With a silent signal, the Thunder surged forward. There were no war cries, only the rhythmic creak of wood and the splash of the blackened oars. By the time the Spanish sentries saw the dark shape looming out of the fog, it was too late.
"Alerta!" a cry went up, but it was drowned out by the roar of the Corsair’s boarding party. chernyi korsar skachat knigu
"Captain," a voice whispered from the darkness. It was Morgan, his loyal lieutenant. "The Spanish galleon is anchored just past the reef. They think the mist protects them." With a silent signal, the Thunder surged forward
The moon was a sliver of bone over the Gulf of Venezuela when the Thunder cut through the fog. She was a ship of shadows—sails as dark as a starless midnight and a hull that seemed to swallow the light. On the quarterdeck stood a man wrapped in a heavy black mantle, his face a pale mask of grim determination. He was the Black Corsair, and tonight, he was not hunting gold. "Alerta