Read sample The Sugar Coast | An epic adventure set in the age of revolution

Chapter One

The young British Royal Navy officer was standing at ease, staring out at the tranquil Caribbean waters of the broad sweep of Carlisle Bay, Barbados as it shimmered in the unseasonable heat of a late May afternoon. The deck of HMS Wiltshire, the small 28-gun Royal Navy frigate he was standing on, was rocking slightly from the light chop of the gentle waves rippling the surface of the bay, making a host of other Navy and merchant ships at anchor in the harbour do the same. In the distance he could make out tiny figures going about their business along the broad waterfront docks of Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados.

With little else to occupy him as he stood waiting, the officer's mind drifted to focus on the ongoing problem he faced in dealing with a pair of the more truculent members of his regular watch. The two men, Ralston and Hodges, were the newest and rawest members of the crew and neither of them wanted to be where they were. The Second Officer of HMS Wiltshire gave the barest shrug of acknowledgment when asked about their history.

“Not sure, Mr. Spence,” said the officer. “I think they were given a choice of sweating in whatever stinking jail they were in here in Barbados or joining us. In any case, they are in the Navy now.”

“I guessed as much, sir,” said Lieutenant Owen Spence, the twenty-year-old Third Officer of HMS Wiltshire. “They don’t seem to have any experience with the sea, but I wanted to make sure of it. Well, we needed more men, and we take what we get. They will learn soon enough.”

How to go about teaching them what they needed to know was the issue. An all too easy solution was to simply beat both submission and knowledge into them, whether they wanted it or not. Both men had already tasted the bosun’s starter, a thick and stiff piece of rope with a chunk of lead embedded inside the tip to give added weight. The bosun’s usual practice was to whip it hard across whatever part of their bodies were to hand and several occasions to do so arose in the week since these new men joined the ship.

The two men had already also witnessed far worse punishment delivered by the same bosun as he applied the lash to the back of another miscreant strung up on a grating. The minimum twelve lashes delivered created a cross hatched pattern of deep, painful stripes on the sailor’s back. Both newcomers had watched the punishment in glowering silence.

None of this was new to Owen, for his family had sent him to sea when he was barely fourteen years old to serve in the Royal Navy as a midshipman. Having since served with a variety of different Royal Navy Officers above him, Owen long ago learned not everyone had the same style of leading their men. Many took the simple approach of using harsh discipline, even before any sign of trouble. On the opposite end of the spectrum a few actually strove to lead them willingly before resorting to the lash.

Owen thought of the latter approach as being both firm and fair in his dealings with the men and he preferred it. This usually meant finding a way to reach an understanding with them, helping them to realize he really was trying to be fair and their own best interests lay in cooperating with him.

More than a few sailors in past made the mistake of viewing this as a sign of weakness, but they soon learned what a lack of compliance would bring, for Owen had no qualms about showing how firm he could be. He preferred minor punishments such as stopping a sailor’s grog ration for a day, but the lash was always waiting to be used. Several of the more obstinate ones over the years ended up being flogged as punishment because Owen put them on report.

Owen knew he was fortunate many of the senior officers on the three different ships he served on since joining the Navy leaned toward using the firm but fair approach to varying degrees. Owen learned over time by watching how they handled a host of different situations the best approach was to take slow but firm steps toward reaching an understanding with raw newcomers to the ship. His dedication to learning the skills necessary to sail any ship afloat combined with the growing confidence he could truly lead the men under him led to passing his examination for Lieutenant six months ago.

With his future seeming bright and boundless, the mundane reality of dealing yet again with two more raw recruits was not about to faze him. He well knew he would find a way through to these two men, sooner or later. The hardest part was to make the initial gain of mutual understanding, however small it might be.

But as he mused over how to do it with these two in particular, a slow trickle of sweat was running down the middle of his back from the warmth of the day and the heavy dress uniform coat he was wearing. The combination made him drowsy and it difficult to focus on how best to reach these two men. The distant thump of a ship’s boat touching the side of the frigate brought him wide awake from his reverie, for the reason he was wearing his dress uniform was about to board the ship.

Both the old Captain and the First Officer of HMS Wiltshire were already gone, shifted to serve on other ships by the Admiral in Barbados in charge of The Leeward Islands Station, while the new ones were coming to take command. Owen was well aware new senior officers would have their own ways of commanding the men, but he was fully confident he would adapt to whatever those ways were. Both he and the Second Officer were frustrated no one had bothered to tell them who was coming to join the ship, but it no longer mattered, for the wait was now over.

Owen took one last, sweeping look about to ensure the sailors manning the side were at attention as the Second Officer had commanded and fully ready to welcome the new Captain to the ship with due honours. As the Captain’s hat appeared at the railing the bosun immediately began to pipe him aboard, while the Second Officer ordered the salute. Following right behind the Captain was another Officer and a young, teenage midshipman.

Owen stared at the three new arrivals, feeling a mild sense of foreboding steal over him without understanding why. The Captain had a fleshy, slightly overweight look to his face which matched the rest of his body. Combined with his greying hair the overall picture was of someone who had long since given up on exercise in any form. Owen judged him to be perhaps in his mid to late forties, while the First Officer standing beside him was half his age at best. In a flash of insight Owen saw the clear resemblance between the two men. A quick glance at the young midshipman joining them confirmed his own resemblance with the two more senior officers, making it obvious all three were from the same family.

To find a midshipman related to a ship’s Captain was in no way unusual, for to be sponsored by a family member was a convenient way to find a career for second or third sons who weren't expected to inherit a title or relatives from an officer's extended family in a similar situation. Having a First Officer with a familial connection was much more uncommon and enough to raise eyebrows, but not unheard of. With the nation not at war, openings on warships were at a premium, and Owen knew it was all too likely the Captain had been granted a favour.

The growing sense of unease remained. As Owen focused on it, he realized what he was feeling was due to the odd sense the Captain himself was somehow familiar. The realization of who the new Captain was finally struck home hard as the Second Officer stepped forward to greet the man and introduce himself. The shock was enough to rock Owen back slightly on his feet before recovering himself. The surprise of the man's appearance here and now was an icy stab to the heart, for Owen had not seen him for over eight years. The Captain glanced briefly at Owen on seeing the unexpected movement, but he turned his attention back to the Second Officer now speaking to him.

“Captain, permit me to welcome you and your First Officer aboard HMS Wiltshire. I am Second Officer Lieutenant George Strand. You have the better of us as to who you are, as all we received was word our new Captain and a new First Officer would be coming today.”

The Captain shook the proffered hand of the Second Officer perfunctorily before speaking.

“I am Captain John Smithe. This is your new First Officer, Lieutenant Harold Smithe and, yes, he is one of my sons. The midshipman with us is my nephew, Francis Smithe.”

“I am honoured to meet you, sirs. Permit me also to introduce our Third Officer Lieutenant Owen Spence, Captain.”

Owen saluted and stepped forward, offering his hand in welcome also.

“Captain, I am honoured as well. Welcome aboard, sirs.”

The Captain glanced briefly down at the extended hand before looking up with an icy, frigid stare at Owen’s face without saying anything. Owen left his hand outstretched for an awkward moment before pulling it back with a sinking feeling in his heart, for he was certain Captain Smithe now realized who he was.

“Lieutenant Owen Spence, is it? That would be Owen Spence, one of the younger sons of Richard Spence of Torquay, wouldn’t it? Yes, of course you are. I can see the family resemblance. I was not aware you were aboard. I trust you understand your presence here wouldn’t have been my choice, but no matter. You are here now.”

The Captain turned back to the Second Officer, who was standing in open-mouthed surprise at the affront the Captain had given to Owen and was clearly still trying to digest the implications of what had occurred. The Captain scowled as he spoke.

“Well? Let’s be about it, shall we?”

“Uh, sir?” said the Second Lieutenant, still looking confused and not understanding his meaning.

“Good Lord,” said the Captain, turning for a brief aside to his First Officer. “You’ve got some work to do with this lot.”

Shaking his head, the Captain turned again to the Second Officer, speaking with slow emphasis as if he were talking to an errant child.

“Mr. Strand, I live in hope somewhere in your head is the knowledge of what a Captain does when first joining a new ship?”

The Second Officer stiffened at the obvious rebuke as he responded.

“Sir, yes, sir. You need to read yourself in. I shall muster the men.”

Close to ten minutes later the entire crew had finally made their way from wherever they were to the waist of the ship and been assembled into something resembling a state of order to hear the Captain read his orders aloud from the quarterdeck. Aside from the standard language of all such orders to assume command of a ship the only real point of interest to the crew and the officers was the news HMS Wiltshire was being transferred to the command of the Admiral of Jamaica Station for active duty. The Captain was ordered to take on sufficient stores for the journey and to shepherd a small convoy of British merchant ships to Kingston when they were ready to depart.

As he finished reading his orders the Captain folded them up and returned them to his pocket. Now officially in full command, every man aboard knew the Captain wielded absolute power over all aspects of their lives. The critical question now was how he would go about it. He glared about at the sea of faces with an ominous, dark look on his visage before speaking.

“Right. All of you need to understand I expect obedience to myself and my officers above all. The Articles of War are there for a reason. You ignore them at your peril. I will not hesitate to order discipline when I deem it necessary. I also expect efficiency and, I must tell you, I am not impressed with what I have already seen. When you are ordered to do something, you do it instantly and not when you bloody feel like it. I simply cannot believe how long it took you all to gather to hear me read myself in. This will improve or the bosun will be paying attention to you with his starter more than you would like. Or worse. The choice is yours.”

The Captain fell silent for a moment, glaring about as if daring anyone to speak. No one did, for even newcomers to the ship like Ralston and Hodges were well aware of the power conveyed to the Captain by The Articles of War, a stringent set of rules covering a host of behaviours forbidden to those serving on Royal Navy warships. Little room for forgiveness or mercy was in them.

“So, you have been told. I want this to be the most orderly, efficient, well run ship in the entire Royal Navy and it shall be. You are dismissed.”

As the men shuffled back to their duties the Captain called to Owen and the Second Officer to remain where they were as he stalked over to stand in front of them. The First Officer and their new midshipman came to stand behind the Captain.

“Gentlemen, that was bloody appalling. I cannot believe how lax they were in following orders. This speaks directly to the kind of leadership you two display. Or perhaps it is the obvious lack of leadership. Lieutenant Smithe, I will be in my cabin. I want this ship set to rights immediately and I want to be underway to Jamaica by the first week of June. I leave the task and these two for you to deal with.”

As the Captain turned and marched aft toward his new cabin the First Officer stepped forward, but he looked first at the new midshipman still standing to the side.

“Francis, go muster a party to have our kit brought aboard. Make sure the Captain’s belongings are first. He is already disappointed, and it won’t do to make it worse.”

After watching him salute and leave, the First Officer returned his attention to the two officers.

“Well, you heard him. He has high expectations and so do I. Mr. Strand, you will now give me a tour of the entire ship. Along the way you can introduce me to the warrant officers. What is our complement of Marines, sir?”

“Lieutenant, we have a dozen Marines and one Sergeant. I will introduce you to him on the tour.”

“Very good. Mr. Spence, while we are doing this you will gather the ship’s logs for the past three months for inspection. You will also prepare a detailed inventory of all stores, including ordnance for my review. I also want an understanding of how your watches are organized and who is doing what. The tour will not take long, so have this ready within the hour. You are dismissed.”

“Sir,” said Owen, saluting before he turned to go. As soon as he was free, he went as fast as he could to find the gunner and the purser, for he knew he would have to rely on their intimate knowledge to meet the demands placed on him. He swore to himself as he went, for the trickle of sweat running down his back had turned to a river and it wasn’t because he was left with no time to get out of his heavy dress uniform.

Three days later Owen was supervising a group of men loading more stores into the hold in the stifling heat of the afternoon. Ralston and Hodges were in the party, as they were the rawest members of the crew fit for little other than heavy, physical work such as this. As they finished wrestling yet another barrel over to be slung into the hold, they both wiped their brows and went across the deck toward a small, open cask of water with a dipper attached for drinking. Owen was bent over peering into the hold at the men below and hadn’t seen them leave until he straightened up. He scowled when he saw them.

“Ralston! Hodges! Get back here. Now, damn you!”

“Sir, we are thirsty,” said Ralston, as Hodges took a quick gulp from the cask before handing the dipper to Ralston. He quickly did the same and both men returned at the double back to their positions.

“You bloody fools. You don’t do anything unless I tell you to. Everyone is thirsty, but we get the job done first. In future you wait your turn.”

“It’s only because it’s so hot, sir,” said Hodges, a resentful look on his face.

Owen rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know this, you jackass? You don’t see the other men wandering off doing whatever they want whenever they feel like it, do you? For God’s sake, just shut up and get back to work. We’ll have no more of this or you’ll both be facing punishment, you hear?”

As Owen turned back to the task at hand, he saw the new midshipman Francis Smithe had appeared and was standing nearby. The young man had obviously watched the scene and now wore an odd look on his face. Owen glared at him in response.

“Well? Do you need me for something or are you just dawdling about?”

The young man stiffened and saluted as he responded, an aggrieved look on his face.

“No sir, I am on my way to see the First Officer with a report he wanted.”

Owen couldn't help scowling. “So why are you standing here? Get on with it.”

Owen’s work party had finished the job an hour later and he was dismissing the men when the First Officer came looking for him. As the men dispersed Lieutenant Smithe drew him to the side, folding his arms as he glared at Owen.

“Mr. Spence. I have a report some of the men were straying from their duties and then arguing with you about it. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sir?”

Lieutenant Smithe sighed in an obvious display his patience was being tried and shook his head.

“Midshipman Smithe reports two of your men were derelict and gave you back talk today. I want to know what happened and what you did about it. Now, sir.”

Owen groaned inwardly as he explained the situation and tried for a hopeful conclusion.

“Lieutenant Spence, these men are the rawest of our recent recruits and know little of our ways. Between the bosun with his starter and myself, we have made progress. I am confident we will have them in line in future, sir. I made it clear to them any more such displays will bring swift punishment.”

He was hoping the way he had dealt with the men would meet with approval as he finished speaking, but the icy look on the First Officer's face dashed the notion.

“Really, Mr. Spence? I think we had better see if the Captain has confidence your approach is best for all concerned.”

The sickening, meaty sounding slash of the latest stroke of the cat across the sailor’s back was different than the first few already delivered. These had seemed like a quick, sharp cracking sound to Owen, but as the red stripes continued appearing, etching deeper and deeper into the man’s flesh, the sound became a muffled, wet slap muted by the blood now being spattered widely across the deck. The bosun’s hands were red with gore as he applied the last few lashes to the second of the two men receiving punishment.

Little time was wasted to summon the crew to hear The Articles of War read aloud and for the Captain to announce his decision. Both Ralston and Hodges were sentenced by the Captain to twenty-four lashes each. Hodges's muffled screams ceased as he went limp and lost consciousness soon after the first twelve were delivered, but Ralston had borne the punishment better. Even so, he was groaning aloud in agony by time the last few strokes were applied.

Owen supervised the working party tasked with cleaning up after the crew was dismissed. Ralston gave him a frozen look of mute anger mixed with pain as he was cut down from the grating he was tied to and a sailor stepped forward to offer him help to go below. Owen made certain none of the other officers were close enough to hear him as he spoke under his breath to the man.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ralston gave him one last quick glance conveying a mixture of both despair and hatred at the same time, before he winced and began moving on. Midshipman Smithe came over and saluted as the blood was rinsed away over the side and a party of men began holystoning the deck to clean the stains.

“The Captain wants to see you, sir. I am to assume charge of the working party.”

Owen glared at him in silence for a few long moments before turning away. The temptation to ask if he was satisfied with the outcome of what he had done was strong, but Owen knew it would only land him in yet more trouble. The Marine standing guard outside the Captain’s cabin saluted and announced him as a visitor. From within came the muffled order to enter.

Owen resisted the urge to look about as he came in, for this was the first time he had come aft to see the Captain. In itself, this was unusual, for most new Captains always hosted a dinner for the officers of the ship soon after taking command as a way to know them better. Captain Smithe had extended invitations to his son and his nephew every night since joining the ship, but none to either Owen or the Second Officer Strand. Owen saluted and focused on the Captain seated at his desk, with the First Officer standing off to the side. The Captain wasted no time, frowning as he spoke.

“Mr. Spence. I am sorely disappointed in you. I expect you believe the punishment I ordered today was excessive, as it was more than the usual minimum punishment. As far as I am concerned, the men need a clear understanding I mean what I say. As for you, I am sad to say there are many more like you out there who believe in coddling the men. Well, I made myself clear when I came aboard, did I not? I simply won’t have any of it. The Navy is built on discipline, sir. You will change your ways in dealing with the men or you will suffer the consequences, sir. The Articles of War apply to you, too. I told you what I wanted and as far as I am concerned, you have disobeyed me. I will be generous this time and merely offer you a warning.”

The Captain sat back in his chair and stared at Owen for a long moment.

“Well, have you anything to say?”

“I understand, Captain. I appreciate your generosity, sir.”

“Do you, now? I expect you are wondering why I am even being generous given our history, aren’t you? No, don’t answer that. You know I am being magnanimous. Your father deserved everything which happened, and I regret nothing. But I am not such an ogre I would hold his son to account, too. As I told you when you came aboard, this situation is not my choice. But make no mistake, if you are going to serve me you will do so on my terms or not at all. There is nothing further to say. You are dismissed.”

“Sir,” said Owen, saluting as he turned and left. His once seemingly bright and boundless future was now shrouded in darkness. Worse, the ship around him felt like a cage.

In the short space of less than two weeks the atmosphere of HMS Wiltshire changed from being a normal Royal Navy ship to one far more muted and fearful. No one could be heard laughing, even when off duty. The men had simply hunkered down to wait for the situation to change, which inevitably it would. The problem was the day when it might happen was nowhere in sight and likely wouldn't be for a very long time. Fortunately, the small convoy the Wiltshire was to shepherd to Jamaica was finally ready to depart, muting the growing frustration of the Captain at their delays. The crew could forget their problems with the work at hand.

Second Officer Strand finally found time to talk to Owen without others to listen in two days out on the journey. The Captain was unhappy with the way the ship was sailing and sent both of them to look at the contents of the hold to see if anything could be shifted to improve the situation. Strand looked all directions to make doubly sure no one was nearby before he spoke.

"Mr. Spence, we find ourselves in an interesting situation, don't you think?"

Owen eyed the man warily, before glancing about himself and responding. While the two men had served together for over five months now, Owen couldn't claim to know him well.

"I expect one could describe it this way, sir."

"Indeed. Mr. Spence, I confess I am rather taken aback at how the Captain is dealing with us, and you in particular. Can I rely on your discretion here, sir?"

"Sir, you can."

"Understanding our situation a little better might help both of us, although I don't know there is much either of us can do about it. You obviously have some history with him. What can you share with me?"

Owen sighed. "Sir, it is a long story, but I will try to condense it. In case you are not aware, the Smithe family is large and very wealthy. The family has several sugar plantations of various sizes throughout the Caribbean and several properties back home. The Captain's uncle is in the House of Lords. I think the Captain himself has plantations out here, but where my family comes into the picture is with his properties in England. My father was involved with him in some small land transactions together and the relationship soured. I met the Captain long ago when I was barely twelve years old, before it all went wrong. I don't know much of the details, since I was just a child. What was relevant to me, you see, was my family nowhere near as wealthy or connected and this is still the case."

"I do see. Go on."

Owen shrugged. "My father reached a point where he understood he was being undercut and he was in clear danger of losing everything. I didn't know at the time, of course. Being as young as I was, I only knew my parents were very worried. The problem the family faced is my father was an honest man. I think once he became involved, he realized there were some elements of very questionable dealings going on and he was not happy about it. He couldn't disentangle himself, and it became so acrimonious he called Captain Smithe out and challenged him. The Captain refused, preferring to settle the matter in court. As I said, they have far more resources than us."

"And your father lost everything."

"Most everything. He was crushed, sir. With what little influence he had left he found me a posting as a midshipman and here I am. I received word some months after sailing I would never see him again. He was found at the base of a cliff, smashed on the rocks. I was told the official story is he was out walking, likely slipped, and fell. I think the truth is he fell into depression at being unable to provide for the family. My mother was equally crushed by this. She had health problems and, I think, simply lost heart and the will to live. She is gone, too."

"And now you have no family left?"

"My younger sister was sent to live with a distant aunt and uncle. I have an older brother in the Army somewhere. I do have other aunts and uncles out there, but I have not seen any of them in years. The Navy has become my family."

"I see. Well, the Captain seems to be bent on maintaining a harsher discipline than either you or I are used to, sir. And his son appears to be of the same mind. No surprise, I guess. I will think on it and your situation in particular, but I see no easy answers to changing this. I don't know, Mr. Spence. Right now, the only way out I can see is to request a transfer or to somehow be invalided off the ship. Both of those courses of action are fraught with obvious problems. Who do you think the Admiral on station is going to listen to, us or the Captain? You could maybe feign an illness, but when would you get another posting? In any case, thank you for your confidence. Of course, this conversation never happened, you understand."

"I understand, sir, and I appreciate your concern."

"Right. Let's get back to business."

When he came off watch later in the evening Owen ate his dinner with little enthusiasm. The Marine Sergeant in the officer's wardroom, a gregarious man named Thomas Dawes, tried engaging him in conversation, but let the attempt go on seeing Owen had no interest in being social. The fact the midshipmen at the table included the Captain's nephew was an inhibiting element for everyone.

Owen had deliberately minimized his interactions with him since the incident with Ralston and Hodges. The young midshipman responded by walking a fine line, offering a knowing smile whenever they did interact which could be interpreted in different ways. He was careful not to give obvious offence, but Owen had little doubt the younger Smithe was all too ready to use his relationship with the Captain and the First Officer to maximum advantage.

The rest of the officers and crew quickly learned the same lesson. Despite being junior to the three other midshipmen the ship was carrying Smithe soon began ruling them with an iron fist. One had already been caned severely by the bosun for a minor misdemeanour while another was mastheaded by the First Officer as punishment for a similar offence. Both punishments were the direct result of Midshipman Smithe bringing the transgressions to the attention of the First Officer.

Owen relented and apologized to the Sergeant, feigning being tired before retiring to the miniscule quarters set aside for him alone. This consisted of a small bunk bed with space underneath for his duffel bag, a tiny desk with a chair and a lockable drawer to keep the little money he had on hand safe, and a hook on the wall to hang his uniforms on. The space was framed by thin wooden screens on either end which could be removed if needed. A sheet pulled across the length of his quarters gave a small measure of privacy. As small as it was, it seemed a welcome refuge where he could let his guard down and be himself.

The problem was he felt as wooden in his small haven as he had come to feel every time he was on duty. The simple joy of being young and proud of having achieved the skills to sail and command a massive Royal Navy frigate was gone. Being forced to constantly present a bland, stiff face to the others on the ship without ever being able to let his guard down was completely foreign.

The worst part was he could do nothing about it and his earlier conversation with Lieutenant Strand had sent him even further to the depths of despair. As he had told the Lieutenant, the Navy was his family and, in fact, his life. He had no one at hand to fall back on if he was forced to leave, and he had few resources to see him through if he did.

His parents gave him a small sum to see him off in his new life when he left home for the Navy, but he had no room for luxuries. Little was left of his meagre pay as a Lieutenant after paying his regular wardroom expenses. Even purchasing new uniforms on being promoted Lieutenant had dwindled his resources alarmingly. As the nation was at peace, he had no prospect of earning more by sharing in the reward of captured enemy ships bought by the prize courts into the Navy.

Owen gave a small sigh as he lay stretched out on his bunk. Realizing how tense he felt he deliberately focused on trying to let it drain away. He knew nothing could be done for now and his only remedy was to stay the course, hoping for a change in fortune. The release he sought from the tension took a long time to come.

"Lieutenant Smithe, what in God's name are they doing on that bloody scow?" said the Captain, an angry look etched on his face as he focused his glass on the last of the six merchant ships following well behind HMS Wiltshire. The Captain had ordered the frigate to tack on hearing a hail from their lookout advising one of their charges was slipping well behind the others.

The First Officer was doing the same as his father, except he was wearing a confused frown on his face. He finally brought his own glass down and turned to Lieutenant Strand. A frustrated tone was obvious in his voice as he spoke.

"Lieutenant, signal those bastards they are to make more sail immediately. Have the gunner fire a gun to make sure they are paying attention. Captain, I don't know what to make of this. I could understand having issues maybe once or twice, but this is the third time today."

Aware of how unhappy the senior officers were, the Second Lieutenant ensured the orders were swiftly carried out. The Captain grunted his approval, but a scowl remained on his face as he replied to his son.

"Well, if they don't get going there won't be a fourth time, because we will fall back and put a shot through their sails to show them who is in charge here."

The bark of the signal gun firing made both men raise their glasses once again, straining to see if their message had any effect. Lieutenant Strand and Owen were standing nearby on the deck and both followed suit. Silence descended for a moment as everyone focused on the scene, before Owen called out a warning.

"Captain! There was puff of smoke mid ship just now. I think someone on the ship fired a swivel gun."

"Yes, I believe he is right," said the First Officer. "I—good God, what is happening on that bloody ship?"

All of the officers stood open-mouthed in shock as the merchant ship fell away from the little convoy in complete disarray, her sails shivering badly. Two of the yards were unable to bear the strain and snapped off, bringing a tangle of rigging crashing to the deck. The Captain let loose a stream of angry curses as he snapped his telescope shut. Finally mastering himself, he turned to the First Officer.

"Bloody lubberly idiots. Lieutenant Smithe, bring us about. Signal the rest of the convoy to heave to while we run down and sort this mess out. So much for making good time to Jamaica. Lieutenant Spence, take Midshipman Smithe and find out what these incompetent bastards are doing. Take Sergeant Dawes and a party of his Marines with you as well. If they are busy shooting at each other, you may need to bash some heads. I'll be in my cabin."

The Captain turned and stalked away toward his cabin before stopping near the entrance. He turned back to glare at Owen.

"And Lieutenant Spence? When I say bash heads, I do mean you will bash heads. I am talking about the first sign of obstinance. I'll have none of your mollycoddling these fools and I don't care about the fact they are civilians. I want this convoy back underway immediately, you hear?"

"I understand, sir," said Owen, but the Captain was already marching back to his cabin.

Ten minutes later the Wiltshire was stationed a hundred yards off the starboard side of the badly wallowing merchant ship. Wary of what they might find, Owen made certain the boarding party was heavily armed and ready for anything. As they rowed closer Owen was able to study the ship better, having had little time to do so before the convoy sailed.

The ship was named The Perfect Lady, but up close she failed miserably at living up to her name. Even at a distance Owen was sceptical about how well maintained this shabby looking old ship was. She was in dire need of fresh paint and, in Owen's experience, this was almost always a tell-tale sign of other problems to be found. Reaching the ship's side, Owen grabbed the rope ladder of the floundering ship with some difficulty. Once he had a firm grip, he barked out orders before he began making his way up the side.

"Right. Marines to follow me smartly. Everyone at the ready, please. God knows what we are going to find here."

Owen couldn't believe the scene before him once he made his way over the railing and steadied himself. The entire main deck was a muddled shamble of tangled rigging, broken spars, and torn sails. In the waist of the ship Owen could see four dead sailors lying in pools of their own blood, undoubtedly the result of a blast from the swivel gun set on a railing at the top of the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. Yet more dead men were strewn about on the quarterdeck itself.

The only living men in sight were sitting clustered around the mainmast. One of them eyed him with a bleary look as Owen approached. With effort he attempted to struggle to his feet. The sailor almost fell on his face as he did, as he was unwilling to let go of the half empty bottle of rum in one of his hands. Blood stained his clothes in several spots, but none of it appeared to be his own. A cutlass dark with drying blood on the blade lay near where he had been sitting. He looked down at the others lying on the deck.

"Avast, lads, thank God, for the Royal Navy is here to save us. Get on your feet."

Finally steadying himself with one hand on the mast he took a quick swig from the bottle before turning to look at Owen, grinning innocently and slurring out a further few words.

"Aye, we've had a right bad time of it, Captain."

"You are drunk. Put the bottle down and listen to me. I am Lieutenant Spence of HMS Wiltshire. Who are you and what in God's name is going on here?"

While Owen was speaking a second man struggled to his feet and tried to take the bottle from the sailor Owen was talking to. Owen intervened, grasping the bottle himself and hurling it overboard. An outraged look appeared on the second sailor's face and he made to throw a punch at Owen, which was easily dodged. Owen kicked him hard in the groin and the sailor fell to the deck, vomiting profusely where he lay. With him out of the way Owen reached out and grabbed the first sailor by his shirt to pull him closer. The reek of sweat, stale breath, and the overpowering scent of cheap rum almost made Owen gag.

"Answer me, damn you, or you will be puking on the deck like him."

The sailor's eyes bulged in fear as he stammered out a response.

"Sir, I am able seaman John James. The Captain and the First Mate tried to murder us all, I swear it. You see for yourself the swivel gun set on the quarterdeck, right? They used it on those dead men over there. We had no choice but to defend ourselves. Sir, they were tyrants. This ship has been a living hell."

Owen was silent for a moment before shaking his head in dismay.

"You imbecile. You have just condemned yourself, because what you are talking about is called mutiny."

Owen shoved the sailor away from him and he stumbled as he fell back, landing hard on the deck with a shocked look on his face. Owen turned to the men waiting behind him, focusing on the Marine Sergeant first.

"Sergeant Dawes, detail a couple of men to guard these fools. If they can find some chains to load them down with then by all means use them. The Captain will decide what to do with this lot. You and the rest of your men are to search the rest of the ship in case there are more of them. If you find more, bring them here and load them down with chains too. Mr. Smithe, have Midshipman Green in the cutter waiting below row back to the ship. He is to request the Captain send our carpenter and a working party to clean this mess up so we can get the ship underway. He can also tell him this appears to be a mutiny and we are still actively investigating. When you have done this you will join me in searching the Captain and First Mate's quarters to see if we can learn more."

As he was finishing speaking the sailor John James struggled back to his feet and made to grab his Owen's shoulder to talk to him again.

"Sir, it wasn't like that, I—"

One of the Marines saw him coming and smashed the butt of his weapon into the man's midriff to stop him. The sailor crumpled and fell to the deck clutching his middle with a groan of agony. The men around Owen began dispersing in all directions. Owen gave the prisoners no more thought and strode over to mount the stairs to the small quarterdeck. He found yet more bloody carnage, as four additional dead bodies were strewn about the deck. All of them bore vicious slash wounds from cutlasses, although one had been run through by a much finer, bloodied sword still in the hand of the man Owen presumed was the dead Captain.

Owen sighed and looked back at the swivel gun pointing into the waist of the ship. These small, portable weapons could easily be mounted anywhere on a railing of a ship and their normal use was against external threats. Because this one was obviously placed to defend against an internal threat spoke volumes, but it changed nothing. Mutiny was mutiny. Midshipman Smithe came up and saluted as Owen was searching the pockets of the dead Captain. He found what he was looking for in the form of a small chain around the man's neck with a key.

"Mr. Green is on way back to the ship, Lieutenant. Orders?"

"Nothing we can do but try and learn more. I expect what this sailor told me will be enough to damn them all, but we must be thorough and do our job, Mr. Smithe. We need to search the cabins and see if we can find a log or a journal to tell us more. I am thinking this key may help. Let's go."

Going below they soon found what was clearly the First Mate's sparse quarters, while Owen was certain the next cabin aft had to belong to the Captain. After a quick look around, he ordered Smithe to do a thorough search of the First Mate's quarters and then join him as he went onward.

Owen frowned when he found the Captain's cabin to be as bereft of belongings as the First Mate's, but he realized this would be in keeping with the poor condition of the ship itself. Owen surmised this was a man living on a knife edge, perhaps only a few steps away from life in a debtor's prison. A ship in such poor condition would be an obvious sign to all but the most desperate men the Captain would pay little, thus attracting the kind of men for the crew who would need harsh discipline to keep them in line.

Finding little of consequence in the man's few belongings Owen turned his attention to the small desk. Most of the drawers held nothing more than normal writing supplies, but the key unlocked one holding what Owen was looking for. He reached in and pulled out a book Owen was certain would be the ship's log, a second small notebook, and a small but heavy bag clinking with the sound of coins. Midshipman Smithe came in as Owen was studying the small notebook.

"Sir, there was nothing of consequence in the First Mate's cabin."

"Right, well, this is what the key unlocked for us. Have a look at the log to see if you can find anything while I deal with this."

"Is that a bag of coins, sir?" said Smithe as he began leafing through the log.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I doubt there is much in it. This notebook seems to be a personal diary, but he is a man of few words. I don't see anything in here raising alarm. Anything of interest in the log, Mr. Smithe?"

"No, sir," said Smithe, quickly leafing through the pages. "This looks to be just the usual navigational notes one would expect. No mention of problems with the crew or even punishment."

"Strange. Right, let's be off."

As he finished speaking a Marine stuck his head in the door.

"Lieutenant? The Sergeant is still below finishing the search, but he is almost done. I am to report a few other men were found below. They were passed out from the drink. They have been brought on deck with the others."

"Thank you. You can tell him I will meet on deck shortly if you see him."

"Shall we bring all of this with us, sir?" said Smithe as the Marine left.

Owen mulled it over for a brief moment. "No, we put it all back in the drawer. The Captain will want to decide what we are going to do."

Owen locked it all back in the drawer, leaving the key in the lock. As they left the cabin Owen looked at Smithe.

"Right. I'm going back on deck to sort this mess out. Find the Sergeant and have him post a Marine to guard the cabin, then report to me on deck."

"Sir," said Smithe, saluting as Owen carried on down the corridor and up the steps to the open deck.

By the time Owen made his way back to the deck the working party from the ship was climbing aboard. Lieutenant Strand had joined the party at the Captain's request, a sign of unhappiness over what was being reported to him. The two officers were soon deep in discussion with the carpenter over what he was seeing. Almost thirty minutes later Lieutenant Strand shook his head and turned to Owen.

"Well, there's nothing for it. This is a bloody mess and I think it will take far too much time to make effective repairs at sea. We will have to take it in tow. You've done enough over here Mr. Spence. Take Mr. Smithe back with you and report to the Captain. I will stay here and supervise with Midshipman Green. It's going to be a slow voyage to Jamaica."

A half hour later Owen was standing in the Captain's cabin making his report. As he finished the Captain slammed a fist on the desk in frustration.

"My God, civilians. You are certain we have no choice but to take them in tow, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, both myself and Lieutenant Strand agree with the carpenter's thinking. The merchant ship has no spare supplies. We would have to use our own stores to make temporary repairs. Even if we did, she would be limping along."

"Damn, damn, damn. Well, I shall make it clear to the Admiral where the fault lies for the delay in our arrival. And the bloody mutineers?"

"They are now in chains in the hold and awaiting your decision, sir."

"Much as I would love to string them up on what is left of their yards, we will leave it for the civilians to decide. You are dismissed."

With HMS Wiltshire a hive of activity taking The Perfect Lady in tow, Owen had little time to focus on anything but the task at hand. He was about to go off watch for some much-needed rest after the job was done when the First Officer appeared beside him. Owen had come to recognize when the man was angered, and he sensed it immediately from the frozen look on his face.

"Mr. Spence. I have a disturbing report about you."

"Sir?"

"I confess I am having difficulty believing this about a Royal Navy officer, but I trust you understand when I am told an officer has stolen something which does not belong to him, I will investigate."

Owen's jaw dropped. "Stolen something? Sir, I have no idea what this is about."

"Mr. Spence, I am told there was a bag of coins in the Captain's cabin on that ship. It was in a small brown coin pouch with a draw string. I am further told you were observed pocketing this. Where is this bag and why did you not report it?"

Owen was shocked, but with effort recovered himself.

"Sir, it is true there was a small bag of coins in the drawer where the Captain kept his log and his diary, which I told the Captain I had examined. I mentioned to him we left everything where it was found. A Marine was posted to guard the cabin. I swear to you I did not take the money."

"Really. Well, if this is the case then you will not object to a search of your belongings."

"Of course, sir. Please, let's proceed."

After making their way below Owen gestured at his meagre belongings in his bunk and stood to the side as Lieutenant Smithe worked his way through it all. The Lieutenant briefly examined the money in Owen's locked desk, but he soon left it for Owen's money was in a dark green bag. The last item he chose to search was the duffel bag. The Lieutenant stiffened as he reached the bottom and turned to look at Owen before pulling a bag out, holding it up for inspection. Owen stared open-mouthed, not believing what he saw, for this was the same bag from The Perfect Lady.

"Let's go, Mr. Spence. We will discuss this with the Captain."

Owen followed the First Officer aft and saw Midshipman Smithe standing off to the side on the quarterdeck, wearing the same knowing smile Owen had come to loathe. Owen was thinking furiously as they went and in a flash it all became clear. Unable to resist he stalked over to him, steaming with anger. In a grating, low voice Owen made certain only the Midshipman would hear him.

"You evil little shit. This is your doing. I swear to God, you will pay for this."

"Mr. Spence! Get back here this instant." barked Lieutenant Smithe, after suddenly realizing Owen was no longer behind him. "Now, sir!"

An hour later the breadth of the plot against Owen was laid bare. Midshipman Smithe testified to the Captain he saw Owen surreptitiously pocket the bag before leaving the cabin without knowing he was being observed. The Marine who poked his head in the door confirmed the bag now sitting on the centre of the Captain's desk was the same one he had seen on The Perfect Lady. Midshipman Green affirmed he was off duty in the officer's quarters and thought he saw Owen dash in briefly to rummage in his belongings after returning from the merchant ship.

Owen had stared hard at Midshipman Green as he spoke, but the young man refused to look at him. Owen understood why, for he was the youngest and most timid of the midshipmen on board. A scenario where Midshipman Smithe had either bribed or more likely threatened him into saying what he did was all too possible to imagine. Even as young as he was, Midshipman Green knew well where the power lay on board HMS Wiltshire. All Owen could do was to testify to what he knew was the truth, but it wasn't good enough for the Captain.

"Well, Mr. Spence. I have heard all I need to here. I believe I pointed out to you once before The Articles of War apply to you. This kind of behaviour is a breach of so many of them I hardly know which one to apply first. But as you are an officer, this requires a court martial. We will undoubtedly find sufficient Captains in Jamaica to convene one. I cannot have you continuing to serve until this is resolved. Lieutenant Spence will have a separate space prepared for you, as I'll not have your taint in the wardroom any longer. You will confine yourself to whatever space is prepared for you until we reach Jamaica. Now get out of my sight and await the Lieutenant on deck."

"Sir," said Owen, saluting perfunctorily before turning to leave. As he did, he saw Midshipman Smithe standing behind the two senior officers where they couldn't see him. The young man openly smirked with glee at Owen for the barest moment. And as Owen walked out of the cabin, he heard the Captain speaking once again.

"Harold, we have a gap to fill because of this. I will make Francis here acting Lieutenant to help out until we reach Jamaica. With any luck the Admiral will see fit to find a ship for your own and we can make Francis's acting permanent."

Chapter Three

Three days later Owen climbed ashore from the rowboat to step on the main dock of The Pallisadoes. He was once again carrying his duffel bag, now considerably lighter than before. After paying for his ride across the harbour he made his way down the street past the waterfront taverns already serving their first customers of the day, heading for the shop he remembered seeing the day he was ordered off the ship three weeks before. He recognized the intersecting street and plunged into a much narrower passageway, soon finding the small shop he wanted.

The shop was mercifully empty except for a grizzled, grey bearded man standing behind the counter. This suited Owen perfectly, for he had come to sell his uniforms and was hoping he wouldn't encounter anyone he knew while doing so. Owen walked over to the counter with his bag and explained what he wanted to do. The old man's eyes widened slightly on hearing what was on offer and he stared for a long moment at Owen with much more interest than he had shown when he walked in the door. Owen sensed the unspoken question in the man's mind, but it never came. The old man gestured instead at the bag.

"Let's see what you have."

Owen pulled out his one dress uniform and his two day-to-day working uniforms and spread them on the counter. The old man began carefully examining each for flaws or stains which likely wouldn't come out. After five minutes he finished his examination, put them down, and stepped back a little to rub his chin in thought for a moment.

"Right. The dress uniform is in very good shape. Hasn't seen much use, has it? And not too old, either. The working uniforms have seen their share of duty, but I'd say they are in decent shape. I think I can sell these without much difficulty, but you have a choice. One option is you can leave them with me on consignment and hope someone needing them comes in soon. We settle on a price range we are both happy with and see what happens. This will likely make you more money, but it may take more time than you want. If you don't want to wait, the other option is you can sell them to me, but you might not like the price I am offering you."

Knowing how limited his resources were, Owen saw little choice and asked him to make his offer to buy them outright. The sum the old man named wasn't as low as Owen thought it might be, but it was nowhere near what he had actually hoped for. Owen let his disappointment show and decided to try bargaining.

"Well, it isn't what I had in mind, for I need funds to buy more civilian clothes for myself, sir."

The old man shrugged. "Hmm, why don't you look around the shop? I have plenty of items on hand which might meet your needs and if you are going to help me move some of my product, I can take this into account. We can talk more when you are ready."

An hour later Owen walked out of the shop pleased with himself, for his duffel bag was now a little fuller than when he walked in and it held a whole new set of clothing for himself. He knew a market existed for used uniforms which could be adjusted easily to fit a newly appointed officer cheaper than the price for a new one. Owen had also correctly reasoned the best marketplace for this was The Pallisadoes, where Navy personnel came and went all the time. While he hadn't left with as much coin as he wanted, he knew he would have had to spend it on more clothes for himself regardless. The hard bartering with the old man wasn't something he was used to, but Owen felt both of them had come away happy with the outcome.

His other reason for coming to The Pallisadoes was to visit the Dockyard to collect his remaining pay. After presenting himself to the guard post at the entrance he was given directions to the Pay Master's office off in a corner of the facility. The Dockyard seemed a hive of activity, which was no surprise to Owen. July marked the advent every year of the start of hurricane season in the Caribbean and few ships would venture to sea unless they had an excellent reason to do so. While September was always the most active month for these destructive, massive storms, they were known to sometimes appear as early as July and as late as November each year.

As every Navy warship always had some repairs which needed attention, the Captain of each ship in harbour wanted it all to happen while their ships were idle. Owen saw numerous parties from the ships working side by side with the Dockyard personnel. Pitch and tar, copper and lumber, and cordage and canvas were all in heavy demand. A swarm of carpenters were hard at work in the saw pit, shaping the raw wood to whatever was in need.

Owen saw several sailors off HMS Wiltshire, but he steered clear of them as much as possible and thankfully no one recognized him in his civilian clothes. A half dozen clerks were in the Pay Master's office marking their ledgers under the direction of an older man who came over to examine Owen's papers. He grunted acknowledgment and directed Owen to sit in the small waiting room, shuffling off into a back room.

Owen was glad no one had recognized him or commented on his situation. Since the day at the beach with Isabella, Owen had spent a lot of time thinking about his situation. He knew he had to break with a past he could not change and focus on building a new life for himself. He was unashamed of his situation, for he knew it wasn't of his making, but he simply wanted to move on without any reminders of the past.

A half hour later he walked out of the Pay office and made his way back to the dock. Stepping off the shore of The Pallisadoes and onto the small rowboat to go back to Kingston it felt like he was finally making the break he needed. He resisted the urge to look back one last time, despite knowing he would likely never have need to return.

Back at The Spanish Rose he made his way to his room to put his new clothes away. After combining the remainder of his pay with what he already had on hand, he considered how long he could make his money last. Owen knew if he was careful, he could pay for his room and feed himself for three or perhaps four months, but this was all. He was wrestling with the anxiety which came unbidden when Isabella knocked on his door and came in.

"I just heard you were back. Owen, I have someone I want you to meet. He may be able to find you work."

Owen's heart soared on hearing this and he stood up from his chair to pull her close.

"My God, you are an angel. Aside from meeting you, this is the best thing to happen to me in weeks."

Her eyes flashed and she smiled up at him as she returned his grasp with equal desire.

"I'll think of some way you can reward me later. But Owen, I must warn you. This man is hard and not the most pleasant customer I have ever had. He works as an overseer on one of the plantations. He wants me, which is why he keeps coming to drink here when he is in town, but I have kept him at bay. The thing is he pays good money, so I talk to him. It is unusual for him to be in Kingston in July, because this is a very busy time on the plantations, so I asked him why he was in town. Owen, he is here looking for a sailor. Someone who can navigate and command a ship."

Owen nodded. "A hard case, eh? It won't be the first time I've dealt with someone who fits the description. Let's go meet him."

The tough looking, heavily muscled man nursing a mug of heady smelling rum in the tavern appeared even rougher than Isabella had characterized him, but Owen was unfazed, for the man could easily have traded places with any of the common seamen on board a Royal Navy ship. Owen judged him to be in his early forties, darkly tanned from obviously being outside constantly. An evil looking scar ran down the side of his face and his arms were heavily tattooed. Isabella introduced him as Samuel Butcher. He didn't offer a hand to shake and neither did Owen, but the man eyed him appraisingly before finally speaking.

"Isabella says you are a sailor. Tell me about yourself."

Owen decided to be truthful about his situation, so in as few words as possible he told his story. Owen tried to finish by telling of the court martial and emphasizing his innocence, but Samuel cut him off.

"Yes, yes, I don't give a shit about that. You're ex-Navy, which means you can sail and navigate, and you are here needing work. Well, you timed this right, because I came here looking for someone to do this and couldn't find anyone till now."

"All right, what is the work and what is the pay?"

"The pay you will have to talk to the owner about, if you meet with his approval. The work is to command his sloop based out of Old Harbour. Ferry people and goods back and forth around the island. If you want this, you'll have to come with me tomorrow to the plantation to meet him. I'll bring you back if for some reason he rejects you, but I can't imagine why he would, since he needs you. So, you in?"

Owen didn't hesitate. "I'm in."

The overseer finished his drink, rose from his chair, and threw some money on the table to pay for the rum.

"I'll pick you up here a half hour after dawn tomorrow. It's too bloody hot out there to travel inland later in the day."

As he stalked out Owen and Isabella turned to each other as one.

"Well, what do you think?" she said.

"I still think you are an angel, and I don't know how to thank you. I also don't know if this will work out, but I will give it my best effort. I can't believe this will be my last night here. I must settle my account with you."

Isabella grinned. "You certainly must. I think I'll come to your room later to do that."

Owen laughed. "What a fine idea."

The overseer was true to his word. Knowing they had to be up early, both Owen and Isabella made a point of retiring to his room after dinner and exhausted themselves to a point where both slept soundly until woken by Isabella's kitchen helper. By the time he had washed up and downed a quick breakfast the man appeared in the doorway to the Inn. Isabella gave him a big hug before watching him climb onto the waiting cart with his duffel bag. The overseer smirked and got the cart underway as Owen waved goodbye.

"Found your way into her bed, did you? Congratulations, you are doing better than me. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The women can't resist those bloody uniforms."

Owen grinned and shifted to make himself more comfortable. "How long is the ride to the plantation?

Samuel shrugged and cracked his whip. "Maybe four or five hours, depending on how fast I can get this old nag to move. It's twenty-seven miles inland, which isn't really all that far. The problem is there is a section where it is two thousand feet uphill with no way around it, unless you want to take days and not hours getting there. We'll have to change horses a few times. We'll trade this old beast we have now for something a lot younger once we get out of Kingston."

Owen tried engaging the man in more conversation a few times, but as the day grew warmer the overseer seemed to become more taciturn, so Owen gave up trying. They passed through several areas of the sprawling town which even at this time of the day seemed unsafe. Most of the people they saw were black, and no one was smiling. Numerous ramshackle shops and taverns already had customers, who eyed the two men warily. Many of them stepped out into the road and stood near the cart as it passed by, begging for food or money. Owen realized most were older and several were missing limbs or had other deformities. Several had scars from being horribly burned in the past. A few women lingered in some of the doorways, calling out to offer their services.

To Owen's shock, a blind beggar with a cane to guide him was almost crushed under the cart as he came out from his hut to beg for alms. The overseer saw what was about to happen and swung the cart out of the way in time with an oath. As the cart went by the overseer reached out with his whip and slashed the beggar across the chest. The man cried out and stumbled back, falling into a nearby pile of reeking garbage.

"I say, weren't you a bit harsh?" said Owen, still stunned at what had happened. "The man was clearly blind."

Samuel looked askance at Owen, before grunting and turning back to stare at the road ahead.

"So what? The stupid bastard was getting in our way. If you think it was harsh, think again. Wait till you get to the plantation. You'll see. But it’s time to forget about it. Get your sword out and keep it visible. We're coming to a part of town where anything can happen. I normally avoid this if I'm on my own, but coming this way is a lot shorter. Because there are two of us, they likely won't try an attack. We'll be through it soon enough."

Owen quickly realized the overseer had not understated the need for vigilance. Owen was forced to brandish his sword and threaten three men carrying clubs and knives who rushed out from behind a shack they were passing, trying to block the cart. The overseer alternated slashing at two of the men on one side and driving the horse hard right through them without stopping, while Owen aimed a cut with his sword at the third man. His victim fell hard to the ground with a wound to his arm and didn't get up.

As the decrepit shacks finally began thinning out Owen knew they were at the outskirts of town, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Soon after the road began to slope gently up and with every step the now tired horse slowed ever more. The overseer cursed and cracked his whip on an almost constant basis.

Owen was surprised the horse responded and made more effort, but he soon learned the real reason it did so was the beast knew its job would soon be over. Once past the edge of town they came to a small clearing beside the road with a dark green canopy of dense foliage and undergrowth on all sides. Owen realized this was the way station the horse was happy to see, with a small barn and a tiny shack attached to it. A slave came out to unharness the horse and lead a fresh animal from the barn. As the overseer predicted, this horse was much younger.

Two hours later they finally reached the summit of the hill. The rough road upwards was lined with the dense, thick green foliage Owen was now accustomed to seeing, a seeming canyon carved through the canopy of forest offering little to see on most of the journey. In a few steeper sections it deviated from the simple straight uphill path and wound back and forth in a series of switchbacks, affording periodic, short glimpses of the broader landscape ahead of them. Owen saw ranges of rolling, low green hills in the far distance which ultimately touched the distant shoreline of the sea. Dotting the vista before him were large patches of obviously cultivated lands too numerous to count. At the top was yet another way station where their final fresh horse was obtained.

The route down was a much gentler slope leading to the broad plain before them. Signs of human activity were appearing everywhere, beginning with the terraces filled by rows of plants. When Owen asked about them Samuel told him they were coffee plants. As they finally reached more level terrain the terraces gave way to seemingly endless fields of sugarcane, some of which had already been harvested.

Occasional parties of slaves crossed their path from one field to another on their way to yet more tasks. Large empty carts pulled by either mules or oxen followed behind the slave gangs, while those already filled to the brim with cut cane stalks went the opposite direction. As more and more large carts joined them on the road going the same direction as the two men, Owen realized they were all going to the same place.

After rounding a bend in the road Owen saw they had undoubtedly reached their destination. Several buildings clustered to one side of the road were obviously the heart of the plantation's operations. On the opposite side a wide, manicured lawn with numerous flowering plants and trees led to a white manor house gleaming in the sunshine on a small rise in the distance. Further past the barns and other buildings could be seen a large number of small huts and shacks interspersed with small garden plots. A host of slaves with white overseers were at work everywhere. Surprised at the sheer scale of activity, Owen frowned and turned to the overseer.

"Samuel, this is a huge operation. I recall Isabella said something to me about this being a busy time of year. I can see she wasn't wrong."

The overseer grimaced. "It's not supposed to be quite this busy right now. Normally, the main harvest of the cane is done in May and June. It's the driest part of the year. Doing it then means the sugar can be on its way no later than July. The problem is insurance rates start going crazy by late July because of hurricane season, right? Plus, the owners need the cash to stay afloat. They've had to pay plenty for supplies and to keep people like me at work."

"I see. He can't wait until maybe October or November when it's safer?"

This time Samuel shrugged. "He can if he has the resources, but by the fall prices will likely be lower because everyone else has gotten their crop to market."

"This all means there were problems this year?"

"Yeah. It was rainier than normal. A shortage of people didn't help. Prices for slaves are up this year. The owner hedged his bets he could get by with purchasing fewer than we wanted to meet our gaps, but he was wrong, as I knew he would be. He's a stubborn bastard when it comes to money."

The overseer pulled up outside one of the barns as he finished speaking and gave the reins to a slave who appeared from within to deal with the horse and cart. Telling Owen to bring his bag the two men walked over to a building which proved to be quarters for the various white overseers on the plantation. Owen was given a tiny room and told to meet Samuel outside after stowing his belongings. Owen found the man in conversation with another white man on leaving the building. The overseer didn't bother introducing Owen before the man nodded to Samuel and left. Samuel turned back to Owen.

"You'll have to meet Mr. Westfall in the morning. He is away on the far side of the plantation and isn't going to be back until late tonight."

"I see. Is there anything I should do in the meantime?"

Samuel shrugged. "After we get something to eat, I suppose you can follow me while I check on how matters stand here. It couldn't hurt for you to learn a bit about the operation."

One of the buildings turned out to be a massive kitchen dedicated to feeding the large numbers of workers. Owen and Samuel sat at a table in a separate area marked off for whites only to use. The food on offer was remarkably good. A tasty fish soup with fresh bread was provided to start, followed by grilled chicken and local vegetables Owen couldn't identify. Owen commented on the quality as they ate.

"Mr. Westfall makes sure we are fed well. The slaves don't get anything quite this good, of course. Salt fish for them, plus whatever else is cheap and filling."

After lunch the two men headed out and made their way into the heart of the operation. Samuel stopped several people to get reports from them. Owen listened with interest to each and soon realized everyone was behaving in a deferential manner to the man. After yet another such conversation Owen asked him about it. The overseer gave him a sharp look.

"Perhaps I didn't make it clear to you. Yes, I am one of several overseers here, but I am also the lead overseer for all of the owner's operations. They all report to me and I report to the owner. In other words, yes, I will be your boss if the owner decides to hire you."

As the afternoon wore on Owen followed the overseer about, learning what the plantation did while they went. The piles of raw sugarcane coming from the fields went to a mill where it was fed into a series of huge rollers powered by oxen which squeezed juice from the cane. Some of the juice went straight into fermentation vats which after the distillation process would produce rum, while the rest was subjected to a process of boiling and skimming away impurities.

The refining process resulted in molasses which was collected into sugar moulds and hogsheads of muscovado sugar. Owen could see the entire process was dangerous and demanding. He was glad to be standing in shade as he watched it, for he could feel the enormous heat radiating from the boiling vats even standing well out of the way as he was. He remembered the men with horrific burns they had seen on their journey to the plantation, and he surmised their injuries were likely accidents involving this process. With the sticky humidity of the afternoon Owen was amazed the slaves could tolerate the blazing heat and he mentioned it to the overseer. Samuel merely grunted with indifference.

"God gave them thicker skins than white people so they could do things like this. The owners tried long ago to use indentured whites to do the job and they didn't last long enough to make the investment in them worthwhile. But these blacks are just beasts, you know, and are perfectly suited for this. You need to treat them as such. You would do well to remember it if you are going to work with us."

Although he knew such blatant racism existed, Owen had never been confronted with it so directly before. During his time in the Navy Owen had served with a few black sailors recruited to fill never ending gaps in the ranks of the ships. In his experience the black sailors were as capable as anyone else on the ship and what really mattered to most officers and their shipmates was they did their job. Owen knew some Royal Navy officers felt the same as the overseer, but most either did not or kept their opinions to themselves. Samuel's thinking made no sense to Owen as a result, but he was forced to stay silent. He needed the job.

As they moved to the next series of buildings Owen was surprised to find all manner of different crops were being harvested for sale by the plantation. Small amounts of cocoa, tobacco, pimento, ginger, and indigo was being processed in addition to a larger amount of coffee from the terraces they had passed on their journey. Owen found a huge, sloped glacis platform occupied another spot nearby where an enormous quantity of coffee beans was laid out to dry and cure in the sun before being cleaned.

"I'm surprised at the number of alternative crops you are growing, Samuel. I thought most of the plantations had switched to sugar alone."

"Most have, because this is where the real money is. Mr. Westfall has some lands more suited to other crops, though. If it makes him money, he is happy."

On a different route back to their quarters at the end of the day Owen was shocked to find a young, naked black man chained to a large post sunk into the ground. Heavy manacles around his neck, wrists, and ankles held him in place. He was slumped against the post in a pool of his own reeking urine and faeces. Owen could see the manacles had chafed his skin raw in several places. As they came nearer to the slave another overseer going the opposite direction aimed a kick at the man as he went by. The slave scowled and roused himself, grabbing a handful of his excrement. Stretching the limit of the manacles around his wrists, he flung it at the overseer who had kicked him.

Enraged at being splattered with it, the overseer immediately pulled a small whip out of his belt and began beating the slave. Owen couldn't believe what he was seeing and was even more surprised at the indifference Samuel showed to it as they walked on past the scene. Owen couldn't stop himself from commenting on it.

"My God, Samuel. I know you said I would have to get used to this, but what did he do to deserve being chained to this pole?"

Samuel shrugged. "Who knows? He undoubtedly did something. He is one of the newest slaves on the plantation. It takes a while to break some of them in, especially the young males. We have to show them who is in charge here. Don't lose any sleep over it."

"But how long will he be chained there?"

"As long as it takes. Two or three days without food or water while the bugs feast on him will change his attitude."

Owen lapsed into silence as he contemplated the scene now behind them. He was used to harsh and sometimes arbitrary discipline in the Navy, but this was taking punishment to a whole new horrible level. Owen was appalled, but once again his desperate need for the work forestalled him and he spoke no more. As the two men neared their quarters a group of young female slaves crossed their path on their way to another building. They showed no interest in the two men, but Samuel stopped to scrutinize them as they went by. When the last of them were past he turned to Owen.

"Well, what do you think? There are some new ones in the bunch and a couple you could almost call comely. I think I'll sample one of them tonight. Hey, you want one, too?"

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"Don't be dense, man. I'm talking about bedding one of them tonight. It costs you nothing, if this is what you are wondering, and they aren't in a position to say no. Think of it as a perk of the job."

"I see. Uh, Isabella kept me up late last night, so I think I'll pass. Thanks for the offer."

"A young studhorse like you needs to recharge? Isabella is that good, is she?"

The overseer laughed as he slapped Owen on the shoulder without waiting for an answer.

"Suit yourself. Let's get some dinner."

Owen was on edge the next day as he followed Samuel into a rear entrance of the manor house, knowing how important the coming interview with the owner was. Inside the manor was an entirely different world. Even though Owen knew they were coming in via the servant's entrance, he was stunned at the sudden opulence on display.

The well-organized, spotless kitchen was the first area they passed, a sure sign of more wealth than Owen had ever seen. He had a glimpse of the manor's parlour with immaculate furniture, hardwood floors, panelled walls, and crown mouldings as they passed it in a hallway to the owner's office at the rear of the building. Owen sensed this owner was enjoying far more wealth than he had imagined, and he resolved not to sell his services cheaply.

As the two men entered the owner simply pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk, without bothering to get up to greet them. He made them wait as he finished making some entries in a journal, before finally closing it and looking at Samuel.

"Well? What have you got for me?"

Samuel introduced Owen and explained why he was here. The owner raised an eyebrow at mention Owen was now an ex-Royal Navy officer.

"Tell me your story, Mr. Spence."

When he finished Owen emphasized he was not guilty of the offence he was accused of, as he had done when he first told his story to Samuel. The owner cut him off in mid-sentence with a brusque wave of his hand.

"Don't waste my time, Mr. Spence. Everyone says they are innocent. Look, you aren't going to be the first thief I've ended up employing. What you need to understand is if you are caught stealing from me you won't just be sent packing with a slap on your wrist, like in the Navy. You'll be beaten to within a hair's breadth of your life, you hear? And only then will you be shoved out the door."

"I understand, sir."

"Right, you were an officer, so this means you can sail and navigate. I'm sure Samuel here told you I have a sloop to ferry goods about the island. The crew are slaves and will need discipline, far more than whatever the Navy might hand out. We'll see how you do. The only thing left then is to sort out your pay."

The owner eyed Owen speculatively for a moment before naming a monthly sum. Owen kept his face bland as he quickly thought about the offer, which was slightly better than the minimum he was hoping for. The problem was the sum was also little more than what a Navy Lieutenant made. Owen calculated the owner knew the Navy rates of pay and was counting on it to satisfy Owen. What the owner had not expected was Owen had already made up his mind not to settle for the minimum, recalling Samuel had inadvertently given a hint when they first met of facing trouble finding someone for the job.

As bad as he needed the work, Owen reasoned he had little to lose. Deliberately letting a dismayed look appear on his face, Owen slowly shook his head and politely told the owner he was expecting better. The owner folded his arms, scowled, and rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Spence, do you know what the costs are to run a plantation? They are enormous, and I make minimal profit. If I paid outrageous wages like you want to all of my men, I wouldn't be in business for very long."

Owen briefly looked around the room at the fine furnishings it held. An expensive crystal decanter with glasses sat on a side table nearby. The beautiful crown mouldings he saw in the parlour were also in the owner's office, while the desk the man was sitting at had without doubt cost a fortune. Owen said nothing about it all, letting his look around the room speak for itself.

"I understand, sir. I am certain you have many challenges, but so do I. I must look to my own interests, just as you do. If necessary, I will return to Kingston and seek employment elsewhere."

The owner groaned and got up from his desk to go pour himself a drink, staying silent as he did. At first Owen was afraid he had gone too far, but the longer the silence stretched the more certain Owen was he had correctly judged the man's need. The owner finally sat back down in his chair and named another sum, higher than the first. He gave Owen what was obviously intended to be a stern look as he did.

"This is the best I am prepared to offer right now. Consider yourself on probation if you accept it. If you serve me well, we will speak again six months from now. I can be a generous man to those who meet my needs. Well, make a decision, Mr. Spence."

"Six months," said Owen, rubbing his chin to pretend he was still thinking about the offer, when in reality he was elated. "All right, I can prove my worth by then. I accept."

"Excellent. There is no time to waste. You and Samuel will depart today for Old Harbour. I have far too much product stacked in my warehouse waiting to be moved to Kingston and you need to get it there fast. Samuel knows what to do. Good day, sirs."

As they left the manor house and made their way to their quarters to get their belongings Owen watched Samuel look around in all directions, obviously ensuring no one was either watching or listening to them. With a satisfied look the overseer turned to Owen and let a huge grin slowly appear on his face.

"Congratulations, I didn't think you had it in you. You played him well. You are going to need those negotiating skills from time to time. You probably don't want to know you maybe could have demanded even more, but I think you came out of this all right."

"Even more? Is he really so desperate?"

"I would say so. Even I don't know the whole picture, but it is true he needs to get product to market and do it fast or his profits won't be anywhere near as fat as he wants them. If I were you, I wouldn't pay too much attention to his complaints of poverty. His goal is to return to England in less than five years from now, taking a ship full of money with him. He won't be the first owner to pull it off around here. He'll put me in full charge of the operation before he leaves, and I'll be set for life. So be useful to both of us and you too could be set for life."

"I see. I'll think about it."

The journey to Old Harbour was on a winding road snaking further west around the high hills they traversed on the trip from Kingston. While not as steep, they still needed several fresh horses at way stations along the route to complete the journey, for this time they were accompanied by other larger carts hauling casks filled with all manner of produce from the plantation. They made good time as most of the journey was downhill to the coast and the last third of the route was along a flat plain leading to the town.

Old Harbour proved to be perhaps a third the size of Kingston, but the distant glimpse Owen had of the port itself as they rode into town gave him the sense of being as busy as its larger rival. Numerous warehouses lined the wharves of the town blocking his view of the harbour, but he knew a host of ships of various sizes would be tied up and in the process of loading or unloading all manner of cargoes. The overseers worked the slaves hard to store everything away by the end of the day. Owen was impressed at the size of the Westfall plantation's warehouse near the dock, which was indeed filled almost to capacity when the latest shipment was added.

Leaving the others to finish the work the two men walked the short distance to the docks where Owen was expecting to see his new ship. What he found instead was a host of shallow draught barges tethered to the shore and he looked at Samuel with puzzlement. The overseer grinned and pointed out to sea, where further out in the bay lay numerous larger ships at anchor.

"She's out there with all the rest. The good thing about this harbour is it is relatively close to Kingston, where most of the shipping comes and goes from. The bad thing is the shallow water close inshore, which means using these barges to get everything to and from the ship. It's a pain in the arse, but what can you do? This is the fastest route to get the product to market. We'll get out to the ship first thing in the morning. But enough of this, let's go get a drink."

Owen thought he would be bunking for the night in a local inn, but instead found himself staying in quarters in the warehouse itself, where separate spaces for both the slaves and the overseers who worked there were built. The warehouse even held a small kitchen facility to feed everyone, who were all up at dawn and soon back at work.

Owen and Samuel caught a ride on the first barge laden with barrels of sugar out to the ship. He couldn't help laughing aloud as they drew near enough to The Fair Mermaid he could make out details of her appearance, for she was nowhere close to living up to the name. Samuel grinned and seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"I hope you weren't expecting better. She's a right shabby old bitch, but she gets the job done."

After having scoured every area of the ship two hours later Owen found himself agreeing with the overseer. No sailor would be attracted to the overall appearance of this ship, but maintenance where needed was done. The ship was a fore and aft gaff rigged sloop which Owen judged to be 70 tons and almost fifty feet in length with only one mast. He frowned when Samuel told him his crew numbered just twenty men, but his needs would depend on what he was expected to do, so he didn't pursue the question further. In the end he had only one real concern.

"Samuel, what do we do if we have to defend ourselves? I've not seen any weapons."

"You run if you are in trouble. You won't be sailing anywhere other than along the coast of the island, so the odds someone might come after you are slim. Any real problems you might have are more likely to come from the crew, which is why there are a couple of swivel guns and other weapons stored in a locker in your cabin."

By the end of a day involving a blur of endless details to learn and decisions to be made, the ship was fully loaded and ready to sail. Learning who had what skills among his crew was the most important task. All the men crewing the ship with him were black slaves, except for a white overseer named John, who had numerous roles. The most important of these was to serve as his bosun to maintain discipline. Owen looked at the crew with a wary eye, in much the same way as they appeared to be doing to him. They would all learn about each other soon enough.

With the cargo finally secured Owen began issuing a series of orders to raise the anchor, loosen the sails, and get the ship underway. Owen stood by the helmsman to gauge how the ship responded and was soon satisfied the overseer was correct, for The Fair Mermaid would indeed serve. As they steered out to sea Samuel came over wearing a puzzled look on his face.

"Owen? Aren't you going the wrong direction?" he said, pausing to point. "Kingston is over there."

"I know. Don't worry, we will get there."

"Uh, most of the previous Captains of this ship, including the last one, always hugged the coastline."

Owen shrugged. "I'm not the previous Captain. Until I've had time to study the charts, this ship isn't going anywhere near the coast other than to sail into a harbour. You wouldn't want the bottom ripped out from under us, would you? Besides, it would take forever to get to Kingston staying inshore and following the coast. I don't know why the last Captain would do that, unless he was someone who had no confidence in his navigation skills. But mark my words, we are going to pick up a nice offshore wind very soon which will have us at our destination a lot faster than we would if we just hugged the coastline. We will tack as soon as we catch it."

"I see. Well, finding you seems a bit of good luck. The last Captain was a drunkard."

"Oh? You had to let him go?"

"He drowned. He was so drunk he fell overboard. By the time they got the ship back to him he was gone."

Samuel told Owen how impressed he was when, as Owen predicted, they arrived in early afternoon after having made excellent time to Kingston Harbour. The product was quickly offloaded straight into yet another waterfront warehouse. As soon as space on the ship came free provisions for the plantation stored in the warehouse were brought out, but the other overseers supervised it all. Owen spent his time in port following Samuel about as he connected with other merchants in port to negotiate sales of the product. Owen was soon bewildered at the prices and the nuances of the negotiation process, but he followed as best he could. As the day ended Samuel took his leave of Owen.

"Right, I am staying and will be here for a few days. Keep bringing the product here just as you did today. Don't worry much about the negotiation process as it is really my job, but I will authorize you to conduct some yourself once you have a better idea of how it all works. The overseers in the warehouses know what to do anyway even if I am not around. All you need concern yourself with for now is to get the ship back and forth."

"Just one question, Samuel. Is this all there is to it, sailing back and forth between here and Old Harbour?"

The overseer shrugged. "Most of the time. The only other place you will go periodically is Black River, as a fair number of ships pick up cargo there, too. It's further away, but if it is where we have to take the product to sell it, then we will."

Owen spent the night on the ship itself. One of the crew doubled as cook for the men and he served up a basic meal which made up in quantity for what it lacked in quality. His sleep was fitful as he was unused to the strange new quarters he was in, but he woke with the dawn and the rest of the crew. After a quick breakfast they were on their way within an hour.

Two hours into the return trip John was below checking on the cargo when Owen noticed one of the lines used to tether the ship to the dock when in port was not stowed properly. He ordered one of the sailors to deal with it and went back to paying attention to ensuring the helmsman was staying on course. A few minutes later he looked back and realized the job was still undone.

Owen stalked over to the man, who was standing near the mast talking with two other sailors. As the sailor turned with a quizzical look to face him Owen drove his fist hard into the man's midsection, crumpling him to the deck. Owen hauled him back to his feet still clutching his stomach in pain as the other two sailors stood back looking shocked. Owen looked briefly at the others as he pulled the man close.

"Right, you all need to understand something. I will be firm and fair with you. When I order you to do something, you bloody do it. If you do your job, it will be fine. But I'm sure you all know by now I was Royal Navy. I am used to having men flogged for disobeying me. It won't bother me to have the same done to you if necessary. Now get over there and fix the goddamn line."

The three men were silent for a moment before nodding and the man Owen had punched went to do his bidding. Owen stalked back to the quarterdeck and resumed watching to ensure the now wide-eyed helmsman stayed on course. Owen sighed to himself, wondering if the man's failure to follow orders was a deliberate test of his resolve or whether he was merely one of those who needed to be prodded constantly. Applying punishment was not something Owen had ever wanted to do, but he understood the need for discipline on every ship afloat. Too many things could go wrong without it.

Owen found the November weather in Kingston far more bearable than during the first few sticky, hot summer months he had endured during the rainy season. The weeks turned into months so fast he couldn't believe it was now five full months since his life in the Navy came to such an abrupt end. The wound of parting from his former life still seemed raw when he thought about it, despite slowly growing less so. Of necessity he had learned much and being as busy as he was helped. But with most of the crops harvested and the product away to market, the demand to be constantly shuttling from Old Harbour to Kingston and back was considerably less.

Left with more time to himself, he worked to gain a better understanding of what was happening around him. He was fascinated to learn Old Harbour and, in particular, Kingston saw visiting merchant ships coming from a huge variety of ports. Sailors and ships arriving from the Guinea coast with new slaves came in to drop them off, before picking up sugar and molasses for transport to England. Once there they would offload the product and load provisions to take back to Guinea in an endless triangular route. Other ships from Newfoundland and Acadia, along with those from a host of American ports along the eastern seaboard brought provisions such as saltfish and corn along with lumber for casks and all manner of other products not available on the island.

Having personally seen the amount of trade goods moving back and forth he now had a better appreciation of how right Samuel was, for it was plain the owner of the plantation was undoubtedly far richer than he pretended to be. Both towns had active slave markets which came to life when one or more slavers appeared in harbour. The sums exchanging hands for their human cargo were staggering. A young male slave who appeared healthy and strong could command a fortune if a bidding war ensued.

For his part Owen was dismayed at the sight of the wretched people led forth in their manacles. Some seemed defiant and stoic, while others were shaking with fear. The majority simply seemed crushed and bewildered, still suffering from the effects of the horrific journey from Africa to here. On a few occasions Owen was forced to ferry some of the owner's purchased slaves from Kingston to Old Harbour. He did what he could to ease their situation by allowing them to remain on deck during the journey, ignoring the recommendation of the overseer John.

Owen also made a couple of trips to Black River with cargo, which was a refreshing change for him as the trip to the distant port meant spending a full day at sea. The town was much the same as Old Harbour, with a host of warehouses and waterfront taverns and inns packed with sailors. The warehouses were also stuffed with the usual products to fill the holds of the ships, but this town did significant additional trade in cattle skins and logwood, which was used for the making of dyes.

But the problem Owen faced was even though a scant five months had passed since the beginning of his new life, it was already becoming a routine. Sailing back and forth to Kingston was not a challenge, while sitting in the taverns of Old Harbour where the majority of his days were spent was no relief. The one bright spot was Isabella.

"Hello Owen," she said, her face lighting up as he walked into The Spanish Rose.

With more time on his hands now, he was contriving to make opportunities to spend extra time with her every chance he could. The first few months he was so busy all he could do was send the occasional message to her, but gradually it had all changed. She dropped a mug of ale in front of him moments after he sat down before sliding into the seat opposite. She looked around to ensure they would be unheard before she spoke.

"Staying tonight, I hope?"

Owen smiled. "I thought it would be a good idea. Actually, I've made arrangements to stay two nights this time and, believe it or not, I'm taking the days off. I thought we could maybe do another trip to the beach?"

"Now you are talking. I'll have to make a few arrangements of my own, but this can be done."

"Excellent. Well, I need the break. I confess I am finding this work somewhat limiting. And some elements of it are, well—"

Isabella reached out and took his hand in hers.

"I am not surprised. I've seen the troubled look on your face a few times. Let me guess, you would like to be more than just a ferryman to a few places on the island and you don't like slavery any more than I do. Am I right?"

Owen nodded. "I'm a sailor, as I believe you pointed out to me months before. I like the broad, open ocean and seeing new places. And no, I don't like slavery. I know, it's how things work, but I don't have to like it. I don't want to be associated with it, in fact. Well, I've saved some money now and I'm in better shape, but I'm hardly rich. I'll start looking elsewhere for work, but I'll have to be careful. I don't want word to get back to Samuel about it."

"I think that's a good idea, Owen. But don't look too hard too fast, please. I'd like to enjoy having you around a while longer before you finally sail away and leave me once and for all."

Owen squeezed her hand. "We'll see, Isabella. Deciding I want to find other work is one thing, but finding it is another matter. And yes, in the meantime we'll just have to enjoy ourselves, won't we?"