The Pistoleer: Bristol 1643

By Skye Smith

The last week of July 1643 brought disaster to the rebellion against Charles I. On the 25th they lost Bristol, England’s second richest industrial port. On the 28th they lost Gainsborough and thus all Lincolnshire was in jeopardy. London’s propaganda sheets were scrambling to find any good news in these losses, and so they made heroes out of two unknown militia officers for standing fast when vastly outnumbered by royalist cavalry.
Captain Robert Blake in Bristol and Colonel Oliver Cromwell in Gainsborough.
The military reputations of both men were made – and then so was history.

About The Author
Skye Smith is my pen name. In 1630 some of my Manchester Puritan ancestors sailed away to Massachusetts on one of Robert Rich's ships. The Pistoleer is a series of historical adventure novels set in Britain in the 1640's. I was encouraged to write them by fans of my Hoodsman series.
This is the eighth of the series, and you should read at least the first novel 'HellBurner' before you read this book because it sets the characters and scene for the entire series. The sequence of the books follows the time-line of the Republic of Great Britain. The chapter headings identify the dates and places.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skye Smith
• Release date: Dec 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781927699195

Book preview

THE PISTOLEER

BRISTOL 1643

(Book Eight of the Series)

By Skye Smith

Copyright (C) 2014-2016 Skye Smith

All rights reserved including all rights of authorship.

Cover Illustration is

"Mistress Dorothy Hazzard and the Women of Bristol

defending the Frome Gate against Prince Rupert, 1643"

by Gerald Edward Moira (1918)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Revision 1 . . . . . ISBN: 978-1-927699-19-5

Cover Flap

The last week of July 1643 brought disaster to the rebellion against Charles I. On the 25th they lost Bristol, England’s second richest industrial port. On the 28th they lost Gainsborough and thus all Lincolnshire was in jeopardy. London’s propaganda sheets were scrambling to find any good news in these losses, and so they made heroes out of two unknown militia officers for standing fast when vastly outnumbered by royalist cavalry.

Captain Robert Blake in Bristol and Colonel Oliver Cromwell in Gainsborough.

The military reputations of both men were made – and then so was history.

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The Pistoleer - Bristol 1643 by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-16

About The Author

Skye Smith is my pen name. In 1630 some of my Manchester Puritan ancestors sailed away to Massachusetts on one of Robert Rich's ships. The Pistoleer is a series of historical adventure novels set in Britain in the 1640's. I was encouraged to write them by fans of my Hoodsman series.

This is the eighth of the series, and you should read at least the first novel 'HellBurner' before you read this book because it sets the characters and scene for the entire series. The sequence of the books follows the time-line of the Republic of Great Britain. The chapter headings identify the dates and places.

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The Pistoleer - Bristol 1643 by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-16

Prologue

This adventure is as historically accurate as I could make it, however I have not included my endless references because the main character, Daniel Vanderus, is fictional. As a rule of thumb, if the character is a parliamentarian, or has a title, or has a military rank of captain or above, then they and their families are non-fictional.

In the 1640's England was still using the old Julian calendar rather than the new Gregorian one. I have used the same dates for battles as are used by popular Civil War time-lines. They use old fashioned Julian dates, rather than the modern (add 10 days) Gregorian dates, but treat January 1 as the start of a new year rather than March 25. In the 1640's Christmas day still fell on December 25, but the shortest day of the year was December 11, not December 21.

Note that at the end of this book there is an Appendix which is organized like an FAQ. There you will find answers to a dozen questions such as:

- Why was the capture of Bristol so important to the Royalists?

- Why did Bristol fall to the Royalists so quickly?

- What was the effect of the royalists gaining control of Bristol?

- Were caves important in Bermuda?

However, the next few paragraphs will set the scene enough for you to begin reading the novel.

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The English civil war began as military sparring between the elite who ruled by virtue of birthright to titles and large estates, and the elite who ruled by virtue of education and wealthy merchant companies. However, by 1643 the sparring had turned vicious and every person in England was living in fear and hardship, especially the women and children.

The royalists controlled the west and the north, while the rebels controlled the east and the south. The rebels also controlled the wealth, manpower and factories of England’s two main trading ports – London and Bristol. The Lord Admiral of the Navy was the rebel Earl of Warwick (Robert Rich, the richest man in England), however the naval captains were refusing to take sides on the grounds that their overriding duty was to protect England from foreign invaders while it was divided.

King Charles was in Oxford with his main army, and the rebel Lord General Essex was nearby in Thame with his main army. By July the infantries of both armies were debilitated by War Typhus. As the rebels were more dependent on their infantry, the plague was a boon to the king. Both sides had other, smaller, mounted flying armies, but the king also had the Cornish army in the south-west (funded by the Tin Barons), and the Northern army (funded by the Coal Barons).

Charles Stuart was the king in each of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. His sister Elizabeth was the Queen of Bohemia and his war hardened nephews, Rupert and Maurice, brought him soldiers and know how from the German wars. His wife Henrietta was the Catholic sister of the King of France, and the daughter of Catherine d’Medici. His daughter Mary was betrothed to William of Orange. Thus Catholics and foreigners (Irish, Scots, Welsh, plus continental mercenaries and governments) were rallying to the king’s banner.

Meanwhile, the king’s promises of titles were seducing rebel officers into switching their regiments to his side – sometimes during battles. Even the rebel Lord General had become reluctant to attack the king, and satisfied himself by defending the way to London while hoping for a successful peace negotiation.

And then came July 1643 and the first of a series of rebel disasters. Rebel General Waller’s anticipated victory over the Cornish Army at Devizes, turned into a calamitous defeat on Roundway Downs. Waller did not only lose the rebel’s south-west army, but also canons and companies of men he had ‘borrowed’ from Bristol’s defences. The rebel centres of Bristol, Bath, and Gloucester were suddenly in great peril.

Henrietta had returned from The Hague and in July was reunited with Charles in Oxford. Her foreign invasion force (munitions and mercenaries she had purchased on the Continent by stealing and then pawning the Crown Jewels) was moving south with the Northern Army. Only rebel militia and village clubmen stood between them and the sacking of Lincolnshire.

Meanwhile our pistoleer, Daniel, has missed the ship that was to take him to Bermuda to be the new governor. Half of his village clan are on their way to Bermuda on half their coastal ships, while the other half were still living in the Ely fens and using the remaining ships to run supplies for the rebel militia. For the Eastern Association (the union of the rebel militias of Essex, Hertfordshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, and Cambridgeshire) which has just been called upon to protect Lincolnshire.

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The Pistoleer - Bristol 1643 by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-16

Table of Contents

Title Page

Cover Flap

About the Author

Prologue

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Rendezvous in the Scilly Isles in July 1643

Chapter 2 - Dispatches for Bristol in July 1643

Chapter 3 - Meeting Blake in Bristol in July 1643

Chapter 4 - Gun Powder for Lincoln in July 1643

Chapter 5 - Meeting Cromwell in Saxilby in July 1643

Chapter 6 - Sailing south from the Scilly's in July 1643

Chapter 7 - A Lady's Prerogative in Bristol in July 1643

Chapter 8 - The Siege of Bristol begins in July 1643

Chapter 9 - The Cornish Army attacks Bristol in July 1643

Chapter 10 - Sailing the endless Sea in July 1643

Chapter 11 - Defending Bristol's northern dykes in July 1643

Chapter 12 - Hunting the Devil in Bristol in July 1643

Chapter 13 - The Breach at Clifton Gate in July 1643

Chapter 14 - Door to Door fighting in Bristol in1643

Chapter 15 - Blake Surrenders in Bristol, July 1643

Chapter 16 - Sailing past Portugal in July 1643

Chapter 17 - Ambush near Saxilby, Lincs. in July 1643

Chapter 18 - Ambush near Gainsborough in July 1643

Chapter 19 - Battle for Foxby Hill, Gainsborough in July 1643

Chapter 20 - The Relief of Gainsborough in July 1643

Chapter 21 - The Retreat from Gainsborough in July 1643

Chapter 22 - Arriving in Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 23 - Meeting the locals in Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 24 - Visiting a farm in Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 25 - The Witches of Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 26 - Squatters Rights in Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 27 - Seducing the Governor of Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 28 - A Wedding in Bermuda in August 1643

Chapter 29 - Appendix FAQ

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The Pistoleer - Bristol 1643 by Skye Smith Copyright 2014-16

Chapter 1 - Rendezvous in the Scilly Isles in July 1643

The lad in the Swift's crow’s-nest called down to the small aft castle, to the giant of a man at the wheel. He waited until the man looked up at him before he yelled, I can see three masts over the headland. There is a tall ship in the harbour! He followed his call with a cheer which was echoed by other men down on the deck. This ship, the ‘Swift Daniel’, and its flotilla of small coastal ships were supposed to make a rendezvous with just such a tall ship here in the Scilly Isles - with the ‘Elizabeth and Anne’ out of Bristol. With the Elizabeth as an escort, they would set out for Bermuda.

At least, hopefully the tall masts were those of the Elizabeth, for it was all too likely that Captain William Sayle of the Elizabeth would not have waited in these islands for them. The lad’s cousin Anso, the giant skipper down at the wheel, would not be taking any chances with a strange ship in a strange harbour. In these war torn days every tall ship sailed well-armed, and this harbour was a renowned pirate’s nest.

Anso called out a warning to the crew and the passengers that he was going to change course, waited a few moments until everyone had braced themselves, and then he spun the great wheel to turn the Swift into the wind. The nimble Bermuda rigged galliot danced around to his will and then she slowed as her great triangular sails lost the wind. Without wind in her sails her decks levelled and her slow rocking became a gentle wallow.

What's'up? A slender woman called up to Anso from the cabin hatch, and as she skipped up the stairs to the bridge she called again. Do you want me to take the wheel? Teesa was now twenty-one, but she still had the look of a teen. She wore a work-a-day homespun smock, and had her long blonde hair swept up in a coil of milkmaid braids. She was ready and eager to be put to work – a very capable hand – as were most of the women aboard. Since the Swift had left the port of Lynn on The Wash a few weeks ago, she had been on the wheel more hours than off. When she had the wheel in hand she felt a magical oneness with this graceful ship, so only exhaustion could convince her to surrender the wheel to others.

There's a tall ship in the bay, Anso called back. It may be Sayle, or maybe not. Yes, take the wheel while I roust the crews to load the guns.

Guns? she asked with trepidation as she ducked under one of his thick arms and grabbed hold of the wheel.

Aye, guns. Once the other ships have caught up and have their bow chasers loaded, then the Swift’ll go alone around the headland and into the bay. Cautiously, an’ if that ship is bad news then we'll make a run for it back to our fleet. Not to worry, love. This lady can dance away from any a tall ship.

With the Swift pointing into the wind there was not much for Teesa to do on the wheel. The rudder stayed slack unless the Swift drifted off her point and picked up speed, but it was the nature of her rudder to turn her back into the wind. Meanwhile Anso was telling his wife Bernice, a woman as tall as most men, to clear the decks of women and children.

There were a lot of women and children aboard. The other six ships of their flotilla were small coastal vessels loaded with animals and freight, but no passengers. Not that the crews were all men, but the men outnumbered the women five to one, and even those women had left their children on the larger, more comfortable Swift.

The first two ships of the flotilla caught up and then changed their course to slow down. These were the Freisburn 3 and the Freisburn 4, and they sailed rafted together, the two hulls joined side by each with lines and braces and fenders. They had sailed rafter all the way from the mouth of the River Great Ouse at Lynn, and would stay rafted for the remainder of their long sea voyage, unless they met with high seas.

All six of the small ships were named Freisburn, but with different numbers, and all were rafted in twos, and all of the crews were glad of it. Rafting meant that the decks stayed level when under sail. It meant that the ships did not lurch with every change of wind or wave. Rafting meant that the animals were calm, and therefore so were the crews. Rafting was the reason that these coastal ships could serve them like Noah's Ark of the Christian myths.

Each of these ships had been released from the clan’s transport charter with the Eastern Association – the militia army raised out of Essex, Hertfordshire, Norfolk, Suffolk and Cambridgeshire. Under that charter they had carried troops, munitions, and supplies along the eastern coasts of Lincolnshire and Norfolk, so they had been armed as gunboats – light, fast gunboats.

Anso called out to the skippers that the three rafts should form a line across the channel and load the six pounder field gun that each ship carried as a bow chaser. After explaining the rest of his plan to the skippers, he turned to Teesa and told her to catch the wind again. They would make for the point and then around into the harbour. As the Swift drifted off the wind and began to pick up speed, he went to inspect the eight small cannons and the three swivel guns carried by the Swift.

Fisk Tucker, a grizzled seaman from Lyme in Dorset, came to stand beside Teesa at the helm, and she was glad of it because he knew these islands and these waters. As they rounded the point he pointed and spoke. This isle is Saint Mary’s, he explained in his Dorset lilt, and this harbour is Saint Mary’s Pool. She’s wide and deep at the mouth, but as you go towards that sand, there at the end, she gets narrow and shallow, and with enough reefs to cause a ship grief. That’s why the tall ship is anchored well out.

Is that the town on the sand bar? she asked him.

‘Nay that’s the port village of Tre-Huw. The main town is up above to the south. That fort above us to the east is Harry’s Walls but it’s abandoned now cause there’s a new fort, a modern star fort on the high ground to the west."

Quick, go and warn Anso of the guns at the fort!

No need lass, he said with a mischievous smirk. Only a few years ago these islands wus a base for them Barbary pirate ships that were plucking entire villages of folk from Irish shores. When they sailed away to take their slaves to the African markets, they took the fort’s guns with them.

So the pirates and the guns have gone? she confirmed.

Now I didna’ say that. Nay I didna’. Life is hard here, what with being looted regular like, so many of the islanders ‘ave picked up the pirate ways. Pirates of opportunity, thieves of opportunity, wreckers. Ships that choose ta’ anchor in this bay, they stand a keen watch.

Teesa steered the Swift west across the wide mouth towards the useless star fort, and then turned her turned completely about before entering the bay, so that she would be facing back towards the flotilla once she actually entered the bay. It was then that Anso came and stood with them on the bridge.

When the Swift did enter the bay she was moving fast. Some may have thought Anso careless to enter a strange bay at such speed, for there could be shoals and bars and reefs, but Anso had Fisk at his shoulder. Fisk not only knew these waters, but had also been a member of the crew who had sailed the Swift on her first voyage to Bermuda back when the master had been Robert Blake. The Blake family had run French wine into Lyme for generations.

The Swift’s last port of call had been Lyme, a port friendly to them due to Blake's friendship with this clan, this North Sea clan. Lyme was a most useful provisioning port for anyone leaving or returning from Bermuda. Lyme had many connections with Bermuda. George Somers, the captain who had originally claimed Bermuda for England, had been a Lyme man.

Anso had therefore signed on seven Lyme seamen to help crew the flotilla Bermuda - one for each ship. They not only knew Bermuda, but also the Bermuda rig of triangle sails retro-fitted on all of these ships. Fisk had been with the Swift in Bermuda when she had been re-rigged from lateen to Bermudan. In truth, it had not been Anso who had convinced the Lyme men to sign on, but the loose women of this party. Loose in terms of needing husbands, not the other. Well, sometimes the other, when men needed convincing.

Keep well ta starboar', Fisk called to Teesa. Yon deadhead is snagged on a reef. After that it's a deep bottom you'll find, all the way into the anchorage. He was enjoying himself. Life in Lyme had been hard for two years and getting harder because this greater-fool war between the ruling classes. It had shut down the wine trade, all trade, with Normandy. True, English trade gelt was filling the pockets of the arms merchants of the Dutch republics, but Lyme was too far removed from that trade route to profit from it.

Yesterday Fisk and his Lyme mates had taught these fens men how to fish for the deep water schools of fish that the warm currents brought to the shores of the South-West. Fens-men may know how to fish for eels and bottom feeders, but they knew shite about fishing for mackerel and tuna. Last night they had feasted on the fisherman's desserts - the firm dark raw meat sliced thin from fresh tuna belly and popped into the mouth.

Anso was scanning the tall ship with his Dutch made kjiker - looker. It was a collapsing set of scroll pipes, each with a ground spectacle lens. By changing the length of the pipes he could focus on tall the ship and bring it closer to his eye. Bugger, they are opening their gun ports! he called out. Bernice, bring some of the women up onto the bridge and have them show off their skirts. Hopefully her master also has a kjiker and sees that we mean no threat. He glanced over at Teesa and explained, It's the lines of the Swift. With her triangle sails and her low body, she looks all the world like a Barbary pirate galliot.

Is she the Elizabeth? Teesa asked.

We won't know that until we see the name on her stern, but I doubt it. Why else would they be running out their guns. Your Daniel will be on the Elizabeth and he would have recognized the Swift. For now just stay your course. Anso gave his wife a squeeze as she and three other women came onto the small bridge. The women stood in full view of the tall ship and stepped a twirling jig to get their skirts lifting and swirling.

Bugger this, Teesa cursed, and then yelled out to the ship, Coming about! A warning that was echoed by the crew below. To Anso's disapproving look she replied. To let them read the name on our stern so they don't mistake us for pirates. He nodded, so she began the turn.

Anso went back to staring through his looker. She was a heavy ship, built for fighting as well as trading. The lines were almost that of a Spanish galleon, so perhaps a ship now off lease from the navy's summer fleet. She was manned for fighting so her decks were crawling with men. She was low in the water, so she was carrying a heavy cargo. He changed positions as the Swift came around. At this angle he still couldn't quite see the name on her stern.

They're closing their gun ports! They're waving from the bridge! Anso's words came out in such a rush of breath that he only then realized that he had been holding his breath. Ease off the turn and then hold the course til I see her name, he ordered, ever cautious. This tall ship was equipped for starting a fight not just defending from one. E-l-i he read out the letters as they came into view. He had known how to read for only three years, but he was getting quicker at it. She's the Elizabeth and Anne out of Bristol, he said in a cheer, and all about him clapped each other in relief and then joy, and the women grabbed at the men to join in their jig. The rendezvous was made. Their journey to Bermuda could continue.

As the Swift closed on the tall ship, Teesa changed headings to spill the wind and slow down. Meanwhile Anso busied himself with hauling the long boat they were towing, closer to the ship so he and some oarsmen could take her across to speak with Captain Sayle. The Swift was almost alongside the Elizabeth when Teesa lost her patience with the men fumbling with the longboat and asked Fisk to take the wheel. That done she walked to the rail of the bridge and looked along the decks. Hang some fenders just in case we drift into her, she yelled down to the crew who were preparing to drop some sails. The aft boom swung lazily in front of her.

The women standing behind her were smiling and chatting about something. One of them was wearing a 'for-best' cloak. Good on her for the presence of mind to grab it and look presentable to the officers on the Elizabeth. May I borrow your cloak? Teesa asked her. The woman shrugged and grimaced but in one fluid motion swung it off her own shoulders and around Teesa's. It was summer weight and summer hues of cream and blue and it draped gracefully, but almost down to Teesa's ankles. Teesa was short for a Frisian woman.

Oye, below! she yelled to a male cousin her own age. Grab the boom sheet and swing me across to the ship! Swinging out over the water on a boom was a game that all children of her clan learned soon after they learned how to swim. She loosened her hair and let her blonde braid fall over her shoulder, and then climbed up onto the railing and balanced herself while she waited for the boom to be swung close to her. Lightly, she stepped onto it and clutched the edge of the sail tight with one hand. I'm ready. Swing me across.

The tall ship's aft castle and bridge were far higher than the Swift's, but the long swinging boom did get her close enough to the lower decks for her to leap onto the Elizabeth. The secret with swinging out on a boom, or on a rope hung from a tree branch, was that you must always carry through and let go. If not you would be carried backwards the way you came, and that usually ended badly. At the exact moment that the boom stopped moving towards the tall ship, she leaped across the foot of empty space between her and its gunnels. It must have looked very elegant and graceful to the many crew watching her from that deck, for her cloak billowed behind her like the tail of a seagull.

Or it would have been all elegance and grace if she had been able to put one bare foot on the gunnels and then continue her momentum with a leap down onto the deck. Unfortunately where she was expecting a smooth deck, there was a coil of coarse rope - so instead she stubbed her toes and tripped and ended her graceful boarding by hopping and flailing and cursing directly into the arms of a sweaty half naked seaman with more hair on his chest than on his head.

Are you an angel? he asked her. At least the smile in his eyes was sweet, even if the smile on his lips was all rotting teeth and foul breath.

Thank yee for catching me, she said softly. He had wrapped his arms around her to steady her, but now she felt one of his hands slide down her back towards her bum. I have my balance again. You can let me go now. His hand found her bum and gave it a squeeze.

She was just wondering whether her work-a-day smock would stretch enough for her to bring a knee up into his groin, when a bellow came down from up on the Elizabeth’s bridge. Let go of her!

His bear hug eased and his grip on her bum became a pat.

Let go of her or be flogged!

His arms pulled back immediately as if he had been stung by a bee.

Clear a way for her to walk to the bridge. Stay back from her. All of you stay back!

With her balance restored, Teesa turned and looked about at the rough faces of the seamen all around her as they slowly backed away from her. Not just their faces were rough, but their skin and their clothing. And they all stank. How is it that men can be surrounded by clean water, and yet stink as if they never washed?

Come up here lass! the same booming voice commanded.

Teesa looked towards the call. Up on the bridge three men in navy cut jackets stared down at her. The centre man, the tallest, was giving the orders. She nodded and began to walk the pathway cleared by the back stepping crew. It led towards the stairs to the bridge. With a show of courage she did not feel, she put her shoulders back, puffed out her tiny breasts and stepped gracefully through the rough men, smiling all the time at each of them in turn. Once finally through them, she lifted the front of her smock slightly and danced up the steps to the bridge. The three officers leered down at her, but did step backwards to make room for her at the top of the staircase, and there she stopped and looked fully on the faces of each of them. Which of you is Captain Sayle?

I be he, said the gruff voice of the tall man in the centre.

I be most pleased to meet you sir, she said and gave a small curtsey. I am Theresa Vanderus of the Wellenhay clan. Is my father, Daniel, aboard, sir, please?

Daniel? Your father? Sayle sputtered. Never. He is too young.

My step-father. His older brother, rest his soul, was my father.

Sayle and his officers nodded grimly. Such familial arrangements were becoming more and more common as the war continued and as the death toll of good men rose. Widows were quickly re-marrying within the same family to keep everyone, and the family fortune, safe. Your mother chose a wild one for a new husband.

She lost a wild one to gain him, Teesa said without remorse. Is he aboard? He was to join your ship in Bristol. The reply was delayed by the commotion on the lower decks as a man climbed aboard who dwarfed the crew who were helping him to clamour over the gunnels. Ah, our commander Anso has arrived, she told the officers. He will be asking the same question. She stepped to one side so that the steps were clear for Anso's approach.

Sayle was considered tall in his family, but he stood eye to eye with Anso when Anso still had the last step to climb. The bulk of Anso’s shoulders blocked the staircase and his upper arms were the girth of a lad's thighs. Anso’s voice did not belie his size as it rumbled out his introduction. The hand he held out to each of the officers in turn, made their hands disappear within its grip. Well met, he greeted over and over. The relief in actually achieving the rendezvous was written in his wide grin. Even the man's teeth were big. Big and white. Such height and strength and health were common enough in the Frisian clans of the North Sea, where fresh fish and dairy anchored the diet.

As I was about to tell Miss Theresa, Sayle nodded to the fair miss as he spoke, we left Bristol a few days ahead of our schedule. Daniel was to send us a message when your ships reached Lyme, but we did not realize that he would deliver that message personally. Even if we had known, we could not have delayed our sailing for him. The rumour on that day was that a battle just north of Bath on Lansdowne Hill had gone badly for General Waller, and that the royalists would shortly be knocking on Bristol's gates. I could not risk my mission, nor the cargo we carry.

You are fully manned for battle, so let me guess what that cargo be, Anso said with a raised eyebrow. Even his eyebrows were big. Cannons, guns, balls, powder? And enough of it to weigh you low in the water that you wallow like a barge. No wonder you needed the Swift as an escort. Well if Danny's not on board then it is no wonder that you treated the Swift as an approaching pirate. Was it the sight of the women on board that changed your mind?

Nay, it was the cut of your jib. Your ship has been to Bermuda before. How else could she be rigged fore and aft in the Bermudan way? Sayle turned to the officer beside him and mumbled, Remind me to capture rather than sink the next pirate galliot we fight. Seeing what can be made from one makes me want one, for conversion. He turned back to the giant. Is she as fast as she looks?

Faster, Teesa replied absent mindedly. Her mind was clouded with worrying thoughts about what could have delayed Daniel from reaching this ship in Bristol. No, she would not give way to such dark thoughts. The countryside between Lyme and Bristol was at war, true, but Daniel knew of war, knew of armies, and was a trained and skilled pistoleer skirmisher. Unfortunately these positive thoughts did little to belay her worries.

The Swift spent most of the past year, Anso told them, "moving diplomats and diplomatic pouches between London and The Hague, for the very reason that we