Warship Poseidon Read online

  Book One

  The Adventures of Jonathan Moore

  Warship

  Poseidon

  originally titled Skull Eye Island

  by

  Peter Greene

  The Adventures of Jonathan Moore, Book 1:

  Warship Poseidon

  2012 winner of the Adventure Writer’s Competition, Clive Cussler as finalist judge.

  2015 winner of the Independent Author Network’s Book of the Year Award for Action Adventure

  2015 Finalist in the Independent Author Network’s Book of the Year Award in both First Novel and Historical Novel categories.

  “A robust story of a young lad in the British navy during the Nelson years. A thorough insight and beautiful portrait of those days under windblown sails and the creak of wooden hulls. Peter Greene has created a story that shines from every page. An excellent book. He truly nails an insight of nineteenth-century sailing ships and their crews.”

  —Clive Cussler, best-selling author of

  Poseidon’s Arrow and Raise the Titanic

  “A heartwarming tale of a boy essentially orphaned in search of his father, Warship Poseidon never ceases to entertain. Greene’s swashbuckling tale of high-seas adventure is pure, uncomplicated fun!”

  —Kirkus Reviews, www.kirkusreviews.com

  “Equal parts saltwater and page-turning fun, Warship Poseidon is heir to traditions of Rudyard Kipling and Robert Louis Stephenson. Young adult adventure has a new master, and his name is Peter Greene.”

  —Jeff Edwards, The Seventh Angel and Sword of Shiva

  The Adventures of Jonathan Moore, Book 2:

  Castle of Fire

  2015 Finalist Action/Adventure

  “Chock-full of adventurous fun…Greene seamlessly weaves together several dynamic storylines, creating a rich, complex world for readers to enjoy. It’s driven by an eclectic, well-drawn cast of characters… Jonathan, Delain, and quirky best friend Sean Flagon, form a wonderful trio whose escapades will leave readers hooked. A spirited tale of high-seas adventure that will leave readers both young and old anxiously waiting for more!

  —Kirkus Reviews, www.kirkusreview.com

  “The characters in this book are so fun! There is a lot of action as there was in the first book. There's sword fighting, pirates, cannons, stealing pirate ships, a little romance, a stowaway, friendship, and much more. I love it when I can hand a child a book and not worry at all about questionable words or content. If you liked the first book in the series then you should read this one— you'll love the ending.”

  —Readathon.blogspot.com

  The Adventures of Jonathan Moore Series

  Book 1: Warship Poseidon

  Book 2: Castle of Fire

  Book 3: Paladin’s War

  The Adventures of Jonathan Moore:

  Warship Poseidon

  Illustrated Edition K Copyright 2011 by Peter C. Greene

  Reprinting 2011, 2016, 2017, 2018

  Illustrations: Michelle Graham, www.michellegraham.co.uk

  Cover: Sven Gillhoolie

  All artwork and content of this book is sole property of the author. For information about permission to reproduce selections or artwork from this book, or for other requests, please write to:

  Sven Gillhoolie Publishing

  15418 N Castillo Drive

  Fountain Hills, Arizona, USA 85268

  ASIN B007Y982RI

  Jonathan Moore Books and Sven Gillhoolie Enterprises are registered trademarks of Peter C. Greene. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Author’s note: This book has been written so that it can be easily read aloud, with dialogue direction pertaining to who is speaking. This will make reading aloud more enjoyable for all parties. Also, chapters have suggested breaks approximately halfway through marked by a series of asterisks:

  * * * * *

  This makes it easy to stop at a sensible point and then continue the story the next day.

  To purchase and learn more about Jonathan Moore adventure books, please visit:

  www.warshipposeidon.com or www.ajmbooks.com

  Chapters

  Life on Brick Street

  Aboard His Majesty’s Ship Poseidon

  Captain Walker

  A Hot Steaming Bowl

  The Barker and the Belcher

  The Crow’s Nest

  The Paladin

  The Log and the Epée

  The Treasure Map

  The Mysterious Danielle

  Race through the Storm

  Sabotage

  The Bet Pays Off

  Search for Treasure

  The Dance of Death

  Skull Eye Island

  Tales Told

  All the Pieces of the Puzzle

  The Homecoming

  Acknowledgments

  To my children:

  the brave Lieutenant Brendan and the mysterious Danielle.

  Book One

  The Adventures of Jonathan Moore

  Warship Poseidon

  1

  Life on Brick Street

  Twelve-year-old Jonathan Moore sat scrunched up at the bottom of a large stone-stacked chimney inside an old, dreary London pub.

  “Are you finished yet, Sean?” he asked, looking up the flue.

  “Almost!” came the reply as a stream of black soot rushed downward from somewhere high in the chimney, dousing Jonathan in a cloud of coal-colored dust.

  “You had better watch it, Jonny Boy,” said Sean from somewhere above. “I’ll be sending the last of this black stuff your way.”

  “Thank you for the timely warning,” Jonathan said under his breath as he coughed and tried wiping the dirt from his face as best as he could.

  “Don’t mention it,” replied Sean as he continued working, sending ash downward.

  Jonathan tried to sweep the dust into a canvas bag and contain the spread of dirt. This London pub on Ayliff Street was too dark and dirty to begin with, he thought. A little dust would not be noticed as there were only two other people in the house besides Sean and himself. However, there was considerably more than just a little dust in the bag.

  The chimney sweep who had agreed to use the boys as assistants had decided to take his payment early at the bar itself and was now resting comfortably, slumped over and snoring. Jonathan and Sean had reached an agreement with the pub owner directly to do the sweeping and cleanup for a sandwich each. A meal like that would be most welcome to both boys as neither had eaten for several days. Being orphaned and homeless and living literally on the streets of London meant that the frequency of meals was anything but frequent, and jobs that paid in any manner were rare.

  All Jonathan had to his name were the clothes on his back and a tattered old horse blanket he had earned one day by working odd jobs at a local stable. Usually dirty, smelly, and chilled to the bone, he never knew when he would have his next meal. He spent most of his days searching for food or repairing damage to his home: a three-sided wooden box situated within a pile of loose boards and broken crates at the end of a dark and filthy alley off Brick Road.

  As Jonathan, Sean, and all the other poor souls who had no home or money were well aware, living in London’s East End in the year 1800 was a dangerous, unfriendly existence. It seemed that most of the days and nights were subject to terrible weather: howling wind, driving rain, and chilling temperatures that made Jonathan shiver and shake. In the winter, the freezing rain and snow, along with the icy temperatures, were more than uncomfortable. The cold could even kill. Additionally, there were rats crawling almost everywhere; however, there were other, more dangerous animals on the streets at night: dark and scary men, some roaming the cobblest
one in loud and boisterous gangs, committing crimes of the most terrible sort. There was drinking, stealing, fighting, and sometimes even murder.

  “Done!” came the call from the flue, and shortly Sean Flagon appeared in the firebox, covered in blackness but smiling widely. He dusted himself off as best he could, however, that only caused the dark cloud of dust to grow and drift as Jonathan tried to contain the storm.

  “I am as hungry as I can ever remember, Jonny Boy,” said Sean.

  “I am as well,” agreed Jonathan. “I can’t remember when we ate last, but I am sure it was less than filling. The sooner you help me tidy this up, the sooner we eat.”

  Sean smiled and immediately began scooping soot and debris from the fireplace with his cupped hands, adding to the collection his best friend already had put in the bag.

  “Are you little urchins finished?” came a deep voice. It was the proprietor of the pub.

  “Yes, sir,” said Jonathan as the man approached them from behind the bar.

  “Oh. Well then, I believe yer employer said ya were to be paid out of ’is share,” the man said, “so he will take care of you when he wakes, I’d gather.”

  Jonathan watched the shift in the man’s eyes and knew immediately that he was attempting to cheat them. He had seen that expression before from unscrupulous employers when it came time to receive his pay. A paying job was hard to come by; however, he used his wits and muscle to find odd ones often enough. And that meant a few shillings—and shillings meant food. Keeping his manners sharp, his words clear and precise, and his tone always gracious and respectful, Jonathan was often able to work for a few pennies and turn them into a decent meal—maybe only one decent meal every few days, but that is all he seemed to need. At times, he would join with others to survive—in particular, his current partner, Sean Flagon, also a boulevard denizen. They had met on the streets of London and formed a fast friendship, being of similar age and disposition. No matter what the situation, Sean always had a cheery attitude, and the two boys made a successful go of it as a frequent team. After a short while, they became deep friends and cared for each other like the closest of brothers.

  Jonathan and Sean now looked suspiciously at the pub owner and tried to think a step ahead. They needed their food desperately, as it had been a long stretch without any. Waiting to discuss the matter of payment with the drunken chimney sweep would probably yield no fruit whatsoever.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” said Jonathan, graciously. “Though we were hired by the sweep, we made our agreement with you personally, as you must recall. A sandwich and a glass of milk each.”

  “Aye, it was,” added Sean, now growing wary.

  “That’s not ’ow I remember it,” said the man, growing angry. “Ya little brats best be off—and ’ope your friend ’ere doesn’t drink yer share and forget ta pay ya now!”

  Jonathan glanced at Sean. He seemed shocked and about to burst into anger or tears; it was hard to tell which. The afternoon’s work was now wasted. No pay, no food—just a bag of ashes for their trouble. And that gave Jonathan an idea.

  “You will not cheat us, sir,” he said.

  “Why you little—”

  “—and it would be a shame if my associate here would have to run about this shop and empty the contents of this bag all over your establishment. Yes? He is a hard one to catch.”

  Sean now smiled and opened the bag a peek, then tilted it toward the floor. A thin stream of smut poured out, streaming down to the stone floor and creating a cloud of dust that was surprisingly large.

  “Oops!” he said. “I spilled a wee bit! What a mess it made!”

  Jonathan was quickly shown to the kitchen, where the cook made him the promised sandwiches—just cheese but enough of it—and produced two glasses of thin milk. Sean stayed in the pub, holding the bag as insurance.

  Jonathan returned and they hastily drank the milk, a rarity to be sure, and then walked out the back door, carrying the brushes and poles used to clean the flue, along with the bag of soot. They then sat down quietly on the stoop to enjoy their well-earned rewards.

  “It’s still raining,” said Sean, looking up to the gray sky.

  “I don’t think it ever stopped,” added Jonathan. “It’s a wonder we aren’t flooded out.”

  “Aye! Jonny! That reminds me! I heard that ships are due into the docks. Cargo ships coming—a lot of them!” said Sean.

  “I love going to the docks,” said Jonathan between bites. “The ships are wonderful, aren’t they? And maybe we can find a little work as well!”

  “I need to ask around and see when they are coming in,” said Sean, rising from the stoop with his sandwich in his hand. “I’ll let ya know. Hopefully tomorrow, eh?”

  “Thanks, Sean. Until tomorrow, then.”

  With that Sean disappeared around the corner, leaving Jonathan to his sandwich. He ate silently and hurriedly, thinking about the London docks and the beautiful ships that were always present. If they were lucky, they might see a few warships with handsome white sails and tall masts. Jonathan wondered what it would be like to live on one. It had to provide some sort of adventure to the men aboard. However, in his position as a poor, orphaned boy, this was only a dream. Chances were extremely slight that he could ever sail on a ship of any kind. His adventure would come from his quest for survival. And maybe it was true what Sean had said to him about the ships and the British Navy: “It’s no life for anybody. Working on a ship is like being a slave, and that is a terrible existence, toiling all day and all night with no food or sleep!”

  I will never know, thought Jonathan. He returned to his meager meal.

  As he took another bite of his sandwich, he heard strange laughter from the alley beyond. It was not the kind of laughter made when people were enjoying themselves but the sneering type as heard when bullies were about. Jonathan had heard it before, and unfortunately, he had often been on the losing end of bullying when he first landed on the streets. They would take clothes, food, and even the small trinkets he carried. After several years, though, he had become bolder and had recently put a few bullies in their places. It was his way to never start a fight; however, if he was forced to be in one, he needed to leverage an advantage. Physically, Jonathan was of average height for his age—and average weight as well. This offered no benefit when dealing with older bullies. His mind was the greatest advantage he possessed, and coupled with his superior speed, the result was surprise.

  He put the remainder of his sandwich unceremoniously into the pocket of his thin jacket and then rose and peered around the corner. There, as he had feared, he saw Sean on the ground, surrounded by three older boys, certainly a few years older than Jonathan. He had seen this particular group roaming the streets the past week. It was known that they were recent additions to the area—homeless for sure, and still a bit new to the game, as he and Sean called it.

  “I said give me the sandwich, ya pig!” said a dark-haired boy as he loomed over Sean.

  “You can take a hot poker and lick it, ya scab!” retorted Sean, more angry than afraid.

  The dark-haired boy delivered a hard kick aimed at Sean’s side. Instinctively, Sean blocked the blow with his arm, but searing pain raced from his elbow to his shoulder. As bad as it felt, Sean knew it could have been worse.

  “We kin split it three ways!” said a blond boy.

  “That ain’t much!” said the third boy as he tried to kick Sean but clumsily missed.

  “Give it to me!” said the dark one, delivering another kick that found its mark.

  Jonathan crept forward slowly—but not until he’d taken the longest of the brush poles they had just used to clean the chimney of the pub. It was made of strong, hard wood and about three feet long. He had seen a few street performers use poles and such to act out sword fights and balancing feats. He’d watched them carefully, and even received a few quick lessons on their use as swords. He was a fast learner and actually had entered into temporary employment as part of the ent
ertaining troupe. One rule was to never use the stick as a bat, he remembered. Never swing until the game was over.

  “This is yer last warnin’, ya Irish cuss! Hand it over!” said the dark boy once again.

  Sean did not answer but moved backward on the wet ground. His escape was soon blocked by the other two bullies, who continued laughing and spitting at their prey.

  “Now yer gonna get a lickin’!” said the dark one. He moved in closer to Sean. As he raised his fist to strike the boy, he felt a sharp poke on the back of his head that almost made him topple over.

  “Aay!” he cried, turning.

  There was Jonathan, standing with his right hand holding the pole as a sword, aimed straight at the bully’s face. Without a word or hesitation, Jonathan thrust the stick forward with great speed and, more importantly, accuracy. The tip punched the dark-haired boy in the left eye, and he screamed out in pain. Jonathan advanced quickly, delivering a sharp kick to the side of the boy’s knee. The cracking sound was sickening. The dark-haired boy went down.

  “What is this?” said the blond bully as he turned from Sean and moved toward Jonathan. “Are ya a knight with yer sword and yer—”

  Jonathan reacted swiftly. He lunged directly at the boy’s lower midsection, arm extended first and right foot moving forward. The pole struck painfully in the boy’s crotch, and he dropped directly to the hard cobblestone. Spinning, Jonathan turned back to the dark-haired boy and landed a sweeping blow on the side of the enemy’s neck as he tried to rise.

  “Are you hurt, Sean?” asked Jonathan as he eyed the third boy.