Free The Guns of Tortuga by Brad Strickland, THOMAS E. FULLER Page B

“Whatever the case, Gille has money and power. And men. If he wanted to man this place like a fort, it would take an army to break into it. The only reason the guard is so light is that I cannot climb through these windows, and if I got downstairs, I could not climb over the wall around the yard. A word from Gille, and this house would become a stronghold.”
    â€œListen,” I said, “Gille wants my captain to sail for him. That won’t happen—for reasons I can’t tell you. But the two of them are talking to each other. That may give us a chance. I’ll tell the captain your situation. Keep tight and quiet here untilwe get word back to you.” I turned to Jessie. “Can you find some excuse to go to the market every day?”
    â€œOr to the fountain for water,” she said. She sniffed. “You didn’t even know me. You really are a mooncalf.”
    â€œThen arrange it to go to the fountain at noon every day. When we have a plan, I’ll meet you there. Be ready to act!”
    When I went back down, I clutched a bright penny. One of the guards relieved me of it and gave me a kick into the bargain, but I hardly minded. It just gave me that much more speed back to the ship and back to the captain.

The Rescue
    CAPTAIN HUNTER AT once set about devising a plan. He said we had to free both Captain Brixton and Lieutenant Fairfax at the same time, and nothing less would do. In a way, it made sense, for once we had made an attempt to bring away one of them, Tortuga would be too hot for us to remain and try for the other.
    Still, Uncle Patch had his own ideas on that subject. “You do realize that this is a foolish enterprise, don’t ye, William?”
    â€œFoolish it may be,” said Hunter doggedly, pacing the wharf near the
Aurora.
The men had almost finished restowing all her cargo, and we had only tofill her casks with water to be ready to sail. That made the necessity for action all the keener, as Hunter saw things. “Still, Doctor, even a fool can hear the call of duty.”
    â€œWell, well,” grumbled my uncle. “I can only ask you not to get us all killed, I suppose. Though Lord knows that’s the last worry a hothead like yourself would have!” Uncle Patch did persuade the captain that charging in with pistols firing and cutlasses flashing was probably not the best way to achieve success.
    I stayed quiet and listened to them debate. Finally, the plan they came up with was better thought out but would call for careful timing, courage … “And the luck of the devil himself,” my uncle finished, “for ’tis a certainty that never a saint would concern himself with such a scheme as this.”
    And so that Friday, the tenth of February, I found myself seated next to the captain in M. Gille’s fine carriage once again on our way to dine. Hunter was in full pirate dress: his rich emerald green coat with the red piping and frogs; the amazing canary yellow sash; and black boots that shone like mirrors. He had a new wig he had picked up in the marketplace.It was the sort called a court-wig, like the ones the king’s counselors wore: black and curled and falling to his shoulders. As my uncle had remarked, you could buy anything there. Still, I did wonder about the fate of the wig’s former owner—did he still even have a head to call his own? His hat with the ostrich plume the captain held in his lap, for with the wig and the low carriage roof, he couldn’t put it on his head.
    â€œAre you sure this is going to work, sir?” I asked, running my finger inside my tight collar.
    â€œWe must trust to fortune, Davy. All we have to do is follow the plan and all will be well. At least that’s what your uncle Patch said.”
    Aye, my uncle Patch. Having raged and roared at the idiocy of even attempting what Captain Hunter wanted to do, my dear uncle had thrown himself into logistics and strategies. Even