A FAIR WIND TO GLORY by Tom Townsend

TOM TOWNSEND

award WINNING AUTHOR

email: Tom@tomtownsend-toyland.com

Phone: 713-502-4377 3123 CR 2407 Rusk, TX 75785

A FAIR WIND TO GLORY
By
Tom Townsend

Read the excerpt below

HISTORICAL FICTION

A rousing sea adventure of the Texas Navy during the Texas Revolution in 1836.
Reading Level 6^th grade and up.

Published by Eakin Press
ISBN 0-8915-975-0
$12.95 hardback
ISBN 0-8915-998-X
$6.95 paperback

     The Mexican three-masted schooner Pelicano labored against a fickle south wind as she slugged her way slowly
across the Bay of Campeche. At the helm, Prize Captain Aaron Baldere checked the course, then scanned the                                                        horizon, and worried. Since parting with the Liberty only a few
hours ago, he had made a great many decisions, and already, at least one had returned to haunt him.
     From Sisal, he had laid a westerly course which carried the Pelicano ever deeper into Mexican waters.                                                                        It would, he knew, have been more logical to run northeast, at least until
he had cleared Scorpion Reef and then, if the wind still permitted, lay a northwesterly course, directly for Matagorda,
on the Texas coast. That would have been the logical way to go. It would, he hoped, also be the first direction in which                                                  the Mexican Navy would search for him.
     The Pelicano, he guessed, would prove to be no great sailor, and certainly not capable of outrunning even the
slowest of warships. Likewise, with a pair of ancient brass two-pounders, a swivel gun, and half a dozen pistols making                                                      up her total armament, it would not be wise to stand and fight anything larger than an armed pirogue. So, he had steered                                               west, intent on hiding his new command in the vast wilderness of open sea.
     It had been his decision to make. He was captain now. If only for the duration of this voyage, the Pelicano was his
responsibility, and his alone.
      Tom Scarlett, the acting mate, scuttled onto the quarter-deck and interrupted his thoughts. Scarlett had shifting eyes                                                     and a long nose. He reminded Baldere of a rat with a bandana around his head. Sometimes, when he was nervous, his                                                  nose even twitched. "Watch is posted, Cap'n," he said as he knuckled his forehead. "I sent Sangster to the crow's nest                                                        and Cochrane's splicin' lines up the mizzen there."
     "And John The Drayman?"
     "Put 'im down to the galley with Ezra. Claims he's some
kinda cook, he does." Scarlett spat on the deck. "Leaslways it'll keep him out of the way."
     "Very well."
     Scarlett hesitated and his nose twitched. "If— ifya wish, sir, I could start checkin' the cargo. Ya know, make a                                                             list an all so's we know what we got." His eyes wandered across the
deck. "This here is a smuggler . . . I'm sure. Lots of hidey holes about. I know's about such things, if ya get me drift,
sir."
      "Yes, I suspect I do," Baldere answered with a hint of a sarcastic smile. "You see to that, Mr. Scarlett."
     The man nodded and hurried off, rubbing his hands together as he went. Scarlett was Conti's rum-house mate
and had probably sailed with Lafitte or Fuerate. Baldere made himself a mental note to have the man turned upside
down and his pockets shaken out before allowing him to leave the ship.
     It was obvious that Walker had risked little in the way of manpower to the schooner's prize crew. Scarlett was the
only experienced seaman. Cochrane and Sangster were landsmen — alligator hunters who had heard something
about a war and just naturally came looking for the fight. They had rowed a pirogue from Anahuac to Galveston in order                                                  to sign aboard the Liberty. They could barely steer a course, and had received only a bit of training on the guns.
     Of course, John The Drayman was aboard. Unless Scarlett happened to be right about him being a cook, he would                                                   be totally useless. Ezra, the ship's boy, rounded out the crew. At the last minute, Brown had sent him over along with                                                Baldere's sextant. Baldere was not exactly sure what to do with him. But smoke was beginning to curl from the galley                                                         chimney, so apparently he and The Drayman had at least lit the stove.
     The sun moved out from behind a hazy cloud and Baldere checked his watch. Midday was fast approaching. With
luck he just might get a noon sight. "Mr. Cochrane!" he yelled at the foredeck. "Lay aft." Cochrane, six feet tall and
bulging with bronze muscle, came ambling onto the quarter-deck. "Take the wheel. Keep her west-by-northwest, a                                                       half west. Can you do that?"
     Cochrane looked at the sails and then turned to feel the wind on his face. "Believe I can, sir."
     Baldere nodded and stepped away. For a few minutes he watched the man, letting him get the feel of the new ship
while trying to decide if it was safe to leave him alone at the helm. Before he was certain, a wailing howl rose from below decks.
     Cochrane looked at him. "What in tarnation?"
     Ezra burst through the forward companionway, nearly taking the hatch off its hinges. He tripped, fell head over
heels, and rolled across the deck.
     "Ezra!" Baldere yelled from the quarter-deck rail. "What in the name of— !"
     Ezra stumbled to his feet. "Come quick, Mr. Baldere, Cap'n, sir," the boy panted. "We got spooks. Galley's full of
'em, all cryin' and wailin'!"
     "A haunted ship." Cochrane spoke in barely a whisper. "I've heard tell of such things."
     "Belay it," Baldere snapped. Leaving the helm to Cochrane, he took the stairs three at a time to the waist deck and                                               strode in long steps toward the bow. Grabbing Ezra by thecollar, he turned him toward the hatch and pointed. "Show me,"                                                 he demanded. Ezra opened his mouth to protest. "Show me, now!" Baldere repeated.
     Ezra nodded his head and gulped. "Aye-aye, sir," he said slowly. "I'll do it, sure 'nuff." He took a couple of uncertain                                               steps toward the companionway. "Reckon I never cared nothin' 'bout livin' ta old age, no-how."
     The Pelicano's galley was tucked under the foredeck. Again the howling wail echoed against the ship's timbers as
they reached the companionway. Ezra stopped and looked up at Baldere. "Sounds kinda like a snafus, Cap'n. Oh Lord,                                            protect us if one of them is come aboard."
     "A snafus?"
     "An a big 'un too."
     "Pray tell, Ezra, what is a snafus?" Baldere asked and opened the companionway door.
     Ezra lowered his voice as he tiptoed below. "Monster. Pa said they're thicker'n dog ticks up in the Ozark country."
     "Really? And what does a snafus look like?"
     Ezra looked over his shoulder. His eyes were huge saucers now. "Can't never tell. Snafus can up an' change its
shape. Looks like anything it takes a mind to. Pa showed me one once. Said it'd eat me if I warn't careful. Why, it                                                    looked just like an old cabin out in the woods. But, if I watched real close, fur long enough, and if'n I didn't blink,"                                                           he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and whispered, "I could see it breathin'."
     Stepping past the boy, Baldere placed one hand on his pistol and opened the galley door. John The Drayman sat
huddled against a bunker of firewood. He pointed a long finger at the stove. "It's the ghost; she's come for me!" he
cried.
     Baldere kicked at The Drayman. "On your feet, you fool. I'll not stand for your nonsense today!" But even as he
spoke, another scream filled the room. Higher pitched than before, it sent chills up Baldere's spine, and he instinctively
drew his pistol.
     Ezra pointed at the galley stove, where curls of smoke were escaping around the oven door. "Snafus done turned
hisselfinto the cook stove there." And indeed, the stove did seem to speak foreign words of which Baldere could make no sense.
     Scarlett appeared at the door with a blunderbuss leveled at the stove. "What do ya make of it, Cap'n?" he asked.
     Baldere ignored him, stepped closer to the stove, and picked up a rag. Slowly, he opened the oven door and, for
one tiny splinter of time, he almost believed in the snafus. Staring out at him through the smoke were two eyes and a
mouth which just then began screaming.
     "We're too late," Ezra wailed, "Snafus already got somebody half et!"
     "My God," Baldere gasped, "there's a man in there! Quick, give me a hand here and haul him out!"
     Still with the blunderbuss in one hand, Scarlett picked up another galley rag and grabbed at the man's clothing.
"Bugger's jammed in there tight," he said.
     "Put your back into it," Baldere groaned as he pulled with both hands on the screaming man's collar. "Ezra, help
us."
     "Ain't safe ta mess with a snafus while it's eatin'. Why he - !"
     "Get over here or I'll have you flogged!"
     "I'm a'comin', Cap'n, I'm a'comin'!"
     They pulled once more and the body emerged in a cloud of smoke from the oven door. It was a small man with
a beard which smoldered as he danced around the galley, swatting at his smoking clothes. From somewhere, Scarlett
picked up a pail of water and doused him with it. "That ought ta cool 'im down a bit," he growled.
     As they all watched, the little man did stop his dancing and looked around the galley. Baldere coughed and
straightened himself. "I am Lieutenant Aaron Baldere, Navy of the Republic of Texas, and prize captain of this ship.
Who, sir, are you?"
     The little man gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke rapidly in some foreign language.
     "Ain't Spanish, an' it ain't French," Scarlett said. "Maybe his brain was cooked and he's just talkin' fiddlesticks."
     John The Drayman had by now risen unsteadily to his feet. "I believe he is Italian," he said in a weak voice.
     Baldere frowned. "Do you know the language?"
     The Drayman shrugged. "Only a few words, sir."
     "Can you ask him his name?"
     The Drayman said something and was answered by a long sentence and considerable waving of the little man's
hands. "We should call him Gino. I think he was the cook, and when we attacked, he became frightened and hid him-
self inside the stove. There, he seems to have become stuck, and when we lit the fire, well . . ."
     "I see," Baldere answered. "Tell him, if you can, that he will remain the cook, as long as he does as he is told. I have                                                   no time for prisoners, so if he causes me any trouble . . ." He ran one finger across his throat. "Fish food." Even without a                                              translation, Gino seemed to understand. He nodded several times.
     "Very well," Baldere concluded and pointed at John The Drayman. "See what you can find to tend his burns.
There should be tallow aboard if nothing else. And then, by the first dog watch, I shall expect a hot meal for all hands."
     The Drayman nodded and Baldere turned his attention to the ship's boy. "Ezra, come with me, you have just been
promoted to seaman."