Page 29 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

S idney nearly stumbled with relief when he felt the first ripples of air — a small breeze was finally starting to come up. The problem was the sun was about to set; the timing was less than ideal.

The first whisper of wind against his cheek had been like a divine gift after the interminable stillness.

Sidney had felt it on the back of his neck while discussing water rations with Turner — a faint, almost imperceptible stirring of air that had interrupted his sentence mid-thought.

Both men had frozen, eyes meeting in sudden hope, before turning simultaneously toward the limp sails overhead.

There it was again — the slightest ripple in the heavy canvas, a tentative flutter that made Sidney’s heart leap in his chest. After two days of deadening calm, of watching his men grow increasingly restless and discontented, this small breath of movement was salvation.

“Spread the word quietly,” he had instructed Turner. “Let’s not raise false hopes, but have the men ready to take advantage of any shift, no matter how slight.”

Turner had nodded, his weathered face lighting with relief as he moved off to alert the crew without causing undue excitement. Sidney had remained at the rail, his eyes scanning the glassy surface of the sea for any telltale darkening that might indicate a more substantial breeze approaching.

The Seraphim had been drifting aimlessly for more than thirty-six hours now, making no progress toward their destination.

Every hour lost increased the risk that Blackwell would overtake them, that the crucial astronomical alignment would pass before they reached the treasure site.

Time was their enemy as much as the motionless air.

There was the chance Blackwell was as affected by the becalming as they were, but wind currents were tricky beasts. He might not be.

And now, as the sun dipped toward the horizon in a blaze of orange and crimson, the first hint of wind had arrived — a mixed blessing at best. Night sailing required extra vigilance under normal circumstances; with a crew already on edge from forced inactivity and simmering resentment, it might prove challenging indeed.

“Captain, might I have a word?” Sidney was surprised by Docila’s whisper.

He had been ignoring her for most of the day — well, that was a lie; it was impossible to ignore her. She had performed miracles, in his estimation. A dead calm lasting more than three days was something that struck fear in any sailor.

“What is it, Docila? I don’t have time to play any of your games. It seems we might finally catch a breeze, and we need to harness that immediately.”

“But there’s trouble afoot,” she whispered.

“What are you on about?” Sidney asked, impatience bubbling up to strangle him.

“Trouble is being whispered among the men, despite the seeming light-heartedness,” she said quietly, bringing a chill to Sidney’s chest despite the hot, heavy air around them.

He hustled her away from any prying ears, lifting her up into the captain’s quarters so he could listen carefully while still observing the activity on deck.

“Tell me exactly what you heard,” he commanded, not looking at her.

Her news struck him like a physical blow.

Mutiny. The word every captain dreaded, the ultimate failure of leadership and trust. He had faced countless dangers at sea — storms, pirates, treacherous shoals — but the threat of his own men turning against him was something he had never truly confronted.

She hesitantly explained what she had overheard while fetching water from the hold — a conversation between Jenks and two other sailors, their voices low but their words unmistakable.

They spoke of taking control of the ship if the captain didn’t make for the nearest port, of no longer following a man who valued “treasure and a woman” above the safety of his crew.

“They’re planning to approach more men tonight,” she told him, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. “When the watch changes. Jenks believes he has enough support to force your hand.”

“How many?” Sidney asked, his mind already analysing the threat, calculating the loyal men he could count on versus those who might be swayed.

“He named five who have already agreed,” Docila replied. “And seemed confident of at least three more.”

Eight men. Not enough to take the ship if the others remained loyal, but more than enough to create a dangerous division among the crew. And with the wind finally rising, offering the first chance of progress in days, a confrontation now could be disastrous.

“Did they see you? Know that you overheard?” he asked, moving to the small window that allowed him to observe the main deck while they spoke.

“No,” she said with certainty. “I was behind the water barrels. They had no idea I was there.”

Sidney nodded, grateful for that small advantage at least. The element of surprise might prove crucial in defusing the situation before it escalated to open conflict.

“Stay here,” he instructed, already moving toward the door. “Lock it behind me. I need to speak with Fletcher immediately.”

“Captain,” Docila caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “It’s not just about the delay. They’re using me as justification — saying my presence has angered the sea, caused the calm. That keeping me aboard proves you’ve lost your judgment.”

Sidney wasn’t surprised by this. He had expected Jenks to capitalize on the men’s superstitions, to channel their frustration toward the most visible target. What did surprise him was the flash of guilt in Docila’s eyes, as if she had begun to believe it herself.

“That’s nonsense,” he said firmly, placing his hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve. “And you know it. The wind fails. It’s nature, not mysticism.”

“I know,” she agreed, withdrawing her hand. “But the men —”

“The men are frustrated and looking for someone to blame,” Sidney interrupted. “It could just as easily be me, or Fletcher, or the cook’s pudding. You are not responsible for this situation, Docila. Remember that.”

She straightened her shoulders, the momentary vulnerability vanishing behind her usual resolute expression. “What can I do to help?”

Sidney considered the question seriously.

Having her visible on deck during the confrontation might inflame tensions further, yet keeping her locked away like a secret shame sent entirely the wrong message.

If he truly believed she wasn’t to blame for their misfortune — and he did — then hiding her now would only validate Jenks’s accusations.

“For now, stay here,” he decided. “Let me speak with Fletcher, assess who we can trust completely. When I’ve confronted Jenks, when the immediate threat is contained, then I’ll need you on deck, visible and useful as you’ve been these past days.

We need to demonstrate that you’re an asset to this ship, not a curse. ”

Docila nodded, accepting his strategy without argument.

“Be careful,” she said simply. “Men who believe themselves righteous are capable of terrible things.”

Sidney recognized the wisdom in her words, born of her own experience with her uncle’s self-justified cruelty.

“I will,” he promised, before slipping out the door and hearing the latch slide into place behind him.

Fletcher was on the foredeck, already organizing men to adjust the sails to catch the strengthening breeze.

Sidney pulled him aside, keeping his voice low as he outlined what Docila had overheard.

The first mate’s expression darkened with each word, his usual good-natured demeanour replaced by grim concern.

“Jenks has always been trouble,” Fletcher muttered. “But I never thought he’d go this far. Who else did she name?”

Sidney listed the men Docila had identified as already aligned with Jenks. Fletcher nodded grimly, seemingly unsurprised by most names.

“And what about the others?” Sidney asked. “Who can we count on absolutely?”

Fletcher considered for a moment. “Turner, without question. Simms. Harris and his mates — they’ve sailed with you too long to turn now. Young Harrison would follow you into a hurricane. Most of the others will stay loyal if they see the troublemakers dealt with decisively.”

“And if we catch this breeze, make some progress toward our destination,” Sidney added.

“Aye, that will help,” Fletcher agreed. “Nothing soothes a sailor’s temper like the feel of movement beneath his feet.”

They quickly devised a plan — simple but effective.

Rather than confronting Jenks and his conspirators as a group, potentially forcing a public showdown that could divide the crew further, they would separate them through a series of assigned tasks.

Each would be approached individually by Sidney, Fletcher, or one of the trusted men, removing the strength they might find in numbers.

“We need to move quickly,” Sidney said, glancing at the darkening sky. “The wind is picking up, and we need all hands coordinated to take proper advantage. We can’t afford dissension now.”

Fletcher nodded, already moving to position Turner near the mainmast where two of Jenks’s supporters were gathered.

Sidney straightened his jacket and made his way to where Jenks himself stood, ostensibly checking a line but clearly engaged in quiet conversation with another sailor who fell silent at the captain’s approach.

“Mr. Jenks,” Sidney said calmly, his voice betraying none of the anger churning beneath his composed exterior. “I need you to inspect the foremost rigging immediately. After our long stillness, I want to ensure everything’s sound before we catch this wind properly.”

Jenks hesitated, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “Wilson was just about to check that, Captain.”

“I’ve assigned Wilson to help Turner with the mainsail,” Sidney replied smoothly. “I need your experienced eye on the foremast. Now, if you please.”