But the colonies were no place for Daphna. Virginia was a more primitive land than he'd expected, and the townships were often fierce and uncivilized places. There was little law and he'd been forced to become a much different man than he'd once been. He was accustomed to a life of elegance, and though the profits in Virginia had been worth the pains, life remained filled with fearful uncertainties.

And they became even worse in the Basin.

"I know the scent of my own tobacco, you miscreants." He checked his flintlock, making certain the gunpowder had not gotten too wet in this damp air. Six years ago he'd never even fired a pistol, and now he could reload his shot in fifteen seconds. "If I catch the smell on any of you, you'll be hefted over the side."

With the original buccaneers driven out by the local ruling powers and routed by the Crown, the Caribbean had become a region of chaos. The first freebooters, for all their faults, had brought a certain semblance of order to the area. New Providence, Madagascar, and Johanna Isle all flourished under rule of the pirates. Their decrees had been domineering but fair, especially for the Americas, and their codes of protection had been strictly enforced.

Now, however, there were only armed vessels run by independent smugglers available to take you to sea ports in the West Indies or beyond. Roving bands of corsairs flying under black flags owned the water lanes from Grand Bahama to Bocas Del Toro in Panama. And the stories of these sea wolves robbing and killing their own passengers were legion. Maycomb knew that despite all his precautions he and Eileen would be lucky to survive this venture.