Page 41 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
T he sea churned violently beneath the Seraphim as Sidney gripped the wheel, his knuckles white with tension.
Trapped between two armed vessels — one closing from behind, another waiting ahead — he found his options dwindling with each passing minute.
The ship vibrated with urgency, sails straining as they caught every breath of wind, the crew moving with the desperate efficiency of men who understood the peril of their situation.
From the corner of his eye, Sidney watched Docila.
Despite the danger, she maintained her composure, standing with remarkable steadiness on the pitching deck, her gaze alternating between the pursuing ship and the vessel blocking their escape route ahead.
There was fear in her eyes, certainly — she was no fool — but beneath it lay a steely resolve that stirred something profound within him.
This was no longer merely about the treasure he had pursued for so many years, the quest that had defined his purpose and shaped his command. It was about her — her safety, her freedom, her future.
The realization struck him with unexpected force, clarifying his priorities with brutal simplicity. The maps could be replaced, the treasure rediscovered.
Docila Archer could not.
“Mr. Turner,” he called, his voice cutting through the tension hanging over the deck. “Prepare the aft cannons. I want them loaded but not run out — a precaution, not a provocation.”
“Aye, Captain,” the quartermaster replied, moving swiftly to relay the order.
Sidney relinquished the wheel to the helmsman and strode along the deck, personally inspecting each cannon as the crew prepared them.
He checked the powder, the shot, the positioning — familiar motions that steadied his racing thoughts as he formulated a plan.
If it came to a fight, the Seraphim was outgunned by either vessel alone.
Against both, they stood no chance of victory through conventional battle.
Which meant he would need to be unconventional.
His gaze swept the coastline, searching for something he had glimpsed on his charts but never navigated personally — a narrow inlet cutting between jagged rocks, barely visible from their current position but potentially offering a route too hazardous for their pursuers to follow.
It was a desperate gamble, risking the Seraphim on treacherous waters rather than facing the certainty of capture or destruction.
As Sidney completed his inspection of the final cannon, Fletcher approached, his weathered face grave with concern.
“They’re closing fast, Captain,” the first mate reported quietly. “The ship behind will be within firing range in minutes, and the one ahead is adjusting position to cut off any attempt to veer from the channel.”
Sidney nodded, acknowledging the report while continuing to scan the coastline.
There — a dark line between rocky outcroppings, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it deliberately. The inlet he remembered from the charts, narrow and forbidding, but perhaps their only chance.
“New course,” he announced, his voice carrying across the deck with calm authority. “Mr. Harris, prepare to come about on my mark. We’re making for that inlet.”
He pointed toward the barely visible gap in the rocky shoreline. Harris followed his gesture, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm as he registered their intended destination.
“Captain,” Fletcher said hesitantly, lowering his voice for Sidney’s ears alone. “That passage looks barely wide enough for a longboat, let alone the Seraphim. And the rocks —”
“I’m aware of the hazards, Mr. Fletcher,” Sidney interrupted, not unkindly but with the finality of a decision already made. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take against the certainty that awaits us if we continue on our current course.”
Fletcher held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, accepting the judgment of the captain he had served faithfully for years. “Very well, sir. I’ll inform the men to secure themselves for rough manoeuvring.”
As Fletcher moved away, Sidney found Docila at his side, her eyes fixed on the treacherous inlet he had indicated as their destination.
“You mean to thread the ship through that passage?” she asked, her voice steady despite the obvious danger such a course presented.
“I do,” Sidney confirmed, seeing no point in softening the reality of their situation. “It’s narrow, but navigable for a ship of the Seraphim’s draft, provided we time our entry with the tide and don’t lose our nerve halfway through.”
Instead of the fear he half-expected, he saw understanding dawn in her eyes, quickly followed by a nod of approval.
“They won’t be able to follow,” she observed. “Not the larger ship, at least. Its draft is too deep for such a passage.”
“Precisely,” Sidney agreed, impressed yet again by her quick grasp of maritime matters. “And the smaller vessel may be hesitant to attempt it without knowing the waters as we do.”
As Docila processed this, Turner approached, his expression troubled. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but the men are expressing concerns about the course you’ve set. They —”
“They fear smashing against the rocks,” Sidney finished for him. “A reasonable concern, Mr. Turner. Assure them that I have no intention of wrecking my ship or risking their lives unnecessarily. The passage is dangerous but navigable, and I’ve studied these waters in detail.”
This was not entirely true — he had studied the charts, certainly, but had never personally navigated the inlet he now proposed to enter at speed. Yet confidence was essential; doubt would spread through the crew like contagion if he showed the slightest hesitation now.
“Very well, Captain,” Turner replied, though doubt lingered in his eyes. “I’ll inform the men.”
As the quartermaster moved away, Sidney turned back to the helm, taking personal control of the wheel once more.
The pursuing ship had closed the distance alarmingly, now near enough that he could make out figures moving on its deck.
Soon they would be within optimal firing range, and the first volley would no longer be merely a warning across their bow.
“All hands, prepare to come about!” he called, his voice pitched to carry above the growing tension. “Secure yourselves for sudden manoeuvring!”
The crew scrambled to obey, though Sidney could sense their unease as they glanced toward the narrow inlet that was to be their salvation or their doom. Even Harris, normally unflappable at the helm, looked decidedly uncomfortable as Sidney relieved him of the wheel.
“Stand ready, Mr. Harris,” Sidney instructed. “I may need you to take over if circumstances demand it.”
What he didn’t say was that those “circumstances” might include him being wounded if their pursuers opened fire during their desperate manoeuvre. Some thoughts were best kept to oneself when commanding men in perilous situations.
Sidney checked their position once more, calculating the precise moment to execute the turn that would bring them toward the inlet.
Timing was critical — too soon, and they would approach at the wrong angle, risking the shoals that undoubtedly lurked near the passage entrance; too late, and they would be within point-blank range of their pursuers’ guns.
From behind came the unmistakable boom of a cannon — no longer firing across their bow but aimed directly at their stern. The shot fell short, sending up a plume of water that sprayed across the aft deck, but the message was clear: the next would be aimed more accurately.
“Now, Mr. Fletcher!” Sidney called. “Hard to port!”
The ship responded to the sudden turn, heeling sharply as the wind caught her sails from a new angle. Men grabbed for support, some losing their footing on the wet deck as the Seraphim altered course with the grace of a vessel handled by a captain intimately familiar with her capabilities.
Sidney felt the wheel straining against his hands, the ship protesting the abrupt change of direction, but he held firm, his eyes fixed on the narrow gap between the rocky outcroppings that marked the inlet entrance.
They were committed now — any attempt to alter course again would leave them broadside to their pursuers, a perfect target for the guns that were undoubtedly being trained on them at this very moment.
“Reef the mainsail!” he ordered, knowing they would need to reduce speed before entering the inlet proper. “Leave enough canvas to maintain steerage, but no more!”
The crew moved with practiced efficiency despite their evident fear, shortening the sail to reduce their velocity while maintaining enough power to control their approach to the treacherous passage.
Sidney could hear the murmur of prayers from several men, a sound not uncommon in moments of extreme danger at sea but disquieting nonetheless.
Another cannon fired from the pursuing ship, the shot passing uncomfortably close to their starboard side.
The vessel ahead had also altered course, attempting to reposition to cut them off before they reached the inlet, but their larger size made them less manoeuvrable, giving the Seraphim a slight advantage in the race to the narrow passage.
Sidney felt a presence at his side and glanced down to find Docila standing beside the helm, her face pale but determined.
“Tell me how I can help,” she said simply.
For a moment, Sidney was tempted to send her below, to protect her from what might come next. But he had learned enough about Docila Archer to know such an order would be futile — and more importantly, to understand that she genuinely wished to be useful, not merely a passenger in this crisis.
“Watch the forecastle,” he instructed. “I need to focus on our approach to the inlet, but I need to know immediately if you see rocks or shoals ahead that aren’t visible from here.”