The Drift (A Hans Larsson Novel Book 1) Read Free

cut the
engine and unfurl the mainsail. Unlike the SAS – the Saturday and Sunday brigade
– he never relied on auxiliary power longer than necessary.
    Under a cerulean sky they cruised into the picturesque bay. Behind
them, crowning the city’s seafront cliffs, the historic esplanade of Plymouth
Hoe grew distant and a small tree-crested island rose out of the inky depths ahead.
Nestled in the island’s contours were a number of fortifications and
outbuildings.
    “That’s Drake’s Island, sweet pea.” Hans had done his
homework. “A long, long time ago a man called Sir Francis Drake was the queen of
England’s favorite sailor. He sailed around the world and found out about
people living in places like the jungle, and he discovered plants and animals
that nobody knew about before.”
    “Did he live on the island, Papa?”
    “No, the people of Plymouth just named it after him because
he was such a good sailor.”
    “Did he have a boat like Future ?”
    “He had an even bigger boat, called a galleon. It had lots
of guns, and he needed a hundred men to sail her.”
    “Why did it have guns, Papa?”
    “Because in those days the English were at war with a
country called Spain, a longway over there.” Hans pointed to the
horizon. “If the English sailors saw a Spanish ship, they would fire their guns
and stop her. Then they would jump aboard and steal all the treasure.”
    Hans chose not to reveal the darker aspect of Drake’s career.
    “And, hey, you’ll never guess what.”
    “What, Papa?”
    “One time Sir Francis was playing a game of bowls – you
know, like the bowling we play at home sometimes.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Well, he was playing a game of bowling right up there on
the grass” – Hans pointed to the long flat stretch of Plymouth Hoe – “and a
messenger ran up to him and said, ‘Sir Francis, quick, quick, the Spanish fleet
is coming to attack us. You must take our ships to sea and stop them!’ And do
you know what he said?”
    She shook her head, eyes fixed on her father.
    “He said, ‘Okay, I will stop them. But first I’m going to
finish my game’!”
    “And will people shoot guns at us, Papa?” She looked at him
in earnest.
    “No! Don’t worry, sweet pea. I’d never let that happen.”
    Guarding the entrance to Plymouth’s harbor stood a mile-long
breakwater, built by French prisoners captured during the Napoleonic Wars. Four
million tons of locally quarried limestone ferried out and dropped to the
seafloor. Standing ten feet proud of the water at high tide and capped with
dovetailed granite, it was an impressive sight – remarkable still that some of
its five-hundred-ton blocks simply disappeared when Neptune threw a tantrum.
    Leading up to the bulwark the sea was calm, but no sooner
had they passed its protective lee then the swell angered. No problem for Future ,
though. She sliced stoically on through with hardly a roll.
    “What’s the most important rule at sea, First Mate?”
    “Life jacket and safety line, Pap— er, skippa.”
    She’d put on both and G-clipped herself to the guardrail without
prompting.
    “Well done!”
    Seeing Jessica take responsibility for her welfare reassured
Hans. Even for experienced crews it was nigh on impossible to rescue someone who
fell overboard in heavy seas. Hans intended to avoid such an emergency and
would drum the drill home at every opportunity.
    They circuited the bay with Jessica at the helm, Hans giving
systematic instruction in the art of yachting. Despite her short years, she caught
on fast. Hans beamed with pride.
    “You up for a challenge, froggy face?”
    “Yes!” Jessica nodded enthusiastically but kept her eyes
dead ahead.
    “It’s called the keelhaul challenge.”
    “What is it?”
    “In the olden days, when Sir Francis was a captain, if one
of his men was naughty – like he stole something or didn’t do his job properly
– the ship’s crew would tie a rope around his waist, throw him in the sea and
then