The Buccaneers Read Free Page A

“Oh, my poor sextant,” I laughed.
    “You find it funny?” he asked, whirling on me. “I'm surprised at you, John.”
    “I'm sorry,” I said.
    “He's bent the arm, I think. He's given it a good whack, at any rate.” Butterfield cradled the sextant like an injured child. “Don't you see what this means?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said, chagrined. I only dimly understood the process that let him aim the thing at the sun or the stars anddetermine our position anywhere on earth. Yet I saw quite clearly that a damaged instrument was no good at all. If we couldn't trust it, we were lost in every way there was.
    “If I didn't know better,” said Butterfield, “I'd say there
is
a Jonah with us now.”

Chapter 3
A J ONAH'S J OB
    H orn made a place for himself in the crew, fitting in with the men like a stray dog who'd found a home. He “went at every task with a will, with the strength of three men. And he was always at the wheel when the sun went down, for he loved to steer us from the day to the night, toward the first of the stars that we saw.
    The spot at the foot of the foremast became his, and his alone. There he sat by day and by night, working away with his knife and his bits of wood, as though set to a lonely task of the most pressing importance. But whenever a hand was needed, Horn was the first on his feet.
    Not one of the crew was really his friend, but only Mr. Abbey hated him. The gunner whispered rumors through the ship that it was a Jonah's job Horn was doing at the foot of the mast. He told stories of the enormous sea chest and the contents that shifted sometimes—-when the
Dragon
rolled—-with a sound that carried to the deck.
    I felt almost sorry for Abbey. The
Dragon
raced along in the sunshine and the spray, but the gunner lived in a gloom cast by his vision of a coffin. He spent hours standing at the rail, either staring at the sea or glaring daggers at Horn.
    Then there came an afternoon when we'd been at sea for thirty days or so. I passed the helm to Horn, and for once he started to talk about idle things in a way that any shipmate might, but in a way he'd never done himself.
    “Have you ever been to the Indies, Mr. Spencer?” he asked.
    “No,” I said.
    “But you've been to sea.” He held the wheel lightly, and I felt the
Dragon
surge along. “It's written all over you, Mr. Spencer. She's in your blood, the sea.”
    This was the highest praise of all, coming from Horn. “I've been to the Mediterranean,” I said. “And once across the Channel, that's all.”
    “It's more than many,” he said. “And farther than most. Why, I've seen men cross puddles in the street and look back to see what a voyage they've made.”
    I grinned at the thought of that. But I didn't tell him that my first time at sea had ended in a wreck on the Tombstones, nor that my second had nearly led to the loss of a second ship—the
Dragon
herself.
    “Well, you're lucky, Mr. Spencer,” said Horn. “You've got a lively ship, and a pleasant captain, too. He seems kindly.”
    “He is,” I said.
    “Have you known him long?”
    “All my life,” said I. “When I was a boy, I—”
    “Why, you're still a boy,” said Horn.
    “When I was a
child
, then, I called him Uncle Stanley.”
    “Did you?” Horn smiled, his blue eyes as bright as the sea.
    “He's not my real uncle,” I said. “He was a partner in my father's business. But he didn't care for the office and the books, so he went to sail the ships instead.” It pleased me that Horn wanted me there, where he always stood alone. “When I was a
child
, I wished that he were my father, or that my father were more like him.”
    “And that's how you come to be sailing on his ship?”
    “It's how
he
comes to be with
me,”
I said. “My father owns the
Dragon.
I chose the captain, and together we chose the crew. They've all been hands on my father's ships.”
    “Except the gunner.”
    “Yes,” I said. “Except for him.”
    The wheel turned and his arms