Gaspar: The Last of the Buccaneers

By Steve Barber

As the eighteenth century draws to a close, a mystic figure appears on the timeline of history whose presence is even felt today. Some call him a pirate sailing under the black flag of death. Others call him a ghosta figment of the imagination. To those who know him, however, he is just an ordinary man who comes full circle in life. He comes to realize that lifes greatest treasures are the simple pleasures and the God-given blessings that are regularly bestowed upon the children of God. He sails the west coast of Florida during some the most turbulent times, and he aids a young nation during the political unrest of 1812. Through love, political intrigue, and adventures at sea, Jos Gaspar becomes the last of the buccaneers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449748715

Steve Barber

Steve is a confident introvert who has greatly enjoyed writing since his early twenties. He has had a long, diverse and satisfying career in the health and beauty industry. ‘GermanGirls 2 – Secrets’ is his second novel and a sequel to ‘GermanGirls’. In addition, he has written many children’s stories, and poems for his beloved Sarah & Dan. He lives with his wonderful wife Ine and two cats on the South Coast of England. His favourite authors are Anne Tyler, Chris Stewart and Alexander McCall Smith. He enjoys walking, wildlife watching and being by the sea.

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Gaspar

The Last of the Buccaneers

Steve Barber

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Copyright © 2012 Steve Barber

Drawings by Kevin Terry

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-4870-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4869-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-4871-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012907086

WestBow Press rev. date: 06/05/2012

Contents

Chapter One    Full Circle

Chapter Two    A Midnight Raid

Chapter Three    The Old Mission Bell

Chapter Four    Spain, 1792

Chapter Five    The Man of the Sea

Chapter Six    A Divine Appointment

Chapter Seven    Coffee, Sugar, and Pineapples

Chapter Eight    Wars and Rumors of Wars

Chapter Nine    A Mysterious Mist

Chapter Ten    A Midnight Rescue in Tripoli: 1803

Chapter Eleven    Political Intrigue

Chapter Twelve    A Fugitive at Sea

Chapter Thirteen    Isabella and the Castillo de Arenas Blancas

Chapter Fourteen    A Real Pirate, Duke Carmen

Chapter Fifteen    A Storm at Sea

Chapter Sixteen    Real Men Cry

Chapter Seventeen    The Buried Treasure 1812

Chapter Eighteen    Terror on the Seas: 1814

Chapter Nineteen    The Defense of Fort McKinley

Chapter Twenty    A New Resolve

Chapter Twenty-One    Lafitte: A Privateer or Pirate

Chapter Twenty-Two    Last Will and Testament

Chapter Twenty-Three    The Battle of New Orleans

Chapter Twenty-Four    The Last of the Buccaneers

Chapter Twenty-Five    Lascivio Mortuus: Monday, March 15, 1815

About the Author

Chapter One

Full Circle

It has been said that a real man smiles in trouble, gathers his strength in distress, and grows brave by reflection. Well, I have seen trouble and have flirted with my share of distress. In reflection, I can only hope that bravery and courage will come from all this trouble and distress.

As the carriage wound down from the tall mountains, I could see the old mission of San Diego. It was surrounded by the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico on the right and the Yucatan Channel on the left.

The mission came closer into view, and I recalled those dreams we shared. At the same time, the questions haunted me, and I couldn’t seem to escape them: why and how did all that happen?

Memories of the events flooded my mind, but it was as if I was looking through a dark glass. Many memories were a blur, and others appeared impossible. Yet as I approached the old mission, it seemed as if it were only yesterday that I was there; and now I’d come full circle, with much water under the bridge.

The place looked just the same as it did when I left fourteen years ago. I knew all the bends and turns in the old road, and the dust still had that taste that I remembered so well. This was the place where it all started.

Why did we leave this place? It had all we ever needed, such as rich soil and the bounty from the sea. We were truly happy here. Was the cause really that great? Was the price we paid worth the prize?

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The Old Mission

The big doors of the mission opened as the coach came to a stop. There he was, my old friend Father Demarcos. He surely hadn’t changed in fourteen years. Padre, I greeted him.

With that familiar, identifying smile, he turned and called to me. Juan, Juan Valdez, is it really you? We received your letter a week ago and have been waiting for you. What has taken so long?

Well, I answered, the business in Havana took a little longer than I expected.

Without paying attention to my words, he immediately began to talk to the attendants around us, giving them details on handling the luggage and instructions on preparing wine. Then he turned his attention to me. Juan, we have much to talk about, and I know you must need some rest. Three days in a carriage must be taxing on you.

He took my right arm and led me to the big veranda. Father Demarcos had a humble but controlling way about him. It had always been difficult to refuse any offer or helping hand that he extended.

We sat down on wicker chairs and looked out over the inner courtyard. It was a beautiful sight with the big blue ocean in the background as far as the eye could see. As I sat there, I could smell the tobacco fields and the coffee beans mixed with the fresh sea breeze.

Padre, I began, my time here may be very short. I may have to leave quickly if trouble starts. As you know, in some places I’m still a wanted man.

Ha! Juan, he retorted, "you are safe here. And besides, no one knows you are even arrived.

You know why I have come, I ventured, implying both a statement and a question.

I can imagine why. I even thought you would be here before now, he answered. The time is right, I feel. But Juan, you must be ready to answer questions that are uncomfortable. Do you understand? The lad deserves to know the truth.

Yes, I understand, I replied. How is the boy doing?

Boy? What are you talking about? He is a fine lad now and will soon be a young man. Why, he is sixteen years of age! And doing quite well, I might add. His studies are at the top of his class. He has learned to farm, to build, and to handle a sword like his father.

Oh, yes. No man could handle a sword like his father, I commented. Padre, when do you think I could see him?

I can call him now, or you can rest and see him in the morning, if you prefer.

One side of me dreads this, and another side of me greatly anticipates seeing him.

The padre commented in a sympathetic way that he understood, but that all deserved to know the truth. He emphasized that I was the most legitimate person to tell the lad the things he needed to hear.

Well then, let’s do what we must, I responded with both reluctance and joy.

You’re right. I will be right back. With that, the old padre got up and left the room.

I had pondered for a long time how I should start the conversation. Now that I was here, I wondered, What can I say?

Within a few minutes, the padre was back. And standing at his side was a tall lad who, as Father Demarcos had said, would soon be a young man. I could tell in an instant who this lad was. He looked like his father, but at the same time I could my see my sister in him as well.

Luis, please sit down here. We have something we need to discuss with you, Father Demarcos said to him.

Yes, sir, replied the lad with a deep, confident voice.

The Padre explained, Luis, the things you are about to hear may be hard to comprehend, but they are the truths that you need to know. I have loved you, and for fourteen years you have been as a son to me. I only want what is good for you. This man, he said while pointing to me, is your uncle. His name is Juan Valdez, and he has come a long way to see you.

I stood up and offered my hand. He rose and shook it. He was every bit as tall as I was, and his grip was good and strong. I confessed, Please forgive me. I am a little weary.

It took everything in my power to hold back the tears. I thought how proud his parents would be if they only could have known what a fine young lad their son had become on his journey to manhood. Father Demarcos had done a great job.

With mixed emotions, I began my story. "Luis, it is true that I am your uncle. Your mother and father had Father Demarcos bring you here for your own safety. Father Demarcos is a close friend of mine. He was a close friend of your mother and father as well. I am here with Father Demarcos’ blessing. We both feel it is time for you to hear the truth about your parents. Just where to start is the hard part, but I want you to know that they both loved you dearly.

First, let me tell you that your name is not Luis Garcia. You were given that name for protection. You see, at the time that you were born, the world was a very dangerous place. Countries were at war, pirates were at sea, and there was political unrest in most places. Slave traders were willing to kidnap any child.

We walked toward the shaded area of the veranda and took seats. I could tell the lad was naturally very interested in what I was saying. As we sat down, he said, Senor Valdez, tell me, please, what is my name? Who am I, and what is this all about?

Your mother was my sister, I quickly replied. We were from Spain. Our parents were common people who worked very hard. They owned a shop named Valdez Cartographers, just outside the port city of Cadiz. Our father was both skilled and talented in constructing maps, charts, and surveys. They were able to send us to a little school where we received a good education. It was an excellent home and a very happy life, I added.

Excuse me, please, Senor Valdez, the young man interrupted, but sir, what is my name?

In my heart I knew it was time to let him know. Son, I said, your name is Miguel Jose Gaspar.

The expression on this face immediately changed. What had been only an inquisitive look transformed into a picture of horror, anguish, and total disbelief. I could only imagine what he must have been thinking. After all,