Read Online Voyage of Plunder by Michele Torrey - Free Book Online

word
wittnes.
“Daniel, just so you know, I knew that you'd sign the Articles. We all did.”
    I was silent.
    “That's one reason why we all voted to maroon you. Because we knew you'd sign.”
    “Even Josiah?”
    “No, not him. He was the only one who voted otherwise.”
    I chewed my chicken, surprised, digesting this bit of information, wondering why Josiah would vote on my behalf, why he had not thrown me overboard a dozen times already. Perhaps it was because I was too valuable a hostage—after all, I
was
the grandson of the former governor. “I need another signature. Maybe Caesar will be a witness too.”
    Timothy frowned. “He can't.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because slaves can't be witnesses.”
    My mouth dropped open in shock. A piece of chicken plopped onto the parchment before I closed my mouth and swallowed. “Caesar's a
slave
?”
    “Used to be, anyway. Him and Cicero and Tom and August. All of them. Here they receive equal treatment. They've signed the Articles just like everyone else.”
    It was difficult to fathom … slaves receiving equal treatment. I didn't know what to make of it, only knowing that, despite myself, I liked Caesar. Before my lesson just that morning he had given me a gift of a crossbelt and cutlass, saying it was time Fat Boy stopped using his.
    “I'd rather be one of the Brethren any day than a slave,” Timothy added.
    “Maybe Abe Corner will sign my statement, then.”
    Abe's a good choice.” Timothy wiped his hands on his shirt. “Well, the music's calling me. I'm going to go dance. Want to come?”
    “My father says dancing is of the devil.”
    Timothy sighed and shrugged. “I dunno, Daniel, but it seems like hell's a much livelier place. There's rum and brandy in case you change your mind.”
    As Timothy left, I leaned against the cannon. The fiddle began a melancholy tune, its notes soaring, soaring, seeming toreach the stars above. A guitar played alongside, plaintive notes plucked from each string. It was fine music. Even my father would agree. I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me, absently wondering whether I'd rather be a pirate or a slave.
    Much as I hated to admit it, Josiah Black navigated a ship as well as any merchant captain. Just four months after leaving the New World, surviving storms and raging seas, her hull battered and her sails ragged, the
Tempest Galley
hove to in the bay of Saint Mary's, a lushly green, low-lying island off the eastern coast of Madagascar.
    The April day was warm and breezy, the sands white like sugar, the water blue as turquoise.
    Two ships lay at anchor—the
Defiance
and the
Sweet Jamaica.
Aye, pirate ships they were, for Saint Mary's was a pirates’ nest. Before we even dropped anchor, dozens of villains swarmed into longboats and rowed out to greet us. They climbed aboard, and soon the
Tempest Galley
teemed with pistol blasts, laughter, vile language, and the clink of bottles.
    “Hey, Daniel!” Timothy was on the fo'c'sle deck, lounging around a bowl of rum punch with several others. I could tell by the slur in his voice that he was already half seas over. “C'mon. This stuff'll set your throat afire and send your stomach to hell.” And so saying, he belched juicily and collapsed into gales of laughter as men thumped him on the back.
    I tried to smile but was, once again, sorely disappointed in Timothy. No matter how many times I had warned him of the eternal consequences of such riotous living, Timothy had nevertheless thrown in his lot with the devil and embraced the life of sin with gleeful abandon. He didn't seem to care anymore that they had murdered my father, even saying once that my fatherwas no more innocent than were the pirates, and that I had to wake up and smell the stink.
    Now I replied, “No, thanks. Not thirsty.”
    “Thinks he's too good for us, does he?” one of the pirates mumbled. A greasy mustache drooped over his lip, and his darting eyes reminded me of a rat's.
    I looked toward shore,