Pirates of the Storm (Stranded In Time Book 1) Read Free

was
so much prime beach front real estate that remained untapped. In
any event, the island was only 35 miles long and if he kept
paddling the same direction he knew that sooner or later he would
find help.
    As he passed through a stand of
mangroves, Jeff spotted something in the distance. There was a
large sailboat anchored outside the reef! As he looked closer, he
realized that it was actually an old-style sailing ship. “It must
be that pirate adventure ship they do the tourist cruises on,” he
thought to himself. Jeff paddled harder, not wanting the ship to
pull anchor before he could get to it. He could see people on deck
and he started yelling to them. “Hello!” “I need help!”
    The occupants of the ship apparently
had heard him as there was a great commotion on the ship. Jeff
paddled the remaining few hundred yards to the side of the vessel
and grabbed hold of a cargo net that was hanging down. Things were
now quiet up on the deck. “Hello?” Jeff called. “Can somebody help
me?” he shouted. He looked up and saw a hand hanging out over the
side of the railing waving him upward. Jeff thought it was a
strange way to greet someone calling for help, but shrugged it off.
He tied the kayak to the end of the net and started to
climb.
    When he reached the top of the net, he
looked over the top rail and found himself looking into the barrel
of a pistol held by a large man with a thick, scraggly beard and a
long scar running down the side of his face. “Get aboard and do not
be makin’ any sudden moves,” the gravelly-voiced man holding the
gun ordered. Jeff swung his leg over the railing and stood up on
the deck of the ship. In front of him were several grimy-looking
men in tattered clothing. Some held flintlock pistols while others
brandished knives or short swords.
    “Wow, you guys really get into
character!” Jeff exclaimed.
    “State yer business!” the scar-faced
man growled.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt your tour,”
Jeff said apologetically. “I was out in my kayak yesterday when a
storm came up and swept me down the coast. I’m totally lost. Can
you help me get back to Sandy Bay? I don’t have any money with me,
but I’d be happy to pay you when I get back to my guest
house.”
    The man turned toward his shipmates
and asked, “What gibberish he be talkin’?” They all just looked at
him blankly and shrugged. “Methinks he’s had a bit too much rum!”
he laughed.
    Jeff was becoming annoyed. “Look, I
really need some help. I know you’ve got a show to do for the
tourists, but could you step out of character for just one…” Jeff
paused as he looked around and realized there were no tourists on
the deck. As a sinking feeling came over him, he realized that this
was no tourist ship. “Uh, yeah, too much rum!” Jeff nodded. “I
really don’t remember much. Where am I?”
    “Ye be on our fine ship,
the Wandering Wench ,” the scarred man replied.
    “And where is this?” Jeff said,
gesturing out at the land.
    “The island of Roatan. More precisely,
around that point be Port Royal,” came the gruff reply.
    Although what Jeff was
thinking was impossible, he hesitantly asked the question that was
screaming in his mind, “Would you tell me
what year this is?”
    “Ye hear that mates, he not even be
knowin’ what year it be! Well, me drunken friend, it be the year of
our Lord sixteen hundred and eighty-eight.” Some of the men
snickered as the words registered in Jeff’s brain.
    “1688! Um, yeah, of course it’s 1688,”
Jeff said, hoping he was dreaming.
    “Now who might ye be?” the scar-faced
man asked, bringing the pistol closer to Jeff’s face.
    “My name is Jeff…”
    “Be ye English?”
    “No, American…”
    “What?!” the man growled.
    “I mean, yes, I’m English! American is
my, uh, it’s my last name!”
    “What be ye doin’ in yer skivvies, Mr.
American?”
    “My skivvies?” Jeff
quickly realized that his swim trunks and t-shirt were a little
unusual for