Voyage of Plunder Read Online Free PDF

fluttered closed.
    After replenishing their water casks and food supplies—an easy task, as they had so recently reprovisioned—the pirate crew prepared to weigh anchor before the sun set. All of them fearing Faith might yap. All of them anxious to go on the Round. All of them imagining swimming in jewels.
    Forty men circled the capstan, pushing the bars, singing lustily to the rhythmic clanking of the pawl. But then the wind shifted, the sky crackled with thunder, and their singing changed to curses. And while they swore (and while my ears burned with the vileness of it all), the tide turned against them. The
Tempest
tossed at her anchors. There would be no leaving tonight. Josiah and the others cursed their luck, but I prayed the wind would stay its course.
    Shortly after the distant cry of midnight, I slipped away.
    One does not keep promises with thieves and murderers. That I knew. I would tell the townspeople everything I had seen. I would tell them who had pulled the trigger and murdered my father. By morning, all the pirates would be in prison. Once they were tried and hanged and once Faith was cured of her illness, she and I would return to Boston, to my father's house. And there I would care for her and her child as my father had wished.
    I just had not counted on it being so cold and windy.
    The rowboat bumped against the wharf. It took me some fumbling minutes to tie it fast, but finally I succeeded and climbed out. My legs felt shaky, and the wharf seemed to bob before my eyes, ebbing and flowing. I crept along the wharf as best I could, anxious to make no sound, as the pirates might open fire from the ship if they suspected anything amiss.
    See if they laugh at little Daniel Markham again,
I thought as I picked my way over a fishnet.
I'll show them. I'll especially show you, Josiah Black.
    I was halfway down the wharf when, suddenly a shape loomed beside me. A hand clamped over my mouth as an arm gripped my shoulders. Panic raced through my veins like ice water, and I struggled.
I am caught! The pirates must have been watching me!
    “Hush, you young fool,” he whispered sharply in my ear. “I am your friend.”
    For a wild second, I wondered if I should bite his hand and shout anyway, but I decided not to be an idiot. If I shouted, all would be over. Besides, perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps he really
was
a friend. I ceased my struggling, and he slowly removed his hand. “Who are you?” I whispered.
    “Not here,” he replied. “Come. Follow me.” And he led the way toward the town.
    A lone guard melted back into deep shadow, his musket at his side, saying nothing as we passed into Newport.
    He took me to a nearby house, the house of a well-to-do man by the look of it, smelling of fresh paint, with shutters framing the leaded-glass windows and candlelight glowing within. Following him into the sitting room, I finally had a look at the man.
    He was middle-aged, a little stout—rather like my father in appearance. From beneath his periwig, his eyes twinkled with a curious look, and I thought,
Surely, this is a friend.
I felt myself relax, thanking heaven he had found me. I sat in the chair he offered and waited while he instructed a servant as to our refreshment. A fire burned in the grate. Warmth spread over me like butter on hot bread. I suddenly felt very, very tired.
    In the morning, the pirates would find themselves surrounded. The nightmare was finally, finally over.
    He sat across from me, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Your name?”
    “Oh, sorry. Daniel Markham of Boston.” Just then the servant returned, handing each of us a mug of spiced cider.
    “I must say,” my friend continued, taking a drink of his cider, “you've intrigued me terribly. What's a fine lad from Boston doing on a Newport wharf in the middle of the night?”
    I did not answer immediately. Instead, I cupped the mug in my hands and sipped my cider. It was hot and, like the fire, seemed to melt through