King of the Seas

By WES SNOWDEN

In the year 1786, Jeremy Whitehall, a young adventurer, leaves London for the colonial town of Nantucket on a secret mission for his scheming uncle, Rolland Crabb.

Crabb plans to use his innocent nephew in a plot to monopolize the lucrative New England candle making industry.

Jeremy's plans go seriously astray when by accident, he finds himself on a perilous year long sea voyage aboard a Nantucket whaling vessel. At sea, Jeremy comes of age when  he faces challenges he never imagined possible.

An exciting combination of a rogue whale, bloodthirsty pirates and a beautiful damsel in distress, all blend together to make this entertaining story, truly a Whale of a Tale!

• Language: English
• Publisher: CORVENT CREATIVE
• Release date: Sep 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781386773740

WES SNOWDEN

After a successful career as an international business owner, Wes Snowden now spends his time between Toronto, Vancouver, and Scottsdale, Arizona. As a relatively new author, Wes has written a broad range of  books, all unique in their storyline. Although his writings are enjoyable for all ages, the author enjoys writing kid's stories for grown-ups the best. Wes has just finished four full-length adult novels- White Swan Wishes, Zachary's Gold, One Last Move and The Leprechaun Wars All four will be published by spring of 2020. Reviews and comments always appreciated at: [e-mail]

Book preview

KING OF THE SEAS

LONDON, ENGLAND APRIL 7th, 1768

I’m sure everyone has at least one relative they dislike with a passion. I know I certainly do. In my family, it’s detestable Uncle Rolland Crabb. As big a money-grubbing, backstabbing, all-around bitter bastard as was ever born.

Rolland is the managing partner of Halton, Barney & Crabb, one of England’s largest importers of general merchandise. Exotic products flowed into the company’s vast array of warehouses from all parts of the world.

The business is obscenely profitable because our leader rules the company with an iron hand. The Crabb, as we refer to him, is always on the lookout for the next penny to squeeze.

If I had a choice, I’d stay as far away from this irritating little man as possible. However, circumstances didn’t leave me with much of an alternative. Unfortunately, my late father, William Whitehall the Third, had proved to be as inept at gambling as he was in running the family estate. On my father’s death, instead of inheriting an estate of some substance, I found myself surrounded by hordes of unhappy creditors, all demanding to be paid immediately. The alternative was the debtor’s prison.

This sad state of affairs caused me to be placed under the wing of Rolland, my mother’s older brother. My uncle is the type of man who doesn’t take kindly to fools or needy relatives. In his lofty opinion, I appear to fit into both those categories.

In the spirit of fairness, I suppose there is a tiny grain of truth behind his negative opinion of me. At the age of twenty-four, I’ve been living a rather good life in London up until now. After being born and bred on our estate in Wiltshire, England, I considered working to be an affront to my position as a gentleman. I also think it highly unfair that Rolland insists I show up for work as his special assistant.

Despite my protests that my position at Halton, Barney & Crabb was only a temporary situation, my friends at the Mayfair Club take great delight in referring to me as ‘the shopkeeper.’ In fact, I was enjoying a mid-afternoon refreshment with these same friends at the club when my uncle’s man, Grumbles, rudely interrupted to summon me to his master’s presence.

Sorry to interrupt yer pleasures, sir, Grumbles whined. Mister Crabb insists you attend him in his office without delay.

I looked at the little man with distaste. As far as I was concerned, Grumbles was a self-serving lackey who would climb over your still twitching corpse if it helped him shine in the Crabb’s eyes.

I turned to my friends, Sorry to scoot before the bill arrives, chaps. Duty calls, and I must obey. Look after my share, will you?

A litany of outrageous comments about my financial status followed our departure from the club. I took it in stride.

After all, what are friends for?

I say, Grumbles, do you know what the Crabb wants? I asked as our hackney cab rumbled over the cobblestone streets.

No, sir. But he’s right fit to be tied, Grumbles chortled.

I knew Rolland’s man took great delight in seeing me humbled in front of his boss. However, I had a feeling from Grumble’s sly smile that I was in for another tirade. Unfortunately for me, my instincts proved correct when, a short while later, I found myself standing like an errant schoolboy in front of Rolland’s massive desk.

Where the bloody hell have you been, Jeremy? Uncle Crabb demanded as he laid his quill pen aside.

I looked at the shriveled, dried-up carcass on the other side of the ink-stained desk. I tried to keep my face from showing my true inner feelings. It was difficult because Rolland was eating and shouting at me at the same time. As usual, today’s lunch was beef drippings on black bread. As uncle ranted, tiny bits of beef fat sprayed out in my direction.

Sorry, uncle. I was unexpectedly called away by an important matter, I muttered as I wiped a gob of suet from my lapel.

Crabb snorted. Horse-feathers. You’re busy doing nothing as usual.  This wasting your life on drink, gambling, and vulgar women has got to stop. It’s time for you to start performing, or else.

I had an uneasy feeling I was about to find out first hand what the Crabb’s message of what or else meant. I was hoping whatever upcoming odious task he had in mind wouldn’t take too long to accomplish. My overriding ambition at the moment was