Chance the Winds of Fortune Read Online Free

just a pawn in the game, but he knew the captain cared about his men and his ship. He still had much the same crew he’d had eight years ago. They had acquired a few new hands over the years, but most were the same faces that had been on board the Sea Dragon when he’d first set foot on her decks. There was Longacres, the coxswain, full of pirate tales and sea lore; Cobbs, the bos’n, Norfolk born and bred; MacDonald, the Scots sailmaker, who sported a curling blond moustache and wielded his clay pipe as if it were a deadly claymore; Trevelawny, the dour-faced Cornish carpenter, who knew every plank, timber and beam in the Sea Dragon ’s hull; Clarke, the quartermaster and self-styled dandy out of Antigua; and Seumus Fitzsimmons, the first mate, who was a Boston-born colonial with revolutionary sympathies and an Irishman’s way of making eloquent, inflammatory remarks. Alastair smiled as he thought of Houston Kirby, who never left his captain’s side; Conny Brady, the cabin boy, who would most likely make a fine captain himself one day; and Jamaica, the ship’s cat, the half-starved tom the captain had rescued in Port Royal over five years ago.
    No, the Sea Dragon was manned by a good crew, and if Captain Sir Morgan Lloyd was determined on crossing bows with her, then he would be sailing into more than he could handle. Alastair could promise him that. And if it ever came to trading broadsides with HMS Portcullis , the Welshman could count on seeing the bottom.
    Well, no sense in borrowing trouble, Alastair decided, turning his thoughts to the more pressing matter of how to put an end to the growling of his stomach when dinner was still over an hour away. He shielded his eyes as he watched the descent of the crimson sun burning its way into the west. His eyes caught a flash of movement in the darkening sky as a flock of scarlet ibises flew southward seeking a landfall for the night. Their wide span of wing caught the flame of sunset and caused Alastair a breathless moment when the sky looked as if it were igniting on wings of fire. Streaks of scarlet slashed across the purpling skies as the sun, in all its glory, sank into the sea, leaving an almost awesome serenity in its wake. But Alastair knew not to be deceived, for in the east there was a thunderstorm brewing, the fall of darkness blending with the blackness of its roiling insides. Aye, they were in for some foul weather, he thought, grimacing unconsciously as he felt the freshening winds.
    Alec MacDonald sucked in his cheeks again and again as he struggled against the wind to get his pipe to draw. Finally, when a thin trail of aromatic smoke floated up from the tobacco-filled bowl, MacDonald leaned against the foremast, his eyes trained aloft as he proudly surveyed his sails, every inch of the mended and patched canvas having at one time or another gone through his calloused hands.
    â€œThe cap’n has a gentle hand on the wheel,” Cobbs commented, glancing aft to the quarterdeck, where Dante Leighton had taken over the helm. “Likes having her in his hands. Like a fine woman, she is. You can’t beat that, a woman and a ship. They be the finest sights to a man’s eyes, but both can bring a man to his knees.”
    â€œAye, lad, ye’ve got to give both plenty o’ respect,” MacDonald agreed.
    â€œTo be sure, I was thinking that fancy widow in Charles Town was going to be catching the cap’n last time we was in port,” Seumus Fitzsimmons said. He was mending a pair of rather well-worn breeches, his long, sloppy stitches causing MacDonald to raise his bushy eyebrows in growing dismay as he imagined those stitches coming loose at an inopportune moment.
    â€œThat widow in question, Fitzsimmons,” interjected Barnaby Clarke, joining his mates on the forecastle, the captain having relieved him from the helm, “happens to be a very genteel young woman and should be addressed with proper respect.