The Smugglers Read Online Free PDF Page A

Father cracked his fist against the gunwale. “I'm going to buy it,” he said. “By the saints, I'm going to buy that boat!”
    “You've lost your head.” The boatman swore. “She'll bring you trouble and nothing else. See how black she is? It's her soul you're looking at. Her heart is black inside her.”
    “That's rubbish,” said Father.
    “I think not.” With a sweep of his oar, the boatman brought us in toward the hull. “Half her life she's been a smuggler. First from France and then from England. And itspoils her, mark my words. Once a ship has seen a smuggling run, she's spoiled for anything else.”
    Father stood up. He nearly lost his balance, then found it, and reached out with his cane to hook on to the
Dragon's
shrouds.
    I went up after Father, and the boatman drifted down the hull. He neither came aboard nor even touched the ship.
    “Wait here,” said Father.
    “Not on your life,” said the boatman as the tide took him away. “You want me, you whistle. I ain't laying here beside her.” He shouted after us even as he vanished on the tide. “I don't trust her, I don't.”
    When he was just a tiny thing, turning in the current, he still called across the water. “She'll seek out dangers. For the sake of the boy, find another ship.”
    Had Father listened, I would only have talked him out of it. The
Dragon
was a lovely thing, and I could hardly wait to sail. We looked her over from bow to stern, from deck to keelson. Father paced through the holds, counting his steps, converting the total into barrels and boxes and bags.
    “It's smaller than it looks from the outside,” said he. “But the boat can pay its way, I've no doubt of that.”
    We walked through the cabins, from large to small, forward from the stern. In the last, Father could stretch his hands from side to side. “This one will be yours,” he said.
    “Mine?” said I.
    “You'll be the owner's representative.” He sat on the narrow bunk. He wrote with an imaginary quill on imaginary ledgers spread across the table. “You'll be second to none but the captain.”
    I stood with my head bowed; the cabin was too low to stand upright. “Father, I would rather be a sailor. Just an ordinary sailor.”
    “Just a mindless slug?” he asked. “Just a pair of hands, is all?” He looked at me and smiled. “Oh, you'll get your share of work. You'll be at the wheel and up the mast and tangled in the ropes, I'm sure. But you'll have to see to the business as well.”
    “The business?” I asked.
    “The manifests,” said he. “The cargo. The food and water, the sailcloth and whatnot.” He made a rolling motion with his hand, like a wheel going on and on. “But work hard, study well, and you'll be a captain yourself before you know it.”
    I was pleased with this, though I would have agreed to anything for a chance to sail on the
Dragon.
    Father went back to London, and I stayed at a waterfront inn. I expected Captain Dawson to arrive, but the days went by and he didn't. I passed my time walking on the fishermen's wharves or sitting for hours on the riverbank, just staring at that graceful ship. And nearly a week was out before a letter came from Father.
    My dearest son,
    A tragedy has befallen us. Poor Captain Dawson was overtaken by thieves on his way from London and was killed in Canterbury as he waited for the coach. I know you share my grief at this, but we must buck up and carry on.
    I have sent word to Captain Crowe at the Baskerville,who may already, as you receive this, be on the road to Pegwell Bay. I have asked him to assume command, and he has replied in a favorable way. You will understand that the state of affairs is such that I will not be able to come and see you off on this first voyage of the Dragon. And so, with the greatest of confidence, I am entrusting to you the duties of loading a cargo of wool and bringing it to our docks in London. Enclosed are various papers attesting to legal ownership of the Dragon, and others