Once past the fleet, Shrike took one last lingering look at the southern coast of Cuba, their old hunting grounds, and then a favorable slant of wind took them up the Windward Passage.

Alan finally discarded his crutch. Though the wound still pained him, he could make his way about the decks with more ease. He had to admit that the wood and canvas deck chair was comfortable, an admirable invention that should be standard equipment for the aspiring (but lazy) Sea Officer such as he. He was close to the wheel and the quartermasters, could see the work at the guns or the gangways, and could "stand" his watches in sublime ease for once. And noon sights could be performed just as well from a sitting position as they could be standing by the sunward rail and gritting his teeth with each pitch and heave of the deck.

When called to walk forward, or do his tours below decks, he could wince manfully, with Edgar or Rossyngton or Cony to aid him, and limp about, searching for a convenient handhold for which he could lunge the last few feet and utter a loud whoosh of relief from the titanic effort of performing his duties.

Secretly, the wound was no longer that troubling, but after a little over three years of hard service, he was not going to admit to any more agility than was absolutely necessary, certain he was due some ease. And it was fun to portray the wounded hero, stoically going about his rounds as though he were secretly suffering the agonies of the damned, and making a great show of shrugging off any offers of assistance or sympathy.

He had finished his morning watch and had turned the deck over to Caldwell and Rossyngton, but lingered in his deck chair with a mug of sweet tea, half-dozing with the "injured" limb stuck out stiffly in front of him. His chin rested on his breast and his cocked hat was far forward over his forehead to counter the early morning sun on this their third week of patrolling several leagues to seaward of Monte Cristi off the coast of Hispaniola. He took a sip of tea, then wrote up his lieutenant's journal. He had gotten past the usual bumf: "Fri., Mar 7th, 1783: Winds NW, Course NNE, Lat. 20.05N, bearing at dawn Isabella Pt. Monte Cristi SE by E off shore 5-6 leagues. Fresh breezes Cloudy," and was wondering what else he should write down (and attempting to stifle a rather huge yawn) when the lookout interrupted him.

"Sail ho! Deck thar! Three sail, four points awrf't' starb'd bow!"

That brought him up with a start, almost making him spill his tea and the inkwell all over his journal. There was nothing to their suth'ard, or the east but French or Spanish vessels. Little Shrike would be no match for a squadron of foes that had escaped the blockade.

"Mister Rossyngton, go aft an' inform the captain," Caldwell directed. "You hear, Mister Lewrie, sir?"

"Aye, thankee, Mister Caldwell," Alan said, forgetting how "lame" he was supposed to act as he levered himself out of his chair and got to his feet to hobble (only slightly) to the bulwarks. "I have the deck now, Mister Caldwell."

"Deck thar!" the lookout called again. "Four… no, five sail to starb'd, now! 'Ard on t'wind onna starb'd tack!"

"On passage for the Bahamas, perhaps," Alan said as Caldwell joined him at the rail. With his telescope, Alan could just barely make out three tiny slivers of whitish-tan that could have been clouds on the horizon. The lookouts aloft would have a better view, at least one hundred feet higher above the decks.

"One sail's 'auled 'is wind, sir!"

"Falling down on us, sir," Caldwell said primly, sounding more annoyed than anything else. "To smoke us."

"I have the deck, sirs," Lilycrop said as he emerged from his quarters and strode to join them. "Hands to Quarters, put out the galley fires, an' stand ready to rig out stuns'ls an' haul our own wind to loo'ard."

"Bosun, beat to Quarters!" Alan shouted with the aid of his brass speaking trumpet.

"Mister Lewrie, sir, once Mister Cox's ready with his batteries, I'd admire we ease her a point free more northerly," Lilycrop ordered.

"Aye, sir."

"Midshipman aloft," Lilycrop snapped, turning to them once more before strolling to the abandoned chair and dropping into it heavily as though he had no real care in the world what was over the horizon.

Gangly Mr. Edgar swarmed his way to the mainmast cross-trees like a spastic spider.

"A flag, sir!" Edgar piped moments later. "Looks British, I think. Yes, sir, Blue Ensign, sir, and a private signal!"

"Might be a ruse," Alan speculated.

"T 'ands is at Quarters, sir," Fukes reported, with Mr. Cox.

"Private signal, sir!" Edgar added in a boyish yelp. "She's the Drake sloop, brig-rigged! Now she's flying 'Attend Me,' sir!"

"Presumptuous bastard." Lilycrop snorted at the audacity of another lieutenant master and commander much like himself, in command of a brig below the rate issuing pre-emptive orders without knowing whom he was addressing. "What're the others doin'?"

"Standing on north, sir!"

"Belay, Mister Lewrie," Lilycrop barked out, rubbing his white-stubbled jowls. "Bring her back to the original course. We can spy out this'n, if she's a Frog in disguise, if the others stay up to windward. Lay us close-hauled as may be and close her."

Within half an hour, the small squadron was hull-up over the horizon, and the Drake was within hailing distance. By the private code signals for the month, they could identify the other ships: the Albemarle frigate, a 6th Rate of twenty-eight guns, according to the List under the command of one Horatio Nelson; a 5th Rate frigate, the Resistance, of forty-four guns; another twenty-eight-gunned 6th Rate, the Tartar, under a Commander Fairfax; and Drake, under a man named Dixon. And bringing up the rear was a final 6th Rate twenty-eight-gunned frigate that flew French colors under a British flag, a recent prize.

"Ahoy there!" came a call from Drake as she surged close.

"Ahoy, Drake!" Lilycrop bellowed. "Shrike, twelve-gunned brig o' war! Lilycrop, Lieutenant, master and commander!"

"Captain Nelson in Albemarle is senior, sir!" Dixon shouted back. "His compliments to you, and he directs you to fall in astern of us! We are on passage for Turk's Island! The French have taken it!"

"When?" Lilycrop asked.

"'Middle of last month, sir!" Dixon yelled. "Captain King in Resistance, with the Dugay Trouin frigate, were in Turk's Island Passage four days ago! They spotted two French royal ships at anchor off Turk's Island and gave chase. Took La Coquette here, and a sloop of war! Captain Nelson thinks we can overwhelm them if we act quickly!"

"Let's be at the bastards, then, Captain Dixon!" Lilycrop agreed loudly.

"Aye, aye, Captain Lilycrop!"

"Not the bloody Frogs again, sir," Caldwell groused. "Thought we had 'em bottled up proper once de Grasse was defeated. Don't they know to stay in their kennels when English bull-dogs are out on the prowl?"

"Been a year since The Saintes, almost, Mister Caldwell," the captain said. "Even curs get their courage back sooner'r later. Mr. Lewrie, stand the crew down from Quarters, if you please, and secure. Then proceed with the rum ration and the noon meal. Then I'd admire to have both of you in the chart-space with me."

"Dry as old bones, mostly," Lilycrop mused as they looked at the charts of Turk's Island, or more properly, Grand Turk. "Turk's, South Caicos, and Salt Cay, an' salt tells the story-'bout the only export they got. With this slant o' wind, we'll fetch the Passage sure enough, if it holds."

"Miss the Mouchoir Bank, thank the Good Lord," Caldwell said. "Turn the corner north and east of the Northeast Breaker. There's said to be rocks and coral heads awash south and west of there. I'd prefer to see waves breaking before I'd turn."

"Or stand on as we are, into the Turk's Island Passage, staying clear of the Apollo Bank, sir," Alan said drawing on the chart with his finger. "Leave Sand Cay and Salt Cay to the starboard."

"Aye, be safer." Lilycrop nodded. "That's up to this feller Nelson. Hope he's a little caution in his bones."

"Know anything of him, sir?" Alan asked.

"Not much," Lilycrop informed him, marching a brass divider over the chart slowly. "Uncle's Sir Maurice Suckling, Comptroller of the whole damn Navy. Never hurts, ey? Funny. Thought Jemmy King in Resistance would serve as commodore to our little squadron. He's got a 5th Rate, Nelson only a 6th. James King was Captain Cook's second lieutenant out in the Pacific in Resolution, you know. Maybe even with a 5th Rate to command, he's a couple names down the seniority list. No, don't go playin' with that, sweetlin','" Lilycrop admonished one of Henrietta's kittens, who had jumped up for attention, and had become entranced with the movement of the brass divider. She was pouncing on it, her short little stub of a tail wiggling in delight.

"Looks like a good anchorage here, sir," Alan said, shoving the kitten's rump out of the way long enough to indicate Hawk's Nest Anchorage sou'east cf the southern end of the island. "Not much to look at from the chart, though."

"Been here before," Lilycrop said, now busy entertaining the cat. "Nothin' much but coral, salt and mud. Only drinkin' water is what they catch from a rain. More reefs around it than a duchess got necklaces, an' pretty steep-to, close under the shores. Hawk's Nest or Britain Bay up here seem best, 'less we just barge our way into this little harbor on the western side. But I expect the Frogs have a battery there. I would."

"What about fortifications, sir? Ours, I mean, that they've taken over."

"Nary a one, sir." Lilycrop shrugged. "Not much reason for 'em before, since it was only the salt trade that anybody'd come for, and that only in the summer months. God pity the poor French possession of the place, I say."

"If they landed back in the middle of February, they wouldn't have much time to build fortifications, sir," Caldwell pointed out. "Sand and log, rubble from the town perhaps. That sort of place would just soak up round-shot."

"Worth taking, though, sir," Alan said after studying the chart. "Look at all these passes. Turk's Island Passage, Silver Bank, Mouchoir Passage, and up north, the Caicos and the Mayaguana Passages. Put some privateers in here, and just about any ship using the Windward Passage from the west would have to run the gauntlet by here to get to the open sea for home."

"Nobody ever said the French were stupid, aye," Lilycrop said. "A little prospectin' for territory before the war ends. It'd be a year before the peace conference hears of it, and even begins to get the place sorted out in our favor. But, Resistance took two ships, and a sloop of war and one 6th Rate frigate can't carry many troops, or land much in the way of artillery. They're cut off on this island for now, without any ships to support 'em-what, not more'n one hundred fifty or two hundred troops? We can outshoot 'em with our three frigates, and muster more men from our Marines an' seamen. Best kick 'em up the arse now an' have done."

"I'll tell Lieutenant Walsham, sir," Alan said grinning. "God, he'll love it, after being stuck aboard during the Florida thing. Full 'bullock' kit and cross-belts for a proper show."

"How's the leg, Mister Lewrie?" the captain inquired.

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