Voyage of Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the way of regular tasks and wondered why Uncle felt he needed both a surgeon and a surgeon’s mate on a voyage where there wasn’t much of anything happening. I was so delighted, though, to finally be with Uncle after all these years that if he needed both a surgeon and a surgeon’s mate, that was jolly fine with me. It just meant Uncle wanted me near him.
    As it was, I followed him about like a puppy, asking endless questions. After all, he was family. My only family.
    “Uncle, weren’t you lonely for your family when you first left for sea?”
    “Uncle, have you ever fallen overboard?”
    “Uncle, have you ever been to India?”
    “Uncle, will you ever get married, do you think?”
    “Uncle, can you teach me navigation?”
    “Uncle, where are we off to?”
    “Uncle, have you ever gone to school?”
    “Uncle, do you think I might make a good sea captain someday?”
    Some questions he answered; some made him crack with laughter and clap me on the back (nearly jarring my teeth loose), repeating, “All in good time, my lad, all in good time.” Finally, perhaps in an effort to batten my hatches, he agreed to teach me navigation.
    So, beginning on our fifth day at sea, each day at noon we stood on the quarterdeck and took the sighting with a sextant. Then we went below and consulted the almanac and studied the charts, plotting our course from one penciled
X
to the next.
    “So we’re headed to Havana, on Spanish Cuba,” I said one day, tracing our route with my finger. I stood with my legs braced as the
Formidable
rolled and tossed through the oceanswells. Above, it was a fine, vigorous day, and my hair smelled of wind. “If the weather holds true, we should arrive sometime tomorrow.”
    Uncle’s blue eyes glinted. “Aye, you’re a sharp lad.”
    “Then we’re returning home?”
    Uncle gave me a hard look, seeming to weigh something in his mind, then shrugged. “I suppose it’s time you knew.” He produced another chart and unrolled it atop the first, leaning over the table and caressing the chart with his hand. I stood next to him, hearing the breath whistling through his nostrils, looking to where he pointed. “After Havana, we’re headed to Africa.”
    Africa …
I peered at the African continent, my breath catching with the promise of adventure. “What’s in Africa besides jungles?”
    At this, Uncle straightened and placed a strong, square hand on my shoulder. His expression was solemn. “Philip, lad, have you ever wanted to be rich?”
    I remembered my vow to never be hungry again. And since arriving in New Orleans, I’d kept that vow. Money was the answer. Money and family. “Yes, I want to be rich.”
More than anything
, I realized.
    Uncle’s lips curled up in a smile. “There’s black gold in Africa.”
    “Black gold?”
    “Slaves, lad.
Slaves,”
he hissed.
    The word hung in the air. Visible, touchable, vibrating like a plucked string. My scalp prickled and I became aware of Uncle’s excitement. It flowed warmly from his hand, through my shoulder, into my being. As if he
wanted
my approval. Me, little Philip Arthur Higgins, onetime orphan and ward of the parish workhouse. And in that moment I’d have given my approval to anything—taking half the world, even.
    Uncle’s eyes met mine.
    I smiled. “Yes, Uncle. That would be quite nice, I think.”
    The house was set among the palm trees, a wide veranda stretching across the front, shady and inviting. As we climbed the last step onto the varnished expanse, the door opened and a man emerged. “Ah! Captain Towne!” he said in a broad American accent. “At last you’ve arrived!” Dressed in loose white cotton pantaloons and a linen shirt, he was a red-faced fellow of enormous girth. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his clothing. He dabbed himself with a handkerchief.
    “Emmanuel Fitch! Jolly good to see you again,” said Uncle, slipping his rattan cane under his arm and shaking Mr. Fitch’s hand.
    Jonas muttered