LITMIR.BIZ

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the Amethyst. The winds and tides had been in Captain Moreland’s favour, and his crew had easily steered clear of the dangerous reefs that surrounded the Bermuda Islands. In the past, many ships had not been as lucky; they had been ripped open on the shoals and sunk in the turquoise waters. Under the sunny Bermudian sky, their wooden skeletons could be seen rotting in the sand, constant reminders to passing sailors of their fate should their course not be accurate.

      Once the Isabelle’s crew had been fed their breakfast, they fell to work on the repairs that could not be achieved at sea. For a few hours now, the sounds of hammering and good cheer had reverberated around the ship as it bobbed gently on the clear waters.

      “Sir, what about a new figurehead?” asked Mr. Alexander as Captain Moreland, in the company of Octavius Lindsay, surveyed the ongoing repairs to the ship’s waist. “Shall I ask Morgan Evans to carve you a new one?”

      “I think not, Mr. Alexander. There isn’t time for fixing a new one, and besides, I find them rather ostentatious and outdated. Just smooth out the sides where our figurehead once rested.”

      “What about painting, sir? The ship needs painting,” insisted Octavius.

      “I thought you were in a hurry to see Halifax, Mr. Lindsay. Painting will only further delay us.”

      “But, sir, we don’t want the Americans to think our navy is old and inferior.”

      “But, Mr. Lindsay, we are old and rapidly becoming inferior.”

      “With all respect, I never expected to hear you say such a thing.”

      “Mr. Lindsay, we’ve lost more sea battles and men in this new war than I care to count. Too many years of war are taking their toll. If we’re not quick and attentive, the Serendipity will come upon us again and this time there will be no retreating.”

      “What would Lord Nelson have said, sir, if he’d heard you utter such defeatist words?”

      “Young man,” said James, inspecting his new mizzenmast, “Nelson has been gone for eight years.”

      Octavius’s face fell as the older man brushed by him to look over the rails. A pinnace from the Amethyst, which was anchored nearby, was approaching the Isabelle carrying four officers.

      “Now come with me, Mr. Lindsay, to greet our guests,” shouted James. “Let us find out what news is about in the few days since we were last here. Prepare for their landing, lads. Down with the ladders.”

      * * *

      AT THE END of the forenoon watch, the bell sounded eight times. Leander and Fly sat on the poop deck bench by the stern and taffrail, drinking cups of black coffee as they observed the sailors climbing down from their four-hour watch on the new mizzenmast and topgallant. As the winds blowing from the south were warm and humid, both men had shed their jackets.

      “I much prefer my coffee with milk,” said Fly, grimacing before he gulped his hot drink.

      “I overheard Biscuit threatening to hang himself if he cannot find a goat in Bermuda.”

      Fly chuckled. “Let us hope he meets with success.”

      Leander set down his coffee cup to untie his cravat. “Is James in his cabin with his visitors from the Amethyst?”

      “He is. I am anxious to hear what news they bring.”

      “I hope it’s good news and will improve James’s humour. I fear he is wearying of war.”

      “We’re all weary,” said Fly, growing pensive. “I miss the days when we battled for the prize and sailed it back triumphantly into Portsmouth Harbour. I miss the pleasure of opening the enemy’s hold of riches and thrilling the crew with fistfuls of shillings at the end of their tour. This war’s a hard one and there’ve been precious few rewards. These American ships are smaller, they carry fewer guns, and there’s seldom any treasure to be gotten from them – when we do get them, that is. They’re very good, these Americans. Their crews are fresher and their ships have been built with the best timber from these new American forests. They fight differently, too. Not like the French. Of course, as so many of them hail from England, they understand our tactics and our motivations. We’ve been softened by our numerous victories over the French.” Fly held out his cup to be refilled by Weevil, who stood silently by with a silver coffee pot.

      “Last night, when you questioned Emily, the name Thomas Trevelyan seemed to startle James,” said Leander. “Am I right?”

      Fly nodded. “I too caught his reaction, but he’s a private person, our captain, and he’s not spoken of it since.”

      “Are you acquainted with the name Trevelyan?”

      Fly sipped on his second cup. “I am not, but our navy’s a large one, with thousands of men, thousands of officers. I did question Mr. Harding, as he has sailed with James before. He felt ‘Trevelyan’ had a familiar ring to it. In fact, Harding thought he might have had something to do with a bit of objectionable business – back in ’04 – involving James and the Isabelle.”

      “What sort of business? What do you mean by that?”

      “Why, the very torment of every last one of our sea captains – a mutiny.”

      Leander leaned back to regard Fly. “Captain Moreland? A mutiny? I cannot imagine his men rising up against him.”

      “My sentiments exactly. Unfortunately, Mr. Harding could provide me with few details of the affair. He said he’d once heard a rumour about it, but nothing more.”

      “But, a mutiny … would the details not have been made public?”

      “In this case … apparently not; otherwise, I am sure I would have heard tell of it.”

      “So, it is possible that there is some connection between Trevelyan and this affair of ’04?”

      “Aye, and if there is, I am certain we shall find out in time.”

      Fly handed his cup and saucer to Weevil, thanked him, and lifted his face to receive the warmth of the sun. Leander followed suit. For a few minutes they were silent, enjoying the working seamen’s chatter and the squawks of the seagulls circling the harbour.

      “Your lady patient … how does she fare?”

      “She still lies in my cot, sleeps a great deal, and is greatly troubled, I fear.”

      “During your examination …” Fly hesitated. “Did you find if she is carrying a child?”

      Leander grinned. “Although it was unnecessary to examine her that fully, I can tell you she is not.”

      “If she stays on this ship much longer that may change.”

      “Have you been away from your wife too long, Mr. Austen?”

      “I believe we’ve all been away from attractive women far too long, including you, Doctor.” Fly clapped him on the back.

      “We haven’t been that long away from England.”

      “Yes, but you, my friend, have been far too long without a wife.”

      Leander looked out to sea.

      “My sister, Jane, is still without a husband,” continued Fly. “Brother Charles and I think you would make her a splendid husband. I know she’s older and may not be able to provide you with ten children, which is what I intend to have, but you won’t find a more amiable, intelligent companion anywhere.”

      “I don’t believe Jane would be contented with a ship’s physician who earns a few shillings a day and prefers the sea to setting up shop in an English parish.”

      “Perhaps you’ll not always feel that way. Of course you know the Austen family would embrace you wholeheartedly.”

      “Maybe it’s time you look elsewhere for dear Jane.” Then, more cheerfully, Leander added, “But I am enjoying her Sense

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