The Smuggler's Gambit (Adam Fletcher Adventure Series Book 1)

by Sara Whitford

  Rasquelle offered a reserved smile at Adam. “You are so kind, Mr. Fletcher, and I’m sincerely flattered that you want to work here—and frankly surprised to hear the level of confidence you have placed in my abilities to instruct you in the shipping trade. I certainly didn’t get the impression you were very fond of me after our last meeting. I will keep in mind your request, and as soon as I have an opening I will let you know. For now you’re probably better off remaining at Rogers’s warehouse—at least until the verdict has been read. I would imagine at that time it would be determined who, if anyone, will run Rogers’s company once he’s received his sentence, and then your position can be better ascertained.”

  “So there’s nothing you can do?” Adam pleaded.

  “I’m afraid not.” Rasquelle stood and walked around to the front of his desk, then motioned to show Adam out of his office.

  Adam stood and shook hands with the merchant. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  “Of course,” said Rasquelle. “And one other thing,” he said. “I trust our previous arrangement will remain confidential.”

  Adam took a moment before he answered. So many words were running through his head, but he finally said, “What previous arrangement?” He then gave the man a knowing smile.

  “Excellent.” Rasquelle smiled.

  They exited his office. Rasquelle started walking him towards the exit when Adam stopped him.

  He pointed to one of the barrels in the room with the barred window. “Sir, I was just curious. Those barrels in there—did they come from Milton Blount?”

  The color left Rasquelle’s face. “Those? Oh, let’s see here.” He peered in the window of the room and pretended to inspect the brand on the head of one of the barrels. “Yes, those would be Mr. Blount’s. He ships naval stores to a buyer in England. Do you know Mr. Blount?”

  Adam shook his head. “No. Not personally, anyway. I was just wondering if those were his. I had heard he was going to be shipping with Mr. Rogers but that he’s not producing anything yet.”

  He resumed walking towards the exit, the merchant alongside him.

  Rasquelle chuckled. “You know, you really are an observant young man.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You know what?” said Rasquelle. “A thought just occurred to me.”

  Adam smiled. “What’s that?”

  “We may actually have something that you’d be perfect for. A very special position.”

  Adam’s heart raced, but he knew he had to play along. “Really? That would be great!”

  The merchant put his arm around Adam’s shoulder and said, “Come with me.”

  Adam smiled and nodded. “Alright, sir.”

  Rasquelle led Adam outside and to the dock. A couple of fellows who appeared to be dock workers were standing near the cargo doors discussing something when their boss stepped up and interrupted them.

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “This is Adam Fletcher. He has been working for Emmanuel Rogers, but of course with Mr. Rogers’s current circumstances, there may not be a position there for Mr. Fletcher much longer. He came here today looking for a job, and I have found him to be an unusually observant boy. Very bright. Very clever. I think he’d be perfect for a special project.”

  The two men gave a puzzled look to Rasquelle, who apparently either winked at them or mouthed something, and then they nodded. One of the men said, “Uh, alright. Would you like us to help you with something?”

  The merchant had a tense smile. He nodded. “Yes, Lot, I would. I would like you to take Mr. Fletcher here and show him our other warehouse.”

  Adam gave Rasquelle a confused look. “You have another warehouse, sir?”

  The workers also looked at Mr. Rasquelle with a confused look.

  Rasquelle put his hand on Adam’s back and led him down the dock, encouraging the two men to follow. “We certainly do, Mr. Fletcher. And these men will take you there.”

  Adam wrinkled his brow. “I’d love to go, sir, but I think I may need to report back to Rogers’s warehouse to at least let them know I have to take care of something today—so they won’t worry.”

  “Oh, no need for that. No need. If I take you on here, you won’t have to report back there again,” said Rasquelle.

  The men still seemed confused about where they were to take the boy, until Rasquelle turned quickly towards them and mouthed something. Adam couldn’t hear it, but they understood.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “COME ON, BOY,” SAID LOT. Adam struggled to break free from the grip of the two men, but as he did, he suddenly felt something sharp at his side. The other man, who Adam learned was called Ajax, was holding a knife.

  Adam wasn’t one to cry out for help, but right now he wanted to. But he knew if he did, it would take just one jab from Ajax’s knife to give him a fatal gash. He had no choice but to get into the boat with the men.

  Not too many minutes passed before they were drifting away from the dock and out into the creek, towards the inlet.

  “Where are you taking me?” said Adam.

  “You heard Mr. Rasquelle,” said Lot. “He told us to show you our other warehouse.”

  “You don’t have another warehouse,” said Adam.

  The men both laughed.

  “Just you keep quiet, boy,” said Ajax. “It wouldn’t take nothin for me to stick you with this and then dump you right here over the edge. If you keep givin me lip, that’s exactly what I’m goin to do.”

  There was no use fighting. Adam would just have to wait until they got to wherever the men were taking him. He already figured wherever it was, they must not be planning to kill him. They could have already done that if that were the plan. He would just jump out of the boat as soon as it neared the shore and run as fast as he could for help.

  But then, when they were far enough away from town, he was blindfolded, and his hands and feet were bound. They sailed for a few hours—but since he couldn’t see, Adam had no idea where. He thought they had gone north once they left the inlet, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Once he realized they were marooning him on an island, he begged them not to leave him there, but the men were unmoved by his pleas, and soon he could hear the men get back into the boat and sail away.

  As soon as they were gone, Adam wiggled his face against the ground until he was able to get the blindfold off. Then he worked himself up from the prone position the men had him in to an upright and seated position. He then tried to move onto his knees.

  He tried pulling his hands apart and working them out of the cords, but it was no use. A split oyster might work, he thought. He started scanning the ground for one of the rough-edged shells. If he could get ahold of one, he could work it against the cord and hopefully cut himself free.

  It didn’t take long to find one, as the mollusks were abundant along the coast. Adam had to sit on the ground right beside the shell to get it into his hands. He quickly worked the cord against the sharp edge of the shell. It didn’t break through the cord entirely, but it wore through enough of the fibers that he was able to yank his hands apart. He untied his feet and then stood and looked around at his location. There was water and shoreline for as far as he could see, and the shoreline did appear to curve. There was a forest behind him, but he didn’t know how far it went. He wasn’t sure what time it was, so he didn’t know how much daylight he had left, and he had no high vantage point, so he couldn’t see more than a few miles in any direction.

  A wave of panic washed over him when he took stock of his circumstances, but the survival instinct quickly kicked in. He remembered a book he had read many times when he was younger—Robinson Crusoe. He didn’t know how he’d get out of the situation, but at least he had confidence that if one of his childhood heroes could survive on an island for twenty years, he could hopefully survive until somebody found him or he found his own way home—whichever came first.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “THIS AIN’T GOOD, BOYS.” ELLIOT le
d his horse right onto the work floor of the warehouse.

  Emmanuel, Boaz, and Joe had been waiting there, hoping Adam would turn up or that Elliot would return with some news. He’d been to town to ask if Adam had gone by the tavern to see his mother.

  Boaz’s face fell. “That’s your horse.”

  “It sure is,” said Elliot.

  “But where’s Fletcher?”

  “Did they say he’d been by the tavern?” asked Emmanuel.

  Elliot shook his head. “Nope. Said they haven’t seen him at all today.”

  “Where did you find the horse?” asked Emmanuel.

  Elliot stroked the black mane of the tall, chestnut quarter horse. “Tom Gaskins told me ol’ Sampson here has been hitched to a post down on Front Street near ’bout all day.”

  “So that means the boy must’ve made it back to town at least,” said Emmanuel.

  Boaz shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not necessarily. If Reading was there at the Martin estate today and he didn’t like what Fletcher was saying, he might’ve done something with the boy and then left the horse in town to throw us off-track.”

  A heavy cloud of despair descended upon the men.

  Emmanuel nodded with worry. “You’re absolutely right. And since Reading doesn’t know what we know, he surely would assume we’d never guess he could be involved.”

  “What if Reading was there and Fletcher confronted him?” asked Elliot. “He can be that way, you know.”

  Emmanuel’s eyes grew wide. “Good Lord! I don’t even want to think the boy would’ve done something so foolish!”

  “You might not want to think it,” said Boaz, “but it is possible.”

  “Where did you say the horse was hitched?” asked Emmanuel.

  “Right in the middle of town, down on Front Street. Near everything.”

  The men all exchanged nervous glances. No one wanted to be the first to say what they were all thinking.

  “And everything would include Richard Rasquelle’s warehouse,” Emmanuel finally observed.

  “Yes, it would,” Elliot agreed.

  “And the boy did say he wanted to go there,” said Emmanuel.

  “And I reckon he’s just foolish enough that he might’ve gone and done it,” said Boaz.

  “But we told him to wait!” said Emmanuel, exasperated.

  “Sure we did,” said Boaz, “but Fletcher’s seventeen. He thinks he knows everything. You remember how things were at that age.”

  Emmanuel nodded. “Oh, do I ever. That’s what worries me.”

  “Well, so then what do we do?” said Elliot. “Do we go down there and just ask Rasquelle if he’s seen the boy?”

  “I think we must,” said Emmanuel. “But I also think it would be reasonable to ask everyone there along the waterfront if they’ve seen the boy. We needn’t tell Richard Rasquelle that we suspect the boy might’ve gone by to see him today. That would surely raise far more questions than are necessary.”

  “I agree,” said Boaz. “We can head down there now. Split up. Ask everyone down on the docks, the shop and business owners, townsfolk, everybody.”

  “Alright,” agreed Elliot, “let’s go.”

  The four men piled into Emmanuel’s horse cart and headed into town. Once they got there, they split up three ways. The Salter cousins, Joe and Elliot, went in one direction. Boaz went another. Emmanuel went alone and was the one who went to ask Rasquelle if he’d seen Adam.

  After more than an hour, they all met back at the horse cart, but none had information on Adam’s whereabouts.

  “You know what we have to do now,” said Boaz.

  Emmanuel took a deep breath, then sighed. “Let’s just go back to the warehouse and wait for a couple more hours. If he still doesn’t turn up, then we’ll go tell his mother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  WITHIN A SHORT TIME OF being marooned on the island, Adam had walked far enough and studied the horizon long enough to realize he had no idea where he was. For the time being, he decided he should stay close to where Rasquelle’s men had left him.

  Although he could see another body of land in the distance, it looked like it was miles away, and he knew that he wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to make it that far. Furthermore, he had no indication that the land he’d spotted was even inhabited within any reasonable distance. It would be a huge risk to attempt swimming so far without knowing if it would improve his situation.

  He wondered if he still had the bag of candy that he’d been given by the Spanish captain. He thrust his hand into his pocket. No luck. He tried his other pocket. Still no bag of candy. He must’ve left it back at the warehouse. He was relieved to know he at least had his pocketknife.

  He decided to set up shelter along the edge of the line of trees. He’d have enough natural canopy to help protect him from the elements, yet he would still be near enough to the shore that a signal fire could be seen by passing vessels. But first, he knew he better get a fire going before sundown.

  There was plenty of dried-out driftwood and brush nearby. He gathered it into a pile, then scooped out a shallow dip in the earth for his fire. After putting some sea grass and shrubbery in place for kindling, he picked out a flat piece of the driftwood to make a makeshift hearth for a bow-drill fire starter. It looked like a piece from an old boat. He used the tip of his knife to twist out a little round groove, then notched out a V-shape coming off of that.

  Next he found two sturdy sticks. The first—which was as long as his arm from his shoulder to his wrist—would be his bow, but he’d have to find something to use as the bowstring. At first he thought the cord he normally used to tie back his hair might work, but it wasn’t long enough. Finally, he decided to cut a strip from the bottom of his shirt. It was just long enough to bring the two ends of the long stick towards each other to form a bow.

  The other stick was shorter—just a little bit longer than his forearm—and it would work nicely as the drill. He whittled it along its sides until it was perfectly straight, then gave rounded points to each end. Next he ran down to the sand and found a cockleshell to hold in his hand to protect his palm.

  He took the drill stick and twisted it once in the string of the bow, then inserted the tip of the stick into the round groove he had made on the hearth board. Finally, he put one foot on the board to hold it in place and held the cockleshell in his palm over the other end of the drill stick, then worked the bow back and forth until he began to get some smoke. He kept drilling and drilling back and forth with the bow until he had coal. Once he thought it was hot enough, he tapped the hot tinder through the little V-notch onto the kindling he had gathered in his fire pit. After he gently blew on it, it began to smoke, and then finally it ignited into a beautiful, much-welcome, glowing fire.

  Since the only tool he had was his pocketknife, he wanted to preserve that as much as possible. He considered trying to take down some trees for a shelter by burning them around the base the way the Indians used to do, but he thought better of it when it occurred to him that with the amount of undergrowth blanketing the area, that kind of fire might quickly get out of hand and consume everything.

  He took some time to study the terrain. He knew that trees never get very tall along the beach, because the strong winds stunt their growth and they branch out sideways more than straight upward like their inland counterparts. Also, he could see a lot of thick, clumpy shrubbery and tall sea grasses among the coastal vegetation. All in all, he would have a good variety of materials from which to construct his shelter.

  First, he uprooted two young saplings and set them in the ground about seven feet away from two other young saplings. Then he bent the tops of both pairs of saplings towards each other to form a frame, like a wigwam. He used some of the abundant grapevines growing nearby to tie them together.

  He repeated the same process perpendicular to the ones he had already lashed together so that the pairs of saplings crossed one another like one big X. Next he began lashing all kinds of limbs and branc
hes along the outside of his structure using more grapevines, but the weight of all of the covering was getting too heavy for the sapling frame. The whole structure looked like it could collapse, so he stepped back and examined everything again to see what he needed to do differently. He hated to have to undo the work he had just done, but he realized he would need to work in more saplings to sturdy up the frame.

  He quickly yanked down all of the branches he’d used as covering and tried to find a few more saplings that were suitable in length and circumference to shore up the structure. After he had done that, he was finally able to add back the branches for covering. He left the opening in the front so he would be able to keep a watch on the water. He wanted to be sure and have a way of seeing any vessels that might happen to pass by.

  He had heard the local Indians used to make mats by weaving together tall grasses and cattails. If he ended up being stuck there for more than a couple of days, he decided he would try weaving together whatever he could find to give his new home a more practical, weatherproof covering.

  Once he was satisfied with his shelter, he had to think about finding water to drink. He knew an aboveground source was unlikely, so he hunted for as many large shells as he could find—some whelks and some very large cockle and clam shells. Those could be set out to collect rainwater. Although the coast had its share of rain the previous week, unfortunately for Adam the sky was clear and blue without a hint of a storm in sight.

  He determined his best option was to take a cue from the banker ponies that inhabited an island not far from Beaufort. The wild creatures were able to sustain themselves with freshwater they dug by stomping the ground with their hooves until the refreshing liquid rose to the surface. Adam thought there was no reason he shouldn’t be able to imitate their methods, albeit by digging rather than stomping the ground.