Kestrel: An American Privateer

By Michael J. Way

It is the spring of 1775, and the American colonies have begun the machinations that will lead them to war. Captain Jonathan Barlow has just outfitted Kestrel, a sleek, fast, and heavily armed schooner that is destined to set sail, delivering cannon, powder, and shot to the fledgling militia in New England.

Through treacherous encounters, battles, and storms, Barlow leads Kestrel and crew from Philadelphia to New York, Boston, and back while interacting with many of the prominent figures and events of the time.

Coming under suspicion of treason by the captain of a British Man of War, Barlow and crew face certain hanging if convicted. Only Barlow’s tenacity, coupled with a possible positive turn of events, might save them all from the vengeful reality of the hangman’s noose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662433627

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Kestrel

An American Privateer

Michael J. Way

Copyright © 2021 Michael J. Way

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-3361-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-4470-8 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-6624-3362-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Philadelphia

Departure

The Shakedown

First Blood

New York

Boston Light

Hearts of Oak

Homeward Bound

To Peggy, Stacy, and Dylan, whose love and support has sustained me and made my life the joy it has become.

Also, a special thanks to you, the reader, without whom this entire endeavor would be moot. Enjoy!

Sail plan of a gaff rigged topsail schooner

Ship’s Time

While not essential to the story, those interested may take note of the peculiar twenty-four-hour timekeeping method aboard a man-of-war ship. In a nutshell, a seaman’s twenty-four-hour day was broken up in to seven watches that are as follows:

Morning Watch: 04.00 hours to 08.00 (4:00 a.m.–8:00 a.m.)

Forenoon watch: 08.00 hours to 12.00 hours (8:00 a.m.–12:00 noon)

Afternoon watch: 12.00 hours to 16.00 hours (12:00 p.m.–4:00 p.m.)

First dog watch: 16.00 hours to 18.00 hours (4:00 p.m.–6:00 p.m.)

Last dog watch: 18.00 hours to 20.00 hours (6:00 p.m.–8:00 p.m.)

First watch: 20.00 hours to 00.00 hours (8:00 p.m.–12 midnight)

Middle watch: 00.00 hours to 04.00 hours (12 midnight–4:00 a.m.)

The passage of time through each Watch was announced every half hour with the clang of the ship’s bell—one clang for the first half hour progressing to eight clangs for the last half hour.

Accurate timekeeping was of paramount concern as navigation depended on taking sightings with a sextant at 12:00 noon to compare the angle of the sun relative to the horizon. Findings were compared to information found in the Nautical Almanac that was published annually and that contained astronomical data that allowed fairly accurate approximation of the ship’s position.

I am now embarked on a tempestuous Ocean from whence, perhaps, no friendly harbour is to be found… It is an honor I wished to avoid… I can answer but for three things, a firm belief of the justice of our Cause—close attention to the prosecution of it—and the strictest Integrity.

If these cannot supply the places of Ability & Experience, the cause will suffer & more than probably my character along with it, as reputation derives its principal support from success.

—George Washington, in a letter to Burwell Bassett

June 19, 1775

Philadelphia to Cape Henlopen, Sandy Hook and The Narrows

Chapter I

Philadelphia

Acold misty rain, so typical for the season, was falling as Capt. Jonathan Barlow made his way down Spruce Street toward the Philadelphia waterfront. It was early March 1775, and the weather was the only thing typical in the city awash with people scrambling and hustling with the anticipation of a probable war. Barlow himself was caught up in it as much, if not more so than the majority of those around him, having just concluded a series of meetings with the major players in the drama that was unfolding up and down the eastern seaboard of the North American Colonies.

From appearances, Barlow was not one you would expect to be so deeply involved. Young, only twenty-three years old, and standing just a little over average height, he would not normally stand out in a crowd. That is, until you drew close enough to observe the intensity of his glance—and note the quickness of his features as his eyes moved constantly and without effort as his mind registered everything within sight. His slight appearance was due not to frailty but rather concealed a tightly wrapped vessel of muscle and bone best compared to the vibrant strength of the spring steel used in a rifle’s lock. He was cloaked in a longboat coat to shed the rain and wore a simple fore and aft cocked hat to contain the thick and wavy mass of dark brown hair that oftentimes refused to be tamed, despite being tied back and covered. He would laugh if he knew it, but some thought he bore the mantel of an aristocrat, partially due to his strong jaw and broad shoulders that he kept square and solid—apparently without thought or conscious effort, and also because of the easy way he had with everyone he met. But it was his eyes that caused people to stop and take notice, for they generally shone with a sparkle of some impending excitement, and a vivacity that lent sincerity to his easy smile and cheerful demeanor. Yet those who knew him well understood that these same charming eyes could change in an instant from shining camaraderie to a piercing black stare, as cold and hard as chiseled stone, and that broadcast the same threatening intensity of an oncoming storm.

On this day, however, as he worked his way through the crowded streets, his eyes were relaxed in contemplation as his mind recalled the recent meetings that had included a broad conjecture of possible courses the newly forming Congress might follow but cumulated, for him at least, in a set plan of action that would forever change his station in life. As he approached the broad mall of the quay at the foot of Dock Street, he was jolted out of his reverie by the sight of the waterfront and its menagerie of activity. Swarms of stevedores, sailors, merchants, shipwrights, and idlers thronged every thoroughfare. Ships of every conceivable shape and purpose lined the wharf. Loading, unloading, or in various stages of the refit. A smile cracked his windburn face as he looked out and saw his small ship, Kestrel, riding lightly on her mooring in the Delaware River. She had been badly beaten up by the recent storm that chased them up Delaware Bay, but the repairs had been completed, stores replenished, and the new guns mounted. He had just arranged for the powder and shot to be brought on board, and once completed, they would start the task of turning a merchant vessel into a fighting ship of war.

Looking down the quay, he spied Kestrel’s longboat, crammed among a flotilla of others. The sailors, arranged in various poses of boredom, were waiting patiently while a young midshipman, Trevor Marshal, stood nervously anticipating his captain’s return. The boy spied his master, a large bundle nestled beneath one arm, almost at the same moment that Barlow started across the street to the quay. As Barlow reached the breakwater, he was approached by two sailors who stopped before him and knuckled their brows in respect.

Pardon me, Capt’n, said the one to the left, might we ’ave a word with ya?

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with arms that seemed too large, even considering his size. His scarred face was framed by a thick red beard that partially covered old powder burns and a wool watch cap which only halfway covered ears disfigured from blows received in untold fights. Most startling though were his clear blue eyes which sparkled beneath wispy red brows. The second man was much slighter of build, though almost as tall. Nondescript, in sailor’s jersey and pants, with a beaten-up old tar-painted sailor’s hat perched above a pox-scarred face. Before Barlow could respond, the larger man continued, Capt’n Barlow, sur, ya might not remember me an’ me mate here, but me an’ Sal served with you on the Milford, back in ’62. You were jest a mere pint of a midshipman then, but we remembers you. An’ I was with you on the Ol’ Barfleur when you made lieutenant.

Jonathan’s face split into a grin as he recognized his old shipmates. Well, I’ll be tarred if it isn’t Gordon Drake and Sal McRae. If I recall right, they referred to you Drake as the ‘Butcher Bos’n’, and I remember you, Sal, as one of the best topmen ever to sail on a king’s ship. How is that you both landed here?

Drake’s eyes narrowed, and he looked intently down at Jonathan. Well, Cap’n, it ain’t by accident that we happen to be here this morning. He glanced around at the throngs of people and lowered his voice. We’re both here to see if we might sling our hammocks aboard yer ship—that is, if you can use some additional mates that is. See, we’re beached here with a few dozen others thet’s, well, not authorized to be out of the king’s service so to speak. We’d seen thet you was fixin’ to way an’ was hopin’ ya might need some extra crew.

Jonathan’s easy smile disappeared as he studied the two sailors. He looked from one to the other and thought how badly he could use these first-rate seamen, but his brow darkened as he contemplated the possible consequences. Drake sensed his hesitance and pushed on. We ain’t askin’ fer prize shares an’ will ship fer whatever you can spare in way of pay, sir. We’re jest afraid of a press gang finding us ashore some night an’ we’re none of us too keen with the prospect of findin’ our necks stretched at the end of a rope.

Jonathan shook his head and replied, It’s not that I don’t want you and your men, Drake. I’m certain that if you vouch for them that they’re the best can be found. It’s just that if we were to be stopped and boarded, which is more likely than not, you’d all face the same consequences and I’d lose the ship.

Well, Cap’n, thet’s a likely outcome fer sure, but the truth be tellin’, considerin’ the work yer a-settin out to do, yee’d have a sight better chance riskin’ the outcome of a fight, for they’ll try te take yer ship no matter, an ifin it comes to thet, Cap’n, you’ve a much better chance a-comin’ out on top if we was wid ya on board.

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed, and he unconsciously pressed the bundle beneath his arm tighter as he tensed and replied, Tell me, Drake, what news have you heard of what we’re about?

Drake put out his hands, a comical sight for one so large facing someone of smaller stature, and soothed, Whoa, Cap’n. I don’t want to get the wind cross yer stays, sir. No, sir! But it’s true thet since we first saw thet it was you in the Kestral, we’ve had a mate or two watchin’ yer back so to speak, so’s you’d not come to no harm ashore, an’ we’ve noticed the likes of men you’ve been a-meetin’ with whilst yer ship was bein’ refit. We noticed too how your Kestrel was fitted out ahead of practically every ship what come limpin’ in here after the ’urricane. Thet and them brand-new nine-pounders thet’s been put on board, an’ we’s jest put twos an’ twos together an come up with the four thet you’ve got important dealin’s wid the governm’nt, an’ it would be in our best interest to see if we could haul wind together. We’ve seen the likes of yer crew. They’re a fine lot fer sure, but they’re merchantmen sailors, not fighters, an’ yer sailin’ a mite light-handed ta boot. Even an unrated British ship or privateer, if well-manned, could give ya what for. An’ thet’s no reflection on yer leadership, sir. No, sir! Why thet’s jes’ the way we’s sees it, sir.

Drake seemed startled as he realized he’d been preaching to an officer, even if one so young that was no longer in the service. I’m sorry, sir, I mistook my place.

Jonathan relaxed a bit and shook his head. "No, Drake, it was me that misspoke. You’re right on all you’ve said, and I’ll not besmirch you for being honest. Kestrel’s small, but she’s sound, well-armed, and fast, and I was counting on that to keep us out of trouble. But if we get in a pinch with pirates or a ship of war, you’re dead right. No question we’re light-handed, and aside from some of the officers, they’re all greenhorns when it comes to a right sea fight. Hell, ain’t most of ’em done much more than coastal trading or worked fishing smacks.

He looked back up at Drake and kept on, If you and your men are willing to go to sea with me and take your chances, I’d be pleased to have you sign on. But I’ll tell you this: we’re not on a raiding mission, so there’s scant chance of prizes. Do you figure your men will have an interest?

Aye, Cap’n. I can jest about stake my word on it. What say you Sal?

Sal McRae seemed in awe of the conversation he’d just witnessed. He remembered Jonathan as being a tough but fair young lieutenant, but still, to see the bos’n speak so plainly to an officer without rebuke was a spectacle he had never witnessed. He gave a lopsided grin and replied, Sure, mate, as reasonable as Mister Barlow is, wid the reputation his family has in the service an’ all, I’d say every man, Jack, thet’s hidin’ in this bleak hole will jump at the chance!

Jonathan turned to Sal and, in a quiet voice, said, "It’s Captain Barlow, Mister McRae, an’ though you’ve no doubt heard that American ships lack the discipline of our British counterparts, remember, I was trained as, and until recently, held a king’s commission. Any ship, officer, crew member, or longboat under my command will be held to the same standards as you’ve been accustomed, and make no mistake about it. Are we clear, Mister McRae?"

McRae blanched visibly as the young man before him seemed to double in size and whose piercing eyes shone black and dangerous. McRae looked down and knuckled his forehead, stammering, Aye, Capt’n! I meant no disrespect, sir!

I understand, Sal, and let’s put that behind us. Barlow felt the spark of temper seep out of him, and he even managed a smile. Drake, I will be needing a bos’n if you want the position. An’ would like to add the duties of coxswain if you don’t mind.

I’d be honored, sir. When shall we report?

How many crew can you muster, and what is their makeup?

Drake stroked his beard and looked out at the river. Well, sir, I believe I can bring you a dozen and a half to two dozen crack seamen. Maybe thirty, but thet’s a stretch. I knows of nine gunners mates in the mix, an’ there may be a few more. All hardened navy men, sir, an’ I’ll stand for their behavior. I’ve talked with them all and each had similar tales of fetchin’ up against an officer who was either cruel, incompetent or both, an’ opted for flight rather than murder. They’re all of ’em principled seamen, sir, who loved the service but got to the age where bein’ treated worsen dogs was too much fer ’em to stomach. Not to say there’s not been a fair hoard of lowlife desertin’ curs come through here thet deserved to be beaten…but we’ve run ’em out of our little troupe. We was mostly hoping for passage to Nantucket aboard a whalin’ ship, but they’s been few an’ far between, an’ the masters we’ve been able to speak wid were afraid of signin’ a mess o’ tars fer the same reasons you mentioned. Oh, an’ there’s a handful of Marines—mebbe a half dozen or more, sir—thet’s in the same boat so to speak, sir.

Jonathan realized they’d been standing for quite some time and had much to do before they could way. "Very well, Drake. I have no interest in interviewing these men on shore—there’s not the time and it may prove risky. Pick the men you believe are best suited and advise them that Kestrel is but a merchant ship of my father’s fleet carrying cargo and that at this time, there is no prospect of prizes. You may hint that that may change if and when the opportunity arises. As such, we will be employing the same naval disciplines and procedures that they submitted to on His Majesty’s ships and will be training for such eventualities as may come about. Make no mistake—the cat will flay the back of a man as soundly on Kestrel as she would on a king’s ship. He thought for a moment and continued, Have the men assemble in separate groups of half dozen or so and, in intervals, deposit their sea chests at our warehouse on Lombard Street. I will advise our warehouse manager, Mr. Winfries, to be expecting your men and will arrange for the chests to be brought on board later. Once they sign on, each man will be issued cloths and other essentials from our slops, so they should bring only whatever else they deem necessary. We have been running three watches, but with the added men, we may have to reduce those to two, as space below decks will be tight. After they deposit their chests, have them assemble in separate groups, as inconspicuously as possible, within sight of the landing there. I will instruct midshipman Marshal to ferry them out to the ship in intervals. Make it known to each that we expect a cruise of seven to eight months, and just as in the Service, I expect all to remain on for the duration. Shore time will be minimal and more than likely be spent loading and unloading cargo, watering, revictualing, and the like. Pay will be that of all our merchantmen and based on each man’s rating. Each group will be apprised of all details by the first and second mates when they come on board."

Barlow took a deep breath, grimaced a grin, and finished, Well, I guess that should suffice. Any questions? Good. I will make the arrangements. Have your first group at the warehouse at one o’clock this afternoon. We’ll start ferrying ’em aboard at two.

Oh, one thing, sir, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, said Drake, I’m believin’ thet some of the men will want to know if there’s a chance thet with the political state of affairs here in the Colonies an’ all, ifin there’s a chance that yer ship might be made part of the new Continental Navy thet’s been rumored and talked about of late.

Jonathan shook his head and replied, Tell them that that is always a possibility, though it is unlikely. Kestrel is owned by my father’s shipping company and as such sails at his direction. There is always the chance, and this is not unlikely, that we will sail under a letter of marque, and as such, every man must agree to swearing allegiance to both the Company and any governing bodies under which that marque is written. Too, if war be declared, we may even petition for a privateer’s license.

Aye, aye, sir. Thet’s fair an’ understandable, sir. With your permission, we’ll shove off and see to rounding up yer men.

Both seamen knuckled their foreheads to Barlow and hurried down the street. Jonathan stood for a moment and gathered his thoughts. Ever since leaving Charles Town, South Carolina, he had been plagued with worry about how to find enough seasoned seamen who knew both seamanship and gunnery. He had felt that the entire enterprise was in jeopardy from the start, and here it appeared that the foremost of his worries were about to be put to rest. His blank gaze fixed on the end of the pier where midshipman Trevor Marshal was waiting with his gig, and Jonathan realized with a start that his already full schedule and plans would have to be reworked to accommodate this unexpected windfall. While his mind grappled with these thoughts, his feet had already started him on his journey down the pier.

As Jonathan approached the quay, Midshipman Trevor Marshal scrambled up from the longboat to meet him. He was a gangling youth of about fourteen with a mop of thick brown hair that framed an affable face with bright brown eyes. Boat’s ready for you, Capt’n! he said, saluting.

Jonathan, still lost in thought, just nodded, climbed down into the boat, and settled himself into the stern sheets, laying the bundle across his knees. Marshal clambered down after him, grabbed the tiller, and with his voice cracking, gave the order to give way. The crew of six seamen boomed off and fought through the cluster of other shore boats that seemed packed about the docks like herring in a barrel. Using their oars as booms, they finally got the gig pushed through the throng and pointed toward Kestrel. As they got clear, Jonathan shook off his reverie and studied the lines of his ship.

She lay anchored to the southeast of the quay, several hundred yards from the nearest ship. The drizzle that had persisted all morning had finally quit, and streaks of sunlight were starting to stream like burnished white gold against the dull, gray sky. Barlow directed Marshal to stand off as they approached and had him circle Kestrel several times as he studied her trim. She was just under 120 feet on deck with a sharp entry forward, slight overhang aft with almost 24' of beam amidships. She had a strong, flush sheer with an entrance of moderate length, convex and sharp, which was a relatively new concept in ship design. It gave her a sleek, fast appearance, aspects that had proved themselves true when underway. She had a long, almost horizontal bowsprit underneath, which glared the figurehead featuring the head and shoulders of a Kestrel—hooked beak open as if screaming, with blazing eyes and hunched shoulders. Barlow smiled as he thought of the stories he had heard of his mother and father debating over this decoration for months as the ship was being built. His father thought any ornamentation unnecessary, while his mother insisted that the ship be fitted with every flourish she could imagine. His mother’s family had for generations been merchant shippers, and she prided herself on her heritage—insisting that she be allowed at least an opinion on many aspects of the family business. His father had grudgingly acquiesced on the frills and devoted what time he could to design and construction. His biggest influence was on the sail plan, where he had come up hard against the shipbuilder who envisioned a simple fore and aft rig of gaff-rigged main and foremasts balanced by a trio of jibs. Barlow senior’s long career in the British Navy had instilled in him a strong preference for square-rigged ships that he felt added immeasurably to their sailing attributes downwind. A compromise of sorts was finally reached, and Kestrel was fitted with a pair of yards for square sails on her foremast and the main chains modified to allow for additional yards on the mainmast should they prove necessary. So far they hadn’t. The sail on the foremast was loose-footed while the mainsail sported a long boom that reached far aft past the transom. All and all Barlow decided that she was sitting well, though perhaps a bit deep forward. He directed Marshal to the entry port, where he was received with the twittering of a pipe blown by an unseen boson’s mate to alert the crew of the Captain’s return.

As Barlow came on board, he unconsciously doffed his hat in salute to the quarterdeck, realized what he had done, and smiled. He shook his head and wondered how long it would take before his years of naval protocol would vanish. Glancing about he saw what appeared to be bedlam as all hands were engaged in the frantic tasks of preparing for their departure. The hatches were all off, and men were doing their best to find room in the hold for the last of the supplies being brought on board. Looking forward, he could see the cook, Edward Bunting, inspecting casks of salt pork with the purser, Joshua Dingle. Barlow’s eyes crinkled and his smile broadened as he watched the two incongruous old men haggle over some issue that was probably of little importance. Bunt, as he was called, stood with his legs spread to support his huge body fat, red-faced and sweating, was pounding his fist into the palm of his hand for emphasis, and though Barlow could not understand the words, the cook’s voice could be heard over the din of the bustling ship. Dingle, slight of build, and dapper in a trim blue coat, with what was left of his thinning wispy gray hair pulled back with a ribbon into a ponytail, was glaring back at the cook and shaking his head in defiance.

Just aft of the foremast he could see the carpenter Johnny Millstorm, working feverishly with his mates to finish the deckhouse that Jonathan had asked him to design and build. They had found on their maiden voyage that Kestrel, with her sleek lines and low freeboard, offered very little protection for the men working the ship in foul weather, and Jonathan had decided that there was room to build the structure over and around the existing hatchway that leads below to the forepeak and galley. It would contain a table and benches, would give shelter from sun and rain, and allow a little more room for the crew, who otherwise would have to mess on the deck or in the crowded fo’c’s’l. On the port side, just forward of the open main hatch, Pierce the sailmaker was finishing the alterations to the main foresail to allow for the added height of the deckhouse.

As he turned toward the quarterdeck, Jonathan was approached by his first mate, Dick Jones, whose scowling demeanor seemed even more pronounced than usual. A head taller than Barlow, he was of medium build but with narrow shoulders and a somewhat weak chest above a protruding stomach that appeared more pronounced due to his long, spindle-thin legs. Yet his most pronounced features were an unfortunately long beak of a nose and narrow jet-black eyes set in thin weather ravaged face that was framed by a mass of salt-and-pepper, shoulder-length hair, which was rarely tied back and even now blew about in a most distracting manner. He seemed to be in perpetual ill humor, which was somewhat understandable, as prior to this cruise he was the most senior captain in Jonathan’s father’s fleet. Daniel Barlow, Jonathan’s father, had deemed it necessary to begin training the officers in his fleet in the rudiments of a ship-to-ship fighting due to the increased threat of privateers as well as the dark cloud of uncertainty regarding future relations with the Crown. Although young, Jonathan had spent the last ten years on board various British warships and had learned well the lessons taught. His father had picked this crew carefully. Jones, Dingle, Scott Garmin the master, Millstorm, Pierce, the hands, even the cook Bunt, were the best men in the company. The senior Barlow knew that Jonathan would have to learn to lead these seasoned officers with authority—and do so without allowing animosity due the vast discrepancy in their ages and experience to sabotage his command. Also, the years at sea the officers and crew had logged would help to ensure that the young captain would have every advantage when dire circumstances arouse. Jones, unfortunately, felt the entire exercise unnecessary and bridled at having to take orders from one he felt to be his junior in every respect.

Jones had worked for the Company his entire life. He had been a young man in search of adventure when he first shipped out on one of Jonathan’s grandfather’s merchant ships. It was Jonathan’s mother’s family that had operated a small fleet of coastal traders. Jonathan’s grandfather, Oscar Bansett, had worked tirelessly his entire life to build the business started by his father and uncles. When he became too old to manage affairs as he felt they should be, he was able to convince his son-in-law, who had then just recently lost a leg in a naval engagement, to quit the Royal Navy and become a partner. Henceforth, Bansett Shipping and Trading became the Bansett & Barlow Shipping Company. Daniel Barlow had proven himself to be an adept businessman, although he maintained an active presence on all of his ships and, as often as time would permit, would sail on board one or another to ensure it was being handled to his liking. He maintained as an excuse the need to oversee the various agents and managers under his employ and the necessity of meeting personally with the Company’s clients. All that knew him understood the plain truth was that, more than anything, Barlow Senior preferred to be at sea.

Jones had watched the changes over the years and had grown to like his new master. Although Barlow was stricter in many ways than Mr. Bansett, he was fair and the business had grown nicely. Jones was somewhat taken aback when he was told of this current enterprise of fitting out what basically amounted to a privateer to be commanded by one of Barlow’s sons and that Jones would be expected to serve for a spell under him. Jones recalled how indignant he had become at the suggestion and how he had flatly refused Barlow’s direction. It made him seethe to remember that confrontation. Despite all the years he had sacrificed to the Company, Barlow had reacted to his refusal with a shrug and remarked, I’ll not argue with you, Richard. Give it a night to think over. If by the morrow you’ve not changed your mind, I will understand and have your belongings sent over to you. That was it. Jones realized that although Barlow could no longer command as he had as a captain in the Royal Navy, he could still be certain of his absolute authority.

So here he was, frustrated, tired, and standing before the offspring of his master while trying his best to contain his resentment. Welcome back, Captain. We have had some issues while you’ve been ashore. The fact that he had to address this young man formally further added to Jones’s indignation. He could feel a muscle in his jaw twitching as he stood there with clenched teeth.

Ah, Mister Jones, I’ve a few new issues to discuss as well. Perhaps, if there is nothing too pressing, we can go below, and I will tell the latest over a pint. I’m dry as a powder keg, and you look as though short wet might possibly improve your sour mood.

Jones replied, Aye, aye, sir, as he tried hard to discourage the start of a smirk on his glowering face. He hated to admit it, but young Barlow’s endless energy and good humor made it difficult to dislike him. In fact, he had grown fond of the gangling youth who was managing well under the strain of command.

They turned toward the quarterdeck, which was large for such a sharp and light-built vessel. Extending almost a third of the ship’s length, it allowed for unusually comfortable accommodations for the officers below. There were two sets of steep steps to the quarterdeck that lead up from the waist just inside the gunwales on either side with a long railing spanning the distance between. On the main deck, ten feet forward of the central companionway to the wardroom were the hatches to the aft hold which had been designed for the gunner’s stores of powder, small arms storage, and small shot for the canisters. With both hatches open, enough light reached the shallow hold to allow the gunner to work with a minimum of lighted lamps. Aft of the hatches was access to the wardroom through a companionway and three short steps to the slightly lower deck. Here there was a long table with benches down the center, and six screened berths, three to either side, built into the ship’s sides for the officers. There was enough head room so that all but the tallest on board could stand upright between the deck beams. A small skylight over the table allowed enough light to dispel the gloom of the cramped quarters.

A young boy, twelve-year-old midshipman Dylan Marshal was sitting at the table with quill, paper, and a pot of ink when they came in. As Barlow and Jones dropped their hats on the table, Jones snarled at the boy, Whatcha doin’ in here, boy! Ya should be topside working at somethin’ productive ’stead of hidin’ down here an’ loafin’.

The boy jumped up, almost knocking over the pot of ink, and stammered, Beggin yer pardon, sir! I was just tryin’ to get a note writ out to me aunty an’ sister fore we set sail, sir. Mister Eastman said it would be all right, sir, so long as I was back on deck after dinner.

Barlow looked hard at the youth and remembered how it had been for him, not so long ago as a young boy on board a ship for the first time. He recalled feeling alone, scared, and certain that everyone on board had it in for him. The difference and his salvation, he realized, was that he had been following in the family’s seafaring tradition with the comforts of home almost a certainty, whereas both Dylan and his older brother Trevor were here as orphans with no such kind memories to sustain them. Barlow clapped him on the shoulder and said, Never mind that Mister Marshal. Instead, be so kind as to go forward an’ fetch us a pot of beer from Ol’ Bunt. When you get back with it, you can move up to the roundhouse and finish your letters. If anyone tries to roust, you tell him that you are under my orders. Mind that you be done ’fore the watch is called to mess.

As the boy scampered up the companion, Jones began detailing the problems that had surfaced while Barlow was ashore. He had just finished regaling the pitched discussion between Dingle and Bunt over the quality of beef coming on board when Marshal returned with the beer. As Jones poured, Barlow watched the boy gather his things. Be sure you stopper that pot well, Mister Marshal—spill so much as a drop on deck an’ you’ll be at Mister Eastman’s mercy.

Jones finished his report as Barlow drained the last from his mug. Excellent, Dick, it seems that you’ve got everything well in hand. I’m afraid, though, that you will have to detail a couple of our more reliable hands to oversee the work parties this afternoon as you and Eastman will be busy interviewing the new hands. Jones eyes darkened, and he almost choked. Excuse me, sir? What hands?

Belay the ‘sir,’ Dick, I’ve told again and again that it is not necessary when were alone. While I was ashore, I had the good fortune to meet up with some able-bodied tars that want to ship with us.

But we’ve plenty crew as it is Si…Jonathan. Why crowd more hands into her? Even in the storm that chased us up here, we was fine. If you add more hands, we’ll no doubt have to go watch on watch, and I doubt the crew will be too happy with the added crowding. They’re plenty crammed as it is.

Aye, Dick, we’ve enough to work the ship, ’tis true, but not enough to both work the ship and the guns if we find action. We’ve had a nice honeymoon trip since we set out from Charles Town, but the time’s come for us to get to the work my father intends for us.

Barlow went on to tell the story of his meeting with Drake and McRae, leaving out any details of his earlier meetings. He finished by saying, I want you and Jeremy to interview each man as he comes on board and unless you see any reason not to, swear ’em in. We’ll have to change the watch lists, an’ figure out a new position for Johnson, as Drake’ll be taken over his duties as Bos’n. We’ll leave Darrel Longly as gunner, but I’m hoping to get at least two gunner mates out of the new recruits. There may be some marines in the mix, but tell ’em they’ll do wasters duties till they can be rated and that we’ll only sign six of ’em as Marines once we see who can do what. Bear this in mind, I don’t want any of these men returned to shore. If some prove unsuitable, we can land them when we reach New York or at some point en route.

Jones looked puzzled. Why the secrecy? he asked. We’ve nothing to hide here.

Barlow hesitated. The truth had to come out at some point and now seemed as good a time as ever. We have not received a Letter of Marque from the governor of South Carolina, and until the current governor is replaced or the colony effects a strong Safety Committee, it is unlikely that we will get one from that quarter. However, I have received promises from those I met with this morning that we could count on one from the Pennsylvania Governor within a fortnight. I tell you this in the strictest confidence, and I do not wish you to breathe a word of it to anyone. I will inform Jeremy, but for the time being, I do not want this known to anyone else on board. I also received information this morning indicating that the Crown will soon be seeking retribution for actions taken by the men in Boston over the Stamp Act as well as other actions that have taken place throughout the Colonies. The situation in Boston seems dire, and General Gage is apparently intent on crushing the colonists there. The men I have met with are of the belief that there will soon be a call for the formation of a new congress. It would appear, Dick, that we are headed for some form of organized confrontation with the Crown.

Jones narrowed his eyes and said, Oh, and I suppose you intend to take Kestrel into the teeth of that storm, eh? Jonathan, this is madness! Do you think for a minute that a bunch of merchant shippers with a handful of small, lightly armed privateers teamed up with a ragtag assembly of armed farmers and discontents in general, would cause the king any concern? I am certain that General Gage will clear up the matters in Boston, and that will be the end of it!

Jonathan shook his head. It’s not just New England, Dick! But I won’t be drawn into one of your arguments. Our job is to get Kestrel and our crew properly fitted out and trained to protect our shipping. We will no doubt get our Letter of Marque, and who knows, perhaps we’ll be able to capture a prize or two. But first we need to get the training done. I know you don’t want to be here, and the sooner we can prove to my father that we have met his goals, the sooner that you can get back to your own ship.

Jonathan, realizing that he was losing his temper and forced himself to pause, took a deep breath and continued, "I will make an announcement to the crew. First, I’ll need to inform Jeremy and Dingle of our present course. Then I’ll need to send Trevor in the gig with a letter to Winfries so he’ll know what to expect. After dinner, you can muster a crew for the cutter and see to it that the new hands get aboard. Take Trevor with you, and he can take over while you and Jeremy interview the new hands. Oh, we seem to be a bit down in the bow. When the deck gets cleared off some, let’s swap those two new nine-pounders with the sixes just aft.

Well, that should give us a start. Have Eastman and Dingle report to my cabin immediately.

Jonathan pushed back the bench, reached for his hat, and stood. Jones’s eyes were hard as flint as he looked up through the dim light and growled, I’ve no say in this then?

No. Please carry on. Jonathan turned, picked up the bundle that he had placed on the table, and proceeded to the aft cabin as Jones rose and went to the companionway.

The aft cabin entrance was through a single door directly past the wardroom table. The deck beams were a little higher here due the upswing of the quarterdeck, which allowed even Barlow to stand completely upright between the beams. There was, running crosswise in the center of the cabin, a heavy teak table with three chairs—one facing forward and the two nearest, facing aft. It was brighter here with the sun shining now through the large stern windows on either side of the enclosed rudder post. Beneath the windows, the carpenter Millstorm had built an elaborate chart table with storage bins below. On either side of the cabin was a screened sleeping compartment with a narrow bunk in each. Just forward of each of these was a small window between the compartment wall and wardroom bulkhead, below which were small hanging lockers.

Barlow closed the door, threw his hat across to the chart table, and cursed under his breath. Arrogant Bastard, he thought as he came around the main table, placed the bundle at one end, and sat down. He thought bitterly for a moment about the afterguard his father had imposed upon him. A collection of cranky old men, he mused. Sure, they had shown proper respect at the onset of the cruise but it seemed that with every passing mile, they found it necessary in one way or another to question his decisions or, at the very least, offer unasked-for advice. He had learned quickly that to counter these situations with the assertion of his rank as captain resulted in hot tempers in some and a sulking in others that was far more a detriment to his position and authority. As such, he was learning to pick his battles and keep his own council whenever possible. A further irritant was the vast number of times their suggestions proved to be the correct. He chuckled at this and realized he had much to do and, reaching for a pot of ink, quill, and paper, began his letter with instructions for Winfries.

He was almost finished as a knock came at the door. Enter! he bellowed as he sanded the paper.

The door swung open, and his second mate, Jeremy Eastman, stood blinking in the glare from the windows. You beckoned, sir? he said with an easy smile. Spare and lithe, Eastman was a handsome young man with close-cropped curly blond hair and bright-blue eyes that the women in Charles Town had delighted in. At nineteen years of age, he was three years junior to Barlow, and both had served together on the Gazelle. Barlow quickly recounted what he had told Jones which brought a long whistle from Eastman. Things will be a might tense if we sight a British ship, I’d say! ’Tis going to be a mite bit cramped as well.

"Not nearly as cramped as it was on the Gazelle, Jer. Look, we’ve got a lot to get done and not much time to do it. I’ve a letter here for Winfries, please have it taken over as soon as I finish addressing the men. I’ll leave the interviews up to you and Dick. When you’ve finished, the three of us can review your findings and set the watches. Oh, and have Millstorm set a second row of berths above the existing ones along the hull. That’ll increase our sleeping quarters by a third. If we gain any marines, they can be wedged in aft."

Jonathan was interrupted as the purser, Joshua Dingle, came through the door.

Mr. Dingle, I am relieved to see that you could find the time to make an appearance! He turned to Jeremy and said, That will be all. Please call all hands, and I will let them know what we are about. I will appraise Joshua of the situation and be up directly.

As Eastman hurried out, Barlow quickly recounted everything to the spry and dapper purser and received in response a similar litany of objections as had been put forth by Jones. Feeling more confident now in his decision, he brushed aside arguments and directed Dingle to outfit the new hands from the ship’s slops and ensure they had everything they would need on board. As Dingle departed, muttering protests under his breath, Barlow regarded the bundle where it still lay upon the table. He smiled as he realized that it had undoubtedly piqued curiosity of both Jones and Eastman, though neither had had the opportunity to question what it contained. Just as well, he decided as he locked it away; they would learn its contents soon enough. He was still smiling as he breezed through the wardroom and climbed to the quarterdeck.

* * * * *

Jonathan awoke to the quiet predawn sounds of a ship at anchor. The creaks of the planks and timbers were barely noticeable, and he could hear the padding of feet overhead as one of the anchor watch made his rounds. It was still dark in the cabin, and he yearned for a few more minutes of sleep, but realizing that he was now wide awake and his mind filled with the urgency of getting underway, he opted instead to go on deck. Pulling his boat coat over his nightshirt, he made his way topside. As his head came through the companionway, his senses came alive with the unusually sharp March air and brisk northwest breeze. He shuddered as the cold and damp seeped through his clothing and almost yelped when his feet landed on the cold deck. Once up on the quarterdeck, he shrugged off the cold and glanced around. The stars were still bright overhead, yet there was the faintest hint of the first gray lightening of the dawn above the dark line of trees on the far shore. It had been two full days since the new hands had come aboard, and he had been very pleased with the outcome. Drake had proved true to his word and delivered seventeen new hands in addition to himself and McRae. Eleven able-bodied seamen, four of which had been gunner’s mates at one time or another and a marine sergeant, one Larry Taylors with four marines. Barlow was delighted to find that there was enough room so that they could continue running three watches which meant that unless forced by storm or a sea action, the men would be spared the hardships of a watch on watch schedule. With this many, it would be far easier on the men working and maintaining the ship, and they would be able to man all the guns should a fight become necessary. Yet they were a new mix, and Barlow knew well that it would take weeks of hard work to build them into a reliable crew. The clash of experiences and traditions of the British seaman with those of the colonial merchantmen would surely create tensions, but with time and hard work, they should soon sort themselves out. He realized that he was shivering and was about to head below