Page 30 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
It was a direct order, impossible to refuse without open insubordination. After a moment’s hesitation that spoke volumes, Jenks nodded stiffly and moved toward the bow, leaving his companion behind. Sidney immediately turned to the remaining sailor.
“Mr. Collins, I believe Simms requested your assistance in securing the galley before we get underway. The last thing we need is cooking pots flying about if we catch a strong gust.”
Collins looked startled but nodded, heading below decks where Sidney knew Fletcher’s most trusted ally, Harris, was waiting to keep him occupied and separate from the others.
One by one, Sidney and Fletcher manoeuvred the potential mutineers away from each other, assigning legitimate tasks that would keep them isolated and under the watchful eyes of loyal crew members.
As the wind continued to strengthen, the genuine need to prepare the ship created a natural cover for their strategy.
Men scrambled to adjust sails, secure loose items, and take their stations, the familiar routines of seamanship temporarily overriding the discontent that had festered during the calm.
When all the conspirators had been separated, Sidney made his way to the foremast where Jenks was grudgingly inspecting the rigging. Without preamble, he stepped close enough that only Jenks could hear his next words.
“I know what you’ve been planning, Jenks. I know who’s involved. And I know exactly what I would be justified in doing to you under maritime law.”
Jenks froze, his hand tightening on the rope he was checking. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge the captain’s words, but the sudden tension in his shoulders revealed that he had heard and understood.
“Mutiny is a hanging offense,” Sidney continued quietly. “Even the discussion of it can be punished by flogging, at the captain’s discretion.”
Now Jenks did turn, his face a careful mask of innocence despite the fear that flickered in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Sidney replied, his voice still low but edged with steel. “You’ve been sowing discontent, using Miss Archer as a convenient scapegoat for natural phenomena, questioning my fitness to command. Did you think I wouldn’t discover it?”
Jenks glanced around, perhaps hoping to see his allies nearby, finding instead only Turner watching alertly from a distance.
“The men have concerns,” he said finally, dropping the pretence.
“Legitimate concerns about our course, about the wisdom of continuing this voyage with... certain parties aboard.”
“Concerns should be brought to the first mate, or to me directly,” Sidney countered. “Not whispered belowdecks like cowards plotting treason.”
“We tried that,” Jenks hissed, his composure cracking.
“You wouldn’t listen. Too fixated on your treasure hunt, too blinded by a pretty face to see what’s happening to this ship.
A woman aboard is bad luck, Captain. Every sailor knows it.
And now we’ve been becalmed, losing days while Blackwell gains on us —”
“The wind has returned,” Sidney interrupted, gesturing to the sails now filling slowly above them.
“As it always does. Not because of supernatural intervention, not because of any person’s presence or absence, but because that is the nature of the sea.
” He stepped closer, his voice dropping further.
“I could have you clapped in irons, Jenks. I could have you flogged before the crew as an example. By law and custom, it would be my right.”
Fear flashed across Jenks’s face, quickly replaced by defiance. “The men wouldn’t stand for it. Not now. You’ve lost their confidence, Captain.”
“Have I?” Sidney raised an eyebrow, deliberately looking out across the deck where the crew worked with increasing enthusiasm as the Seraphim began to respond to the strengthening breeze, her bow rising slightly as she caught the wind. “They seem to be following my orders readily enough.”
Jenks said nothing, his gaze darting from sailor to sailor, perhaps realizing for the first time how few of his fellow conspirators were visible, how thoroughly they had been separated.
“I won’t punish you or the others,” Sidney said after a moment, surprising himself almost as much as Jenks with the decision.
“Not because I couldn’t, but because this ship needs unity, not division, if we’re to reach our destination safely.
But understand this — my mercy extends only as far as your future behaviour.
Any further talk of mutiny, any continuation of your campaign against Miss Archer, and you will face the full consequences of your actions. ”
Uncertainty replaced defiance in Jenks’s expression. He had clearly expected a harsher response, had perhaps even hoped for it to justify further rebellion. Sidney’s restrained approach had caught him off balance.
“You have a choice now,” Sidney continued. “You can continue on this ship as a valued member of this crew, with all your years of experience contributing to our success. Or you can persist in this destructive path and face the consequences. The decision is yours, but it must be made now.”
For a long moment, Jenks was silent, his internal struggle visible in the conflicting emotions that crossed his weathered face. Finally, he gave a short, reluctant nod.
“I’ll do my duty, Captain,” he said stiffly. “As I always have.”
“See that you do,” Sidney replied. “And ensure your friends understand the situation as well. I won’t have this conversation again.”
With that, he left Jenks to complete his assigned task, moving across the deck to where Fletcher waited anxiously for news of the confrontation.
“Well?” the first mate asked quietly. “Do we need to secure him?”
Sidney shook his head. “I think we’ve reached an understanding, at least for now.
Keep a close eye on him and the others, but I believe the immediate threat has passed.
” He gazed up at the sails, now billowing more confidently with the freshening breeze.
“Especially if this wind holds. There’s nothing like progress to soothe a sailor’s discontent. ”
Fletcher nodded, relief evident in his posture. “And Miss Archer? Should she remain below?”
Sidney considered the question carefully.
His instinct was to protect her, to keep her safely away from the lingering resentment that might still simmer among certain crew members.
But isolation would only reinforce the perception that she was something to be hidden, a secret shame rather than a valued member of their company.
“No,” he decided. “Have her join us on deck. Assign her to work alongside Harris and his men — they’ve shown no hostility toward her, and their acceptance will influence others.”
“Are you sure, Captain?” Fletcher asked, concern evident in his voice. “Jenks may have agreed to behave, but his feelings haven’t changed. If anything happened to her —”
“Nothing will happen,” Sidney interrupted with more confidence than he felt. “Because we’ll be watching. And because the men need to see that she’s not the curse Jenks has painted her to be, but an asset to this ship. Especially now that the wind has returned despite her continued presence aboard.”
Fletcher nodded, accepting the decision. “I’ll fetch her myself.”
As his first mate moved toward the captain’s quarters, Sidney turned his attention to the ship coming alive beneath his feet.
The Seraphim was responding beautifully to the wind, her sails catching the breeze with increasing effectiveness as the crew adjusted them to optimal angles.
The sense of motion, of progress after so many hours of stillness, lifted his spirits immeasurably.
Across the deck, he observed his men working with renewed energy, the lethargy of the becalming replaced by purposeful activity.
The conspiracy had been defused before it could truly take root, though Sidney harboured no illusions that the underlying discontent had disappeared entirely.
Jenks would need watching, as would his closest allies.
But for now, the immediate crisis had passed.
When Docila emerged on deck, escorted by Fletcher, Sidney studied the crew’s reactions carefully.
There were a few wary glances, some muttered comments he couldn’t quite catch, but no open hostility.
Harris greeted her with a nod and immediately showed her how to adjust one of the sheets to better catch the wind, his matter-of-fact acceptance setting an example for those watching.
Sidney felt a surprising surge of pride as he observed her quick adaptation to the task, her capable hands making adjustments with practiced ease.
Despite everything — the difficult circumstances of her arrival, the suspicion she had faced, the danger she had been placed in — Docila Archer had proven herself again and again.
Not just useful, but essential. Not just tolerated, but increasingly respected.
And now, with her warning about the mutiny, she had potentially saved his command, perhaps even his life.
The debt he owed her grew with each passing day, a fact that both troubled and intrigued him.
He was unaccustomed to feeling indebted to anyone, had built his career on self-reliance and independence.
Yet with Docila, the usual rules seemed not to apply.
As the Seraphim gathered speed, cutting through the darkening waters with increasing confidence, Sidney allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism.
The wind had returned. The mutiny had been averted.
They were moving once more toward their destination.
If fortune continued to favour them, perhaps they might still reach the treasure site before Blackwell or any other competitors.
His gaze returned to Docila, now working seamlessly alongside Harris and his men, her earlier fear replaced by focused determination.
She glanced up, catching his eye across the deck, and offered a small smile of encouragement.
Despite the tension of the past hours, despite the dangers that still lay ahead, Sidney found himself returning the gesture.
She was the strangest creature he had ever encountered, this woman who had forced her way aboard his ship and into his carefully ordered life.
Unpredictable, stubbornly independent, yet unfailingly loyal when it mattered most. He owed her his trust now, even if lingering questions about her past still nagged at the edges of his mind.
As the last light of day faded from the horizon and stars began to appear in the velvet darkness above, Sidney took his position at the helm, feeling the familiar vibration of his ship moving purposefully through the waves.
Whatever came next — whether fair winds or foul — he would face it with a renewed appreciation for the unlikely ally fate had thrust upon him.
Docila Archer had given him warning when he needed it most. Now, as the Seraphim sailed onward into the gathering night, Sidney silently vowed to repay that loyalty in whatever way the uncertain future might demand.