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TOM TOWNSEND award WINNING AUTHOR |
Phone: 713-502-4377 3123 CR 2407 Rusk, TX 75785
By Tom Townsend | |
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HISTORICAL FICTION; Sequel to WHERE THE PIRATES ARE. Reading Level 5th grade and up.
Published by Eakin Press |
and keep down or
you'll be collectin' no bounty on 0l' Black Jack tonight."
Shadows of a dozen men darted among the dunes.
Cutlasses whispered from their sheaths, and the ominous
cocking of muskets echoed quietly in the night.
The
dark ship had turned into the wind and backed her sails. Canvas popped and
cracked as she rocked nervously with her masts tracing a wide arc across the
night sky. As the man with the telescope watched, a single
longboat was lowered and began pulling toward the shore.
"I think they suspects somethin', Mr. Vibart," a little
man beside him whispered.
The one called Vibart lowered his telescope and spit on
the sand. "Lopez, ya lubber, you worry more than my
old grandmother, may she rest in peace." He jerked his thumb in the direction of
the ship. "With the price there
be on his head, that old fox wouldn't come within sight of land without first
clearing for action an' runnin' out his
guns, all of 'em double charged with grapeshot."
Lopez did not answer but shifted uneasily as the
longboat rode in over the breakers and grounded in the
surf. Two figures splashed into the knee-deep water.
"Well, give 'em the signal now an' be quick about it,"
Vibart barked.
Lopez removed the shield from the lantern he carried
and swung it back and forth three times above his head.
A few nervous seconds passed before it was answered by a matching signal, and
two men moved up the beach to
meet them at the edge of the wet sand.
"Captain," Vibart greeted.
The man who answered was a faceless silhouette against
the night sky. Vibart could tell that he wore high
boots and a hat with the brim pinned up on one side. A sword hung at his side.
Moonlight glinted for a second off
the brass butts of a brace of pistols in his wide belt, but any other details
were hidden beneath a heavy cloak.
"Magnus Vibart," the faceless shadow said in a voice as
chilling as a December gale. "It has been a long time.
And this I assume is Monsieur Lopez?"
Vibart's eyes strayed to the giant of a man who flanked
the captain. He too was faceless in the night, but
his very bulk seemed to blot out the southern sky. He carried a blunderbuss, a
short, vicious gun which could tear
a man in half at five paces.
"What news have you?" the captain asked. "I am getting
too old for prowling about this coast late at night."
Vibrant found his tongue as he slipped the telescope
into his pocket. "We've seen the likes of no Mexican ships
hereabouts in many months."
"Nothing at all? One of my corsairs shadowed a frigate
and a transport north from Vera Cruz only a few
weeks past. I have been assured that they were bound for someplace in Texas."
Vibart shifted uneasily. "Perhaps they sailed east for
New Orleans or Pensacola. They could have steered clear
of these shores and — "
His sentence went unfinished as the giant with the
blunderbuss spoke suddenly. Three yellow lanterns had
been hoisted aloft in the dark ship's rigging. "Pride's signalin' Cap'n. Enemy
in sight."
Even as the captain turned to face the sea, the giant
was pointing at the far horizon. "Sail to the southwest."
"And to the east as well," the captain echoed.
Vibart's moment had come. The trap was about to spring.
His hand reached the pistol hidden in his pocket
as he nodded to Lopez and noticed sweat dripping on the small man's forehead.
His thumb was cocking the pistol's hammer when a sea
gull rose suddenly from the dunes behind them. It
squawked loudly and its wings beat the air as it soared up into the night sky.
Vibart cursed under his breath, certain that one of his
men had stepped on it accidentally. But the damage
was done. A single musket shot rang out from the dunes and the captain turned,
his hand already on his sword.
The weapon hissed from its scabbard, its ornate hilt catching Vibart's pistol
just as it came out of his pocket.
"A bloody trap!" the giant warned as the pistol
discharged into the sand and the heel of the captain's boot
knocked Vibart to the ground. The night exploded as muskets discharged and shots
whined about them. The butt
of the blunderbuss came down on Lopez's head with a hollow thud, and the little
man dropped like an anchor.
The two men from the sea retreated toward the longboat
as their attackers surged out from the dunes. The
giant laughed as the blast from his blunderbuss belched a four-foot tongue of
flame which turned night into day
and cut down the closest three like so many stands of wheat.
The cold ring of steel against steel echoed along the
beach as the attack was pressed in close to the longboat's
bow. "Finish 'em, ya lubbers!" Vibart was shouting as he staggered to his feet
and followed the fight. "Ye've got
'em now, finish 'em, finish 'em!" Vibart was still yelling, urging his men on to
the kill when the captain and the
giant suddenly ducked beside the longboat.
There followed a sudden, deadly moment of silence as
Vibart's men stared dumbly at a swivel gun mounted
in the longboat's bow. A portly figure stood behind it. They never saw his face
in the night, but the slow match
he held in his left hand glowed blood red.
"Farewell me hearties," he laughed, and the gun fired.
Sixteen small iron balls along with a few ship's
nails and the broken glass from two rum bottles blasted into the tightly grouped
men and ended the attack as
swiftly as it had begun. When the smoke cleared. Vibart and a few survivors were
running for the dunes, but most
lay in untidy piles on the beach.
"Nicely done, Fat Jack," the captain said, getting to
his feet and nodding to the man in the longboat. "But I
fear a bit too late." He pointed to sea. "The Pride has made sail without us, as
rightly she had to."
"Aye, Cap'n Jean," Fat Jack agreed unhappily. "And one
of the Mexicans is closin' fast. He'll put a party
ashore and be after us within the hour."
The captain rubbed his gray mustache and was silent for
a moment. His ship was already under way and
setting all the sail she carried. One enemy warship was to the east, pressing
hard to cut her off. Close along the
western shore the other ship was moving in to land a party. Thunder rolled in
the distance as one of the Mexican bow chasers was fired blindly into the night.
"Quite right, Fat Jack," he agreed, "Pride will return
for us after she has led the Mexicans a merry chase. Don't
you agree, Mr. Cochrane?" He indicated the big man who was now relieving one of
the less fortunate attackers of
pistols, powder, and shot. The giant only grunted and the captain added: "until
then, we will have to fend for our-
selves, but I still have a friend or two along this coast." He pointed at
the longboat which had brought them
ashore. "Put a round through her keel; I'll not leave the enemy a good boat."
Even as he spoke, Fat Jack was ramming another charge
into the swivel gun. He aimed down into
the longboat and fired. Water and pieces of wood flew up into the air. The longboat shuddered and settled slowly into the
shallow water. Fat Jack lifted the swivel gun from its mount and dumped it into
the water. Within minutes the
three men were making their way from the beach.
Above them, the same sea gull which had raised the
alarm now circled unseen in the night sky. It was bigger
than most of its kind and mottled with ragged spots of brown and gray. It
circled high above the men for a
while, then turned sharply and dove down low over the beach. It glided silently
between the dunes until it picked
out the lone figure who had watched the whole scene played out from behind a
driftwood stump. A girl with
long black hair and dressed in a homespun buckskin robe and leggins stepped from
the shadows as the gull
approached and landed on her upraised hand.
"Well done, old friend Mariah, Lord of Wind and Sea.
But now I must ask you to fly once more and carry my
message to the one called Jem. Make him know that he is needed here," she said
as she slipped something over the
gull's neck.