Page 23 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

S idney stood on the deck, staring with dismay at the unmoving sails.

There was barely a whisper of wind, and the ship had nearly come to a standstill.

They had been making good progress in the last several days since they left Bridgetown.

The fast pace he had set kept everyone busy, and they had come far — he was certain of it.

If the weather had held, they would reach their destination before the crucial astronomical alignment that Pierce had identified.

The morning had dawned with promise — a steady breeze filling their sails, pushing the Seraphim swiftly through waters that glittered like polished sapphire under the Caribbean sun. Sidney had allowed himself a rare moment of optimism as he calculated their position.

But the sea, as every experienced sailor knew, was fickle in her favours.

By midday, the wind had begun to falter, the sails first billowing less enthusiastically, then hanging limply as the breeze died entirely.

Now, as afternoon wore on toward evening, the Seraphim sat motionless on a sea as flat and reflective as a mirror, her image doubled in the unnaturally still water below.

And now, they were barely crawling, and heat was settling over the ship with the lack of breeze.

Sidney had experienced the dead calm before — every captain had — but never at such an inopportune moment.

Not with Blackwell potentially in pursuit, not with the time-sensitive nature of their mission, and certainly not with a woman aboard whose presence already tested the superstitious nature of his crew.

He scanned the horizon for any sign of change — a darkening of the water that might indicate a distant breeze, the gathering of clouds that could herald a weather shift. Nothing. Only endless blue meeting endless blue at a horizon so sharp it seemed drawn with a ruler.

“How long do you think it will last, Captain?” Fletcher asked quietly, joining him at the rail. The first mate’s weathered face betrayed his concern, though he kept his voice low to avoid alarming the men further.

“Impossible to say,” Sidney replied honestly. “Could be hours. Could be days.”

Fletcher nodded grimly.

“The men are restless. Jenks has already started muttering about —” He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring they weren’t overheard. “About Miss Archer being bad luck. Says a woman aboard is a sure way to anger the sea.”

Sidney’s jaw tightened. “Jenks would blame his own stubbed toe on witchcraft if given half a chance. Miss Archer has proven herself useful — more than useful — since coming aboard. I won’t hear such nonsense.”

“I agree, sir,” Fletcher assured him hastily. “I’m only reporting what’s being said. Thought you should know, given the circumstances.”

Sidney nodded, appreciating the warning even as it added to his concerns. “Keep an eye on Jenks. If his mutterings start to sound like incitement, have a word. Remind him that speech can be considered mutinous even when disguised as superstition.”

“Aye, Captain.” Fletcher hesitated, then added, “There’s another matter. The fresh water — we’re consuming it faster than anticipated in this heat. If we remain becalmed for more than a few days...”

Sidney understood the implication immediately.

Water rationing was never popular, but especially not when men were already sweating through their shirts in the relentless sun.

Combined with forced idleness and the frustration of their current situation, it could create a dangerous atmosphere aboard.

“I’ll make a full inventory myself,” Sidney decided. “Let’s know exactly where we stand before making any decisions.”

As Fletcher moved away to attend to his duties, Sidney found his gaze drawn to the quarterdeck, where Docila stood conversing with young Harrison.

The boy’s face was animated, his hands gesturing enthusiastically as he explained something to her.

Whatever he was saying had captured her complete attention; she nodded seriously, occasionally asking questions that sent the lad into further explanations.

The sight brought an unexpected smile to Sidney’s lips.

For all her disruption of his carefully laid plans, Docila Archer had integrated herself into the life of the ship with remarkable ease.

The crew — most of them, at least — had come to accept her presence, some even seeking her company during their off-watches.

Harrison, in particular, had attached himself to her like a devoted younger brother, clearly basking in her genuine interest in his experiences.

Sidney had noticed other changes since their conversation about the treasure. Docila had become more confident in her movements around the ship, more forthright in her interactions with him.

The weight of secrets kept — at least on his side — had lifted, allowing a more natural rapport to develop between them.

During the quiet evening hours, they had fallen into the habit of studying the charts together, her fresh perspective sometimes offering insights he had overlooked in his years of familiarity with the material.

It was... pleasant. Unexpectedly so.

A shout from the mainmast interrupted his thoughts. Turner, the quartermaster, was pointing eastward, his expression hopeful. Sidney followed his gesture but saw nothing beyond the same unbroken expanse of sea. He lifted his spyglass, scanning the horizon carefully.

“What is it, Turner?” he called.

“Thought I saw a ripple, sir,” the quartermaster replied, disappointment evident in his voice. “Must’ve been wishful thinking.”

The brief surge of hope that had risen in the crew visibly deflated.

Men returned to their idle tasks with renewed lethargy, the oppressive heat seemingly intensifying with their disappointment.

Sidney could feel the mood darkening, the combination of idleness and uncertainty creating fertile ground for discontent.

He needed to act before the situation deteriorated further. Pushing away from the rail, he strode to the centre of the deck.

“Listen up, men,” he called, his voice carrying across the silent ship.

“We may be becalmed for a time, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make good use of these hours.

Mr. Fletcher will organize teams for a complete inventory of our stores.

Mr. Turner, I want a thorough inspection of the rigging — every rope, every sail.

When the wind returns, we’ll be ready to catch the first breath of it. ”

The men stirred, acknowledging his orders with varying degrees of enthusiasm. It wasn’t ideal, but it would keep them occupied for a few hours at least.

“And tonight,” Sidney continued, inspiration striking, “we’ll have music on deck. Any man with an instrument or a voice worth hearing is encouraged to contribute.”

He spotted Simms, the cook, among the gathering. “Mr. Simms, perhaps you could prepare something special for supper? Boost morale a bit?”

The old cook nodded, a rare smile cracking his weathered face. “Got some preserved fruits I’ve been saving, Captain. Might make a pudding the men would appreciate in this heat.”

“Excellent.” Sidney clapped his hands together with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “Let’s make the most of this interlude, gentlemen. The wind will return — it always does — and when it does, we’ll be rested and ready.”

The crew dispersed with somewhat lighter spirits, organizing themselves into the assigned tasks.

Sidney watched them for a moment, hoping the distraction would prove sufficient.

With a final glance at the stubbornly still sails, he turned toward his cabin, intending to make his own inventory of their water supplies.

He found Docila already there, bent over his desk with a ledger open before her. She glanced up as he entered, her expression composed but determined.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, straightening. “I thought I might save you some time by starting the inventory. I’ve compiled the record of our fresh water usage since leaving port, and made projections based on current consumption rates.”

She tapped a column of neatly written figures. “If we implement moderate rationing now, we can extend our supplies by nearly a week.”

Sidney’s surprise must have shown on his face, for she added quickly, “I kept my father’s accounts aboard the Minerva. This is familiar work to me.”

“I’m not surprised by your capability, Miss Archer,” Sidney replied, moving to examine her calculations. “Merely by your initiative. This is precisely what I intended to do myself.”

“Great minds think alike, I suppose,” she said with a small smile.

The figures were impeccable, her handwriting neat and precise. She had even factored in the increased consumption due to the heat — a detail he might have overlooked in his initial calculations.

“This is good work,” he acknowledged, genuine appreciation in his voice. “Very good work, in fact. You’ve anticipated several considerations I would have added.”

A pleased flush rose to her cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you. I thought it might... help. I know the men are growing restless, and my presence doesn’t improve matters.”

The directness of her observation surprised him. “You’ve noticed Jenks’s mutterings, then?”

“It would be difficult not to,” she replied with a slight shrug. “He’s not particularly subtle. But it’s not just him — I’ve seen how some of the others look at me when they think I won’t notice. They’re searching for someone to blame for our situation, and I’m the obvious choice.”

Her matter-of-fact acceptance of this unfair judgment bothered Sidney more than he would have expected.

“Sailors are a superstitious lot,” he said, his tone apologetic. “It doesn’t reflect on you personally.”

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I did force my way aboard uninvited. Perhaps there is some cosmic justice in our current predicament.”

“Do you believe that?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She considered the question seriously before answering.