" He was almost there. The island was just ahead. It was the usual trip. In and out, just like he did before. Not getting caught was the easy part. He had gone up and down those reefs near the island for years. Even though the conceiled rocks beneath the waves were easily mistaken for shallow ground, a careless sailor might get stuck and watch his tub get dragged along the razor sharp outcrops on that sandpaper grounds down to nothing like an icecube dissolving on a hot skillet. No, this time it was different. He was no longer a smuggler anymore. His cargo was no longer the usual haul. Instead of flasks of wine came jugs of gunpowder. Stolen coffee beans replaced by bullets, spices swapped for medical provisions. He stuffed his little tub with all the gear it could carry, barely room for himself to move. Dire times require dire solutions, he told himself. The clouds parted briefly, revealing a man o' war just off his starboard. He was almost there."