Sea Witch Read Online Free PDF Page B

for the entertainment? Jesamiah grinned, anticipating the delights on offer to a healthy young man who had been at sea for more weeks than he cared to tally.
    “Let go!” he yelled, and the fluked anchor, twice the height of a man, splashed down into the water, its cable chuntering busily out through the hawse-hole. They were securely anchored and Jesamiah did not mind admitting he was relieved to be here in more or less one piece. Repairing the Mermaid after that tangle with the Christina Giselle had been a frustrating, time-consuming delay, but as it turned out, not too much of a nuisance. There had been no need to pretend distress to lure another vessel in, the damage to both ship and men had been real enough.
    Fortunately, they had struck lucky with a second Spanish trader homeward bound from the East Indies, full laden and worth waiting for. Hoisting Spanish colours – with Jesamiah being half the breed and able to speak the language fluently, his black hair making him look every inch a Spaniard from Cadiz, they had shouted for aid, claiming they had been attacked by pirates. Had taken the unsuspecting victim without a single shot fired from cannon or pistol. That was the art of piracy, to successfully dupe or threaten; to give the impression of horrors that could be unleashed if there was no immediate surrender. As with the Christina Giselle threats did not always work, usually they did – very effectively.
    With the two ships made fast to one another they had taken all they required at their leisure: a new rudder, replacement sails; topmast, spars, yards, cordage, blocks – and the ship’s surgeon. He had protested at being forced to work aboard a pirate craft, but once they had made sail again had knuckled down to his job. It was that or starve. He would not be permitted ashore, of course. Surgeons were hard to come by and for the duration of their stay in Cape Town harbour he was shackled and incarcerated in the forward sail locker. Well out of sight and sound of any prying eyes and ears.
    For their purpose in Cape Town they had painted out the Mermaid ’s name, and added subtle disguises; rigging different sails and fixing two more ornate lanterns, procured from the Spaniard, to either side of the single lamp on the stern taffrail. She was now the highly respectable Mary Anne , a British trader bound for India, anchoring in harbour to take on essential supplies.
    Half an hour later, the ship tidied and made ready for when she was to next sail, and wearing his best, not too faded coat and favoured three-cornered hat, Jesamiah was sauntering along the jetty towards the pentagonal fortress protecting both town and harbour. A prerequisite of all trading ports, especially those dominated by the Dutch, to verify a ship’s papers. Failure to do so could result in being blasted out of the water by the several cannon aimed directly at the hull.
    He followed the tree-lined canal that ran down from the gardens to flow into the sea beside the fort. A pleasant stroll, except for what leered behind him at the end of the jetty down on the muddy sand of the shore. The gallows. Empty and forlorn, malevolently waiting for a man, a pirate, to decorate the cross-beam.
    Tipping his hat backwards slightly and puffing his cheeks, he halted at the fort’s archway, a dark-shadowed mouth gaping black against the white of lime-washed walls. Above, an impressive bell tower; he peered at a brass plaque announcing the bell had been cast in Amsterdam in 1697. Beneath it, the coat of arms of the V.O.C. All of it intent on making a statement of invincible strength. In the bright sun on the far side of the tunnel stretching beneath the arch, Dutch soldiers were drilling, muskets aslant across their shoulders. There were dungeons inside this fort. Jesamiah took a fortifying breath, straightened his hat, smoothed his moustache and touched his earring. Best get the job done, present the papers to the harbourmaster. That they were false was