Pirates to the End: Tales from the Granite Countertop
By Susan Troutt
()
About this ebook
Briney McDoogal is captured, tried for piracy, and condemned to die. He admits hes made mistakes. Appointing himself captain of the Gypsy Laddie is the worst mistake of all. What does a fourteen-year-old know of being captain anyway? Is belief in himself all he needs to survive? Or will foolish determination be his downfall? Cryptic clues lead to Blackbeards treasure, but, blinded by bravado, Brineys naivet tosses him to cut-throats, thieves, and finally Blackbeard himself. On the brink of obtaining treasure, Briney must make a decision. Choosing unwisely endangers his ship, his crew, and his life, but if he accepts the Pirates Pardon, his dreams of riches vanish forever.
PIRATES TO THE END, an imaginative adventure interlaced with historical high sea piracy and overflowing with trickery, ghosts, masquerade, and murder, is an 18th century clue-filled treasure hunt that will delight children and adults alike as it spirals from St. Augustines Castillo, to Charlestons St. Phillips Church, through the pirate haven of Bath, North Carolina, and retires on Bahamas sandy shores.
Susan Troutt
As a child, Susan Troutt was blessed with good teachers who introduced her to writing. She wrote and, in return, they displayed her stories in the hallway, entered her essays in contests, praised her pieces, and encouraged her to continue writing. When she grew up, she became a teacher, guiding fourth graders to love the written word and helping them to find their own true joy in writing. Now retired form teaching, Susan Troutt lives in Northern Kentucky with her husband James. She loves reading, Jazzercising, hiking, cooking, quilting, and visiting schools to talk about writing.
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Pirates to the End - Susan Troutt
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 1-800-839-8640
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
© 2008 Susan Troutt. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
First published by AuthorHouse 12/19/2008
ISBN: 978-1-4389-1610-1 (sc)
Bloomington, Indiana
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
For Dustin who asked for more
and
For Kendyll and Taylor who kept me going
Tiptoe into your kitchen and look beyond nature’s design. Yes, there topping the cabinet. Of course, you say, it’s only a countertop. But do not stop there. Look into the countertop. Look right there, boys and girls, right under your fingertips, cold and hard in its swirls, chips, and crystals.
Do you see them? Once you open your eyes, surely you will see the faces. Why, in the right-hand corner alone there is Queenie Ester and the Child Pirate. And look there, just a little lower and see the Child-faced Cat and Susan the Orphan. They are trapped there in time. They can never come out, but always they are changing, evolving. Each of them can be discovered, and then with merely a swish of a rag, each evolves into something else.
But they are always, always present, for they are each part of a tale from the granite countertop. They have whispered their tales into my imagination, and now I shall share them with you.
Chapter 1
Briney McDoogal threw an arm across his eyes to block out the searing sun and clung to the wooden raft, riding the pull of it back and forth over the waves. Then its bottom scraped sand.
He turned his head to the side and watched the drifting tide. When he looked back to shore, something shiny caught his eye—first one glint, then another. Focusing on the glistening sand, he propped himself up on all fours. But the sand wasn’t sand anymore. It had become jewels—rubies, sapphires, brilliant green emeralds. At his feet, just past the tide’s lapping tongue, lay a gigantic mound of gold doubloons. Beyond that, strings of pearls washed up, one after another.
Were his eyes playing tricks on him? How could the sea hold such beauties? Well, he wouldn’t waste time worrying about it; he would collect as much of this treasure as possible.
Leaping from the raft, he grabbed handfuls of doubloons and stuffed them into his pouch. When his pouch could hold no more, he filled his pockets, then piled glorious gems inside his shirt until he’d run out of room.
But alas, he could not take all the jewels! Yet he wanted them all. Each one was so beautiful. Surely they were meant just for him, but how could he carry them from the island?
The raft! Of course, the raft! Gleefully, he layered strings of pearls about his neck and wrists, scooped up great handfuls of sparkling gems, piling them high.
From a distance he heard a voice calling. Captain!
He had jewels enough for this trip. Already his raft was heavy with these riches, all of which belonged to him. He would return later for the rest.
Putting his entire weight behind the raft, he guided it, pushing it with all his might toward the sea. But now the raft was heavy and clung stubbornly to wet sand. Awkwardly he coaxed it onto a wave, but it sank scrapingly to the ocean’s shallow floor.
Captain!
the voice called again.
Briney’s eyes flew open. He felt about for his pouch, relieved when his fingers touched it. He snatched it up, but it hung limply from his hand—empty. His jewels were gone! Where were his beautiful jewels? Not in his pockets, not in his shirt. Where were they?
The answer hit him like a punch in the stomach. He’d been dreaming. The jewels weren’t real. He’d dreamed the same dream every night since his father had been killed. The dream was so alluring that he didn’t want it to end. He closed his eyes and tried to snuggle back to it.
Instead reality took over. There weren’t any jewels. There was no raft. He was on the deck of his pirate ship, the Gypsy Laddie. It was 1718, and he was fourteen-year-old Briney McDoogal, walking that fine line of more than a boy but less than a man, able to do everything but not quite as well as he should. Will that come with time? he wondered. How much time will it take? How much time do I have left?
Captain, we’re approaching a reef!
Alonzo Fort, quartermaster of the ship, bellowed. He was a big man, well over six foot tall and more than two hundred pounds. One would never guess to look at his broad shoulders and strong arms, that he was such a gentle man.
Suddenly Briney realized the Gypsy Laddie was unmoored. He’d need to make a decision. He was the captain. Confound that Avery Miller! From the moment he’d had taken over as navigator, the ship was consistently off course. This was Miller’s fault!
Is there damage?
I say no,
offered Patch LaTrek, but I will see.
Immediately, the one-eyed pirate was below deck. LaTrek was thin, of French heritage. His body was sinewy, his features rugged, his temper hot. He could be depended upon when the need arose.
How did this happen?
Briney demanded. In the short time he’d been captain, the men had shown him nothing but respect. He knew they trusted him to make the right decision now.
Alonzo Fort’s wide brow beaded with sweat. We’re drifting. We have no wind, none for hours.
He licked his lips and waited for Briney to respond.
Then drop anchor before it’s too late,
Briney said impatiently, knowing the crew had put their faith in him as captain.
Richard Rastus, the oldest pirate on the Gypsy Laddie, and Timber Joe, who was forever in his debt for saving him from a life of slavery, obeyed orders and released the holding pin. The anchor tumbled into the sea. The Gypsy Laddie floated out the length of the rope and jerked to a stand still.
Richard Rastus, who had long been with the Gypsy Laddie, prided himself in his appearance, and although his hair had turned white, he still tied it with a satin ribbon at the nape of his neck. Being the gentleman that he was, he’d taught the dark, towering Timber Joe the art of impeccable English.
Lantern in hand, Patch LaTrek returned from below deck. He was smiling. I believe we are lucky,
he told everyone. No damage.
The Gypsy Laddie was as much his ship as it was Briney’s. He and his crewmate Alvin Mitchell had been a part of the crew since leaving the command of the dishonest privateersman Captain Regnier Tongrelow years ago.
Alvin Mitchell, a scrawny little man filled with determination and superstition, clung to the ship’s railing and stared off into the night. He hoped they’d find dry land soon. On dry land, there was food and drink, to be sure. It had been days since he’d had real food. He wished for something nice and juicy to eat. And rum, he’d want rum too.
And then, as if wishes came true, a small flicker of light appeared off the coastline.
Alvin raised his head. He blinked his eyes. Yes, there were lights. He was certain of it.
Captain!
he hollered, pointing into the distance. Look!
The ship had been adrift for nearly a day. Now she was anchored, and waves could do little more than lick at her sides.
Night’s darkness had closed in. The twinkling lights indicated that the Gypsy Laddie had drifted close to some sort of city.
It’s St. Augustine!
shouted navigator Avery Miller. His right eye turned inward, giving him a slightly crossed-eyed appearance, sometimes causing him to see double. He was always daydreaming about ladies and now his eyes twinkled at the thought of those he might meet there.
Glowing lanterns off the coast snared the pirates’ attention. The Castillo de San Marcos. Briney had heard tales, but here it was within his sight.
Alvin, hand me the spyglass,
he directed.
As he passed the eyepiece, Alvin Mitchell gritted his pointy teeth into a possum grin. He had already taken his look. No one was at guard.
The voyage had been lengthy. Food supplies had run out long ago. From the size of this fortress, Briney believed two main rooms might be set aside for food storage. At last, they’d be fed.
Alvin’s mouth watered at the thought of real food—not the hard biscuits he’d been living on.
Briney held the spyglass to his eye. Ha! There’s a cat walking on the wall.
Alvin’s head spun around. A cat? What color might it be?
Briney peered through the glass again. It’s difficult to tell. I think—black. Yes, black.
Black? A black cat? Captain, do you know what this means? A black cat is a sign of bad luck. A witches’ cat. Oh, Lord, we’re doomed for sure.
Briney remembered the way his father, as former captain of the Gypsy Laddie, had handled Alvin’s bad luck
outbursts. Briney nodded his head and reassured Alvin. We’ll be fine. Leave it to me. If no one’s guarding the Castillo save the cat, entrance will be easy. Only a small party will be needed for this mission.
Briney knew the Castillo’s guards could hear even the slightest noise. As they eased the longboat over the side of the Gypsy Laddie, he cautioned, Quiet is the word of operation.
Oars dipped gently through the water, stroking a barely-moving craft forward.
The pirates did not wish to take command of the Castillo. They merely wanted access to food and, from there, to St. Augustine. From the town of St. Augustine, they could set up a base of operations to await the Spanish galleons containing millions of ducats worth of gold and silver mined from Mexico.
As the longboat approached its mark, Briney noticed strong earthworks surrounding the fort. What a blessing! From this close range, the Castillo’s guards would not be able to aim the dangerous cannons.
Briney smiled to himself and breathed a sigh of relief. No one else could have led them so well, he thought. He felt so confident in his leadership that he almost laughed out loud.
As they made their way along the coquina redoubt, crouching single file, the curious black cat tracked their movements from above.
Who will go into the fort?
questioned Richard Rastus, hoping to be awarded the honor.
We need only one,
replied Briney McDoogal. One person can pilfer enough food to tide us over.
Me,
Alonzo Fort replied with certainty. He was large. He could naturally carry more than the others. He’d fearlessly led reconnaissance missions before. This mission would be easy.
No, you’re too big. Too easily seen,
sneered Rastus.
Who then?
Simultaneously they turned to Alvin Mitchell.
You! You are small and wiry. You can slip by readily,
whispered Rastus.
Alvin drew back in horror. Me? Not me,
he said, shaking his head vehemently. He shivered and rubbed his hands over his arms. There’s a witches’ cat up there. It’s looking over the fort’s wall right now.
He dropped to his knees and rolled on the sand. With beseeching hands, he pleaded, No, please. The cat will claw me to bits.
The men scoffed at his antics. Tired of his mewling, they grasped his skinny arms to catapult him onto the earthwork. Alvin fought back with flailing arms and legs. He begged, he scratched, but no one seemed to pay any attention. I’ll be plagued by bad luck,
he whined.
Briney made a shooing motion with his hands. Go! Just go. We’ll meet you around the side.
I can’t. I can’t,
wailed Alvin. Please don’t send me. Please?
Briney sighed. Oh, all right. I’ll go. I’m just as agile as you.
The motto of the Gypsy Laddie was Share and share alike.
He may as well take his turn at duties if he wanted to share the spoils.
He tossed the grappling hook into the air, hoping it would connect with the top of the wall. No one inside the fort heard. The walls within the Castillo de San Marcos resounded with strumming guitars, shrill singing, and beating drums that drowned out any noise from below.
Chapter 2
On the thirteen try, the grappling hook stuck at the top of the coquina wall.
Thirteen be an unlucky number,
Alvin Mitchell pointed out.
Briney shook his head. Alvin always was the superstitious one.
Keep your hands against the wall for guidance,
he warned his men as he tugged his body up the rope. Be cautious in your journey. If all goes well, we’ll meet along the side. Wish me luck.
Aye,
they replied in hushed tones. If all goes well.
The pirates could barely see one another in the black-as-tar shadow of the Castillo. They weren’t sure exactly where the side would be.
Briney’s thin body was accustomed to climbing, but he dreaded reaching the top of the wall, fearful of the guards who might seize him and drag him off to the stockade. He told himself that a pirate must be brave and face whatever fate awaited him.
Pausing at the wall’s crest, he drew in his breath and made his final thrust.
To his surprise, the top deck was deserted. This may prove to be a fateless night after all, he thought. No guards, no gun crew, no one looking for intruders. The only movement was the old Spanish flag, a jagged red cross against a white background, otherwise known as the Cross of Burgundy, waving proudly above the fort.
The absence of surveillance troubled Briney, but then it wasn’t his fort to defend. It was his to invade, for he was a pirate. No, more than a pirate. He was captain of the Gypsy Laddie, a ship he’d inherited from his father, the brave Captain Thomas McDoogal.
Briney turned his attention to the courtyard below where a guitar player strummed for a group of soldiers. In front of