Legends of the Ghost Pirates Read online

  Legends of the Ghost Pirates

  M. D. Lee

  Copyright © 2014 by M. D. Lee

  Cover Art:

  Ryan Wheeler

  www.ryanwheeler.biz

  Copyediting: Formatting Fairies

  This book is the work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialog are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be considered as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Weetamoo Press.

  Please visit http www.fishershoemakeradventures.wordpress.com

  To my M’s

  Special Thanks to:

  Shelley, Becky, Kaitlyn,

  DAMARISCOVE ISLAND

  MAINE

  Legends of the Ghost Pirates

  Table of Content

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 The Old House

  Chapter 2 Logbook

  Chapter 3 Library Witch

  Chapter 4 More Books

  Chapter 5 A Yarn

  Chapter 6 Getting There

  Chapter 7 Who’s She

  Chapter 8 On Our Way

  Chapter 9 From the Fog

  Chapter 10 Embarrassing

  Chapter 11 Face in the Window

  Chapter 12 Graveyard

  Chapter 13 View from the Dead

  Chapter 14 Exploring the island

  Chapter 15 Under the Nose

  Chapter 16 Ghosts in the Fog

  Chapter 17 Voice from the Past

  Chapter 18 Escape

  Chapter 19 Jo’s Plans

  Chapter 20 Rail Ride

  Chapter 21 Come and Get Us

  Chapter 22 Sink ‘em!

  Chapter 23 Consequences

  Chapter 24 The Letter

  Prologue

  1716; Coastal Province of Massachusetts Bay

  (Present day Maine)

  “State ze name and ze rank, Monsieur,” the Frenchman said as he pulled back the hammer of the pistol in an easy manor of a killer.

  “Captain Bartholomew Bonney,” he said, ignoring the weapon pointed at his temple. His eyes were cold as steel looking straight through the man questioning him. “And if I may ask, what is your name and rank?”

  “Fair enough. My name ez Jacque LaPlante. And you will call me ‘sir’ because I too am capitaine.”

  Still not looking at the Frenchman, Captain Bonney said, “What is your intention with us?” He paused for a moment then added, sir, as if it were something foul in his mouth. “Because as you know, our countries have signed peace treaties. This is no longer French territory.”

  “Our intentions? Ha! Is it not obvious? We intend to take all ze money,” said Jacque LaPlante. “For taxation—of course. I do not care about some treaty signed by a king and queen across the ocean.”

  All twelve of Captain Bonney’s men were lined up directly behind him on the deck of the small two-masted coastal schooner, The Queen’s Rose. The French crewmen, standing on deck with pistols cocked and aimed to kill, outnumbered Captain Bonney’s men almost twice. In addition, the French captain had also left behind an extra twenty men aboard his ship, with cannons loaded aimed to sink the Queen’s Rose.

  Captain Bonney had surrendered without any fight. When the French had fired a single cannonball across their bow, there was nothing they could do but to hove-to and let the French board their little schooner.

  Jacque LaPlante lowered his pistol and replaced it to his belt, yet his men continued to hold fast with their pistols. He slowly paced the line-up of crew, looking closely at each one, yet none returned his gaze as they kept their eyes fixed at the sea’s horizon. When he reached the last man, he stopped, turned on his heels, and wrinkled his nose. “What ez that wreached odor!”

  Still looking straight ahead, Captain Bonney replied, “I do not know what you speak of…sir.”

  “That awful stench! Can you not smell?” Jacque LaPlante said as he pulled a white handkerchief from his sleeve placing it over his nose.

  Captain Bonney turned to his men. “Lads, I do not smell a thing. Does anyone else smell something a foul?”

  “Ney!” replied his men in unison. Captain Bonney simply shrugged his shoulders to the French captain.

  Jacque LaPlante slowly walked back directly in front of Captain Bonney, placing his face only inches away. LaPlante was about to speak when Captain Bonney said, “If you are referring to the smell of stale cheese, I believe it is your breath…sir.”

  With the back of his hand, LaPlante instantly smacked Captain Bonney hard against his cheek. Then hissed. “What cargo do you haul?”

  For the first time, Captain Bonney broke his stare and looked down at his feet. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Manure…sir.”

  In a loud thunderous roar, Jacque LaPlante said, “Did you say manure?”

  Captain Bonney took a deep breath and said, “That I did…sir.”

  Placing hands to his hips, Jacque LaPlante cried, “I wasted a perfectly fine cannonball sending it across your bow! We should have continued sailing north to the upper province territories rather than waste any effort on a foul-smelling manure barge. I shall be the laughing stock shall anyone catch wind of this!”

  “Tell me, Capitaine Bonney, how does this ship earn a profit hauling manure? I had no idea money was to be made in hauling animal waste.” He let out another roaring laugh.

  “Sir,” Bonney said with clenched fists as anger and humiliation boiled up inside. “We load it up in the fine city of Boston, then sail it here to the farmers in the upper province. Mostly up the Kennebec River.”

  “Why on earth would a farmer require more manure? And these farmers, they pay you money for manure?”

  “They do not. But the city of Boston has no use nor the space, so they provide us with money to haul it away. The farmers spread it about in their fields—it helps the crops grow bigger.”

  “Oh, this is too much!” With his right hand he made a quick motion toward the starboard rail, and in an instant his men lowered their pistols and they made way to the waiting longboats aside the schooner.

  Captain Jacque LaPlante was the last to climb over the rails, but before he did he reached deep into his pocket to produce a handful of gold coins. “Capitaine. You need this more than I.” And tossed the coins to the feet of Captain Bonney still standing in place. A deep bellowing of laughter erupted from him as he climbed over the side to the waiting boats below.

  As the French rowed away in the longboats to their waiting ship, Captain Bonney slowly picked each gold coin off the deck then tossed the handful into the water. Standing at the rail watching the French, Captain Bonney turned to his first mate, and said, “We may be just a simple schooner hauling manure, but nobody humiliates us like that. They will wish they never saw the Queen’s Rose.”

  The first mate said, “But, sir, they did not rob us nor did they do us any harm. Besides, we do not have any weapons and we are outnumbered.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up to a sly grin, and he said, “I have a plan.”

  The first mate said pointing to the French ship, “Sir, is that not a pirates’ flag they are flying?”

  *

  Later that night, six men were dressed top to bottom in black, and on their faces, each had rubbed coal to darken them even further. In the silence of the moonless night they rowed their longboat toward the French ship anchored in the cove being careful not to make a sound. When they pulled alongside the ship, five men climbed up the hull leaving one behind to tend to the longboat.
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  Captain Bonney peered over the rail onto the deck carefully looking fore then aft. In a whisper he said, “Just as I had hoped; their watch is fast asleep. Quickly now, lads, for we do not want to be on deck any longer than needed.”

  Like black ghosts, the five men slipped over the rail onto the deck then disappeared like mist into the shadows. There were no weapons between them, yet the last two men carried large canvas sacks on their backs. It did not take long for the men to find what they were looking for; the seven wooden casks of fresh drinking water.

  With nothing more than a hand signal to his men, they began to pry the lids off the casks while the two other men hauling the sacks set them down then pulled the contents out. Suddenly, a stench filled the air as two rotting hunks of pork, each with a length of rope attached, lay on the deck. Captain Bonney nodded to the men and they quickly picked the pork up by the rope and began to dunk them in each water cask. In a very short, when the men finished soaking the rotting pork the lids were quickly replaced. In minutes they were back in their longboat silently rowing back to the Queen’s Rose.

  As they pulled the longboat up alongside the Queen’s Rose, the first mate said, “What now, Captain?”

  He smiled, “Nothing. All we have to do is stay out of their sight for a day or two, then we make our move.”

  *

  On the third day the sun was shining with a freshening breeze from the south. Captain Bonney strode out on deck and said to the first mate, “I think today is a fine day to pay a visit to our French friends. I do believe they have not moved and are still anchored in the cove.”

  “But, sir,” the first mate said. “We still have no weapons. What do you intend to do?”

  “Our pitch-forks for tossing manure shall be sharp enough.”

  “But, sir…”

  Captain Bonney held up his hand. “Assemble the lads on deck. Leave two of ’em behind; for everyone else will be paying a visit to the French.”

  Soon two longboats approached the pirate ship with caution. The men on the oars began to grumble, and one man in the second longboat said in a low voice, “We shall be murdered for sure. Soon they shall be firing on us like ducks in a barrel. And we have no weapons to fire back.”

  “Quiet!” the first mate hissed at him.

  The two longboats glided alongside the pirate ship, and several of the men looked at each other in question. Captain Bonney gave the signal, and the men, with pitch-forks in hand, began to climb up the rat lines to the rail. When they peered over there were only seven French crewmen on deck, the rest were nowhere to be seen. Oddly enough, the crew who were on deck were hunched over, sitting with their backs against the freeboard.

  With the quickness of alley cats upon mice, Bonney’s men had their sharp pitch-forks at the throats of the French crew. With a grin across his face, Captain Bonney said to the French pirate crew, “Don’t make a move or the last thing you’ll remember is the feel of an iron fork going through your neck.”

  None of the crew even twitched. From below, there was a constant sound of other French crew groaning in pain with an occasional louder moan above the rest. When he heard the moaning and groaning, the captain’s grin grew bigger.

  “The Back Door Trot’s; it worked, sir!” The first mate called out.

  The captain called back still smirking, “The Whistle Belly Thumps—if it didn’t work we would each have several holes through our middles by now.”

  To the French pirate he was holding down with a pitch-fork, he said, “You there, find your old man, the captain, and send him on deck.” He pushed the sharp end of the pitch-fork a little harder against his neck before pulling it away.

  The French pirate stood up slowly, but not all the way, still holding his stomach. Suddenly, he let out a moan, grabbed his backside cheeks with both hands, and ran forward to the head as he cried out, “Get the capitaine yourself! You shall find him below. I have urgent business to attend.” Once he disappeared under the fo’c’sle, there erupted an even louder wail from him as he suffered.

  Suddenly from the aft a voice boomed, “Ah! Capitaine Bonney, you wish to speak to me?” Jacque LaPlante held a pistol aimed at the center of Captain Bonney’s chest. “You have come to your death, no?” He began to cock the hammer back on the pistol when a noise, deep in his belly, erupted as if someone had stepped on a fireplace bellows. Jacque LaPlante abruptly doubled over in gurgling pain as his pistol fired hitting the main mast sending splinters in all directions.

  In a split second, Captain Bonney had his pitch-fork to Jacque LaPlante’s exposed neck. “We will be taking the taxation money you have collected from the people of Massachusetts Bay territory. Have your men bring it to me. NOW!”

  Lying on the ground in a curled position, Jacque LaPlante mumbled something in French to a crewman who scampered off below. Soon, two men produced a small wooden box filled with gold coins. The taxation money.

  Captain Bonney ordered his men to load it into their waiting longboats below. Then he looked up at the pirates’ flag flying high on the mizzen mast, and nodded to the first mate. The first mate nodded in return and quickly climbed up the rigging to retrieve the black flag flapping in the breeze, tucked it under his arm, and rapidly came back down to the deck.

  “Aye, sir,” the first mate said with a smirk. “Looks like we’ve become pirates ourselves.”

  Captain Bonney took the pirates’ flag from the first mate. “Aye. Looks like we have, at that.”

  Chapter 1

  Summer of 1979

  The Old House

  The mouthwatering smell of fried clam strips fills the air for almost a block surrounding the Sea Side Restaurant. It lures in the tourists, who are shopping along Main Street, straight to the take-out window like monkeys to bananas. No one who walks past can resist the delicious smell of fried clam strips and french fries. Soon there’s a long line of hungry vacationers that quickly forms.

  I’m not a tourist; I live here in Trent Harbor, Maine. But every summer right about this time of year our quiet little town gets invaded with people crowding the streets. I’m sitting here on the outside deck at the Sea Side Restaurant at one of the last empty picnic tables eating a hotdog with a side of fries. I’m not big on sea food myself, but Sara Banks, who’s working the take-out window today told me if I stopped by to visit her, she’d make a hotdog ’specially for me. It’s not normally on the menu.

  Sara’s my girlfriend. I’m not sure how that happened, but it just did.

  I try not to stare at her while she’s working the window, but it’s fun watching her because all the customers seem to really like her. She’s lucky to have gotten the job because they don’t usually let thirteen-year-olds work the window. Today because she’s at work, her brown hair’s pulled back in a ponytail and she’s wearing a white work apron over the blue Sea Side T-shirt. Her gray eyes have a weird way of getting me to say things to her I normally wouldn’t share with anyone else. I guess I like that. She’s a little on the small side too, but she sure doesn’t seem like it when she’s speaking her mind. When I look at her I think she could do better than me, but I’m not complaining.

  Today the take-out window is too busy for Sara to visit with me while I eat, so I told her I’d wait for her until she’s done with work. Her shift’s over at about 2:30 p.m. which is only a few minutes from now. I don’t mind, it’s a nice day to be sitting on the deck, and there’s a great view of the ocean. I like looking out at the ocean because there’s always plenty to watch. Today there’s a few lobster boats that are returning, and a couple of sailboats enjoying a nice sea breeze.

  “Hey, kids, watch this,” says a dad to his family. Catching my attention I watch them. They are sitting at a picnic table at the edge of the deck. The dad slowly takes a fry off his daughter’s plate and tosses it into the air. A seagull that’s gliding in the breeze overhead swoops down snatching the fry before it’s even close to hitting the ground. Then as if nothing happened at all, the gull goes back to gliding in the
sea breeze just above the family.

  “Cool! Do it again.” The little boy squeals. The dad takes another fry and tosses it again. The gull effortlessly swoops in swallowing the fry. When it drifts back into its same spot it’s met by two other gulls that have magically appeared. Now there are three gulls carefully eying up the family.

  “Honey,” says the mom, “don’t feed all our food to the seagulls.” In front of the mom and dad there’s a plate each with a bright red lobster that’s just come out of the steamer.

  “Just a few more,” the dad says. This time he scoops up four fries and tosses them into the air. None of the fries ever hits the ground as the three gulls snatch them in their beaks. Both the boy and the girl giggle in delight.

  Suddenly, with the speed of a striking cobra, two of the gulls swoop down snatching the lobsters right off the plates. Their flapping wings send fries everywhere. Jumping out of the way, the mom knocks over her diet cola splashing soda and ice cubes across the deck. Covering her head, the little girl dives under the table and begins to cry. Before anyone realizes what’s happening, the two gulls fly off to the parking lot with their prizes and quickly begin ripping the lobsters to pieces. The dad and boy watch with their eyes bugging out of their heads.

  “George! Do something!” the mom shouts. The dad just shrugs and hands her a napkin. “Tell them you want more food or our money back. Those were lobsters, after all.” She stands up looking at the brown cola stain on her white pants.

  The dad reluctantly goes back to the take-out window where Sara’s working. I can’t hear what’s being said, but I can see Sara shaking her head no. She then leans out the window and points to the sign just below the menu. It says, Do NOT feed the seagulls. The management will not be responsible. The dad looks back at the mom with his upturned hands.