he advised Hector. ‘Take the rope and get as high as you can. At least up to the first large branches. Once you’re there, lower the rope to me and we’ll haul up our gear.’
    Half an hour later they were both seated some twenty feet above the ground, each astride a thick branch. ‘Might as well make ourselves secure,’ said Jezreel, passing him the end of their rope. ‘If the wind gets stronger we’ll be blown off like rotten plums.’
    Fastened in place with a rope around his waist, Hector watched the floodwaters rising. It was an extraordinary sight. A great swirling, rippling brown mass of water was sliding inland, carrying everything before it. Branches, leaves, all sorts of clutter were being swept along. Bushes disappeared. The corpse of a wild pig floated by. What made the scene all the more remarkable was that the sky still remained bright and sunny, except for the ominous bank of cloud which lay heavily on the horizon. ‘Will rain come?’ Hector asked his companion.
    ‘No, a North is not like a hurricane,’ answered Jezreel. ‘Everyone knows of the hurricane and the downpours it brings. But a North stays steady as long as that black cloud is there, and without any rain. But it can be just as fatal if you are on a lee shore.’
    By mid afternoon the wind had risen to gale force and was threatening to pluck Hector from his perch. He felt the great dead tree vibrating in the blasts, and wondered if its dead roots would hold. If the tree were toppled, he could not see how they would survive.
    ‘What about the