Author: Robert A Tayler

I am Midwestern born and raised, with a background in Business and Transportation. I have loved telling stories ever since my early childhood, so becoming a fiction author seemed like a natural progression for me. I enjoy writing action-adventure, as it allows me to release my inner child through my writing. I'm retired now, so the most important things in my life are Faith, Family, and Friends. I am equally at home in the mountains or on the beach, as our family loves to travel. Gatlinburg, TN, and Sarasota, FL, are my favorite places to visit. Plundering the Past is my first published novel, with my second book, The Spartan Initiative, launching in April 2023. I am working on the sequels to both books as well as several other projects, all of which I hope to have in publication by the summer of 2024.

Favorite Passage from Chapter 16 of “Plundering the Past”

Robert A Tayler

 

This is one of my favorite sections of RTJR, from Chapter 16:

WE DID SIGHT HMS Argonaut later that night, making her way down the northwest coast towards Smuggler’s Cove, her sails ghostly pale outlines on the horizon. We turned our stern to her, running before the wind, and soon she dropped out of sight. I stumbled through the crew milling about on the weather deck, aiming for a place near the bow where I could rest my weary self. As I elbowed my way through the throng of seamen still amped on adrenaline from our narrow escape, many of them turned their heads my way. Was it my imagination, or were some of them eyeballing me with newfound respect?
Tom caught up to me, worry registering on his face as he took in my sorry state. Looking down, I saw my nice, crisp white linen shirt was soiled thoroughly with blood, blood and muck also staining my khakis. My dry-cleaning bill will be huge this month I thought numbly.
“Roger, you need medical attention,” Tom said urgently. “I’m going to get Doc, you need to sit down to slow down your bleeding.” I nodded absently, my faculties hazy and dull. He led me to an open spot portside, whereupon I collapsed exhausted on the deck, leaning against the port gunwale. “Don’t close your eyes, Roger, keep awake and alert until Doc gets here.” I grunted something unintelligible in reply.
Presently, Doc Loechner appeared at my side, eyeing me up and down with consternation. “Aren’t you a sight?” he said, perturbed, as he bent down and opened his satchel. I gratefully accepted a cup of nutmeg-flavored rum from Tom, as Doc Loechner began attending to my wounds.
“Saw a little action tonight, did we, Roger?” he said bemusedly, pulling my shirt sleeves up. He rubbed on some antiseptic lotion, applied some butterfly bandages to the shallow slashes, then covered the wounds with gauze and wrapped them with linen strips.
“Yeah, seems the waitress was dissatisfied with the tip I left her,” I quipped, feeling better as the rum warmed my belly.
Doc laughed softly, lifting my shirt to apply salve to my cut shoulder and abdominal wound. “Seems she was quite handy with a sword, this waitress. Maybe you shouldn’t go about antagonizing the local help.” He noticed the red coat James had dropped at my side. “Thinking of switching allegiances, are we?”
“No, I forgot to bring my slicker with me from Belvedere, so I visited the local five-and-dime and found this beauty.”
“Whatever would you want a redcoat for, Roger?” he asked as he taped on a gauze bandage.
“Are you kidding, Doc, these are the height of fashion right now,” I gibed. “All the cool kids are wearing them.”
He smiled, but took on a more serious air as he finished up, “According to other members of your party, Lieutenant Abercrombie was an expert swordsman. You’re lucky to be alive, my friend.” He pointed to my bandaged wounds, “Count yourself fortunate this is the worst you received from him.” With that, he placed his hand on my good shoulder and heaved himself to his feet, groaning with the effort. Seeing my amusement at his physical exertions, he chided me, “Your time will come, Roger Petrie, when you’ll heartily agree that sailing the ocean blue as outlaws is a game for the young.”
As soon as Doc left, Berger came by, squatting down by my side, eyes squinting in merriment, “Well, Petrie, I be terribly honored you apparently were paying attention to my swordplay lessons.”
“Yes, Mr. Berger, and I do heartily appreciate your instructions, they fared me well tonight.”
Berger regarded me with true admiration, “Aye, they did more than that, Mr. Petrie. From what I be told, you squared off against a master and bested him. That be no small thing.” He patted my cutlass, “A strong blade wielded by a capable man be a fearsome thing, Roger. We may yet be making a proper freebooter of ye!” He laughed good-naturedly, patted me on the head, and took his leave.
I drew my cutlass, noticing it now had numerous nicks and scratches on the edge, a mark on the flat where I’d parried Abercrombie’s sword. I would need to sharpen it before our next action. I gripped it tightly, feeling its power. I had much the same gut reaction when holding a gun in my hand, but this was different, more visceral, more personal. Holding this instrument, knowing it had served me admirably, that I had wielded it well, was a more powerful feeling than I’d ever experienced before. I hadn’t hesitated to draw it when endangered, or use it to fight my way out of a desperate situation. It would now be an integral part of my persona, one that others in our crew had witnessed. Was Berger right, was I transforming into a pirate in my own right, no longer a probie, but someone to be reckoned with? I chuckled as a ridiculous thought struck me: January 14th, 1721, the day the legend of Roger Petrie was born.