Mentor, who knew naval uniforms, took the glass from Bob and gave a low whistle. “Mr. Quince, that there is a full captain in the American navy walking up to the rail. I think the lieutenant is going to defer to him—don’t usually see a cap’n like that on a brig!”
The man they were referring to stepped to the rail and spoke in a voice that, unaided with the horn, carried well over the water.
“Look here, Captain. Before we go reducing each other to splinters over some prideful misunderstanding, it might pay to make sure we have ample reason.”
“Aye, that’s probably so,” from Quince.
“If you come to us via ship’s boat, I give you my word we will not harm you. And if it occurs that we must fight, we will let you return to your vessel and resume command before engagement.”
It was now time for hesitation on the Star. Quince looked at Jack, who shrugged, then nodded affirmatively. Quince cupped his hands over his mouth. “That’s on your word as a gentleman and officer in the United States Navy?”
“Indeed it is.”
“We’re coming over, one oarsman, my war—uh, executive officer and myself.”
A boat was quickly lowered on the far side of the Star.
Quince and Jack disembarked in a manner that ensured they didn’t obstruct their own ship’s gun muzzles—a fact Jack was sure wasn’t lost on the officers of the brig.
They know we’re battle-hardened veterans of some sort or damn well-disciplined buccaneers, Jack thought. He smiled at Quince calling him an executive officer. They had been thinking like warriors and not merchants for too long—merchant ships did not have executive officers, to say nothing of warlords.
They reached the other ship. A ladder was extended and Quince and Jack were helped over the gunwale by sailors, who then stood back in deference to their officers.
“Captain,” the distinguished-looking man spoke courteously to Quince, “allow me to introduce myself. I’m Captain Bowdoin and this is Lieutenant Feller, who is the commanding officer of this vessel. He has permitted me to conduct this parley in his stead. Sir, you should understand that we have a duty to ensure the safety of vessels of our new nation and the legitimacy of their actions on the high seas. Why return our lawful queries with belligerence?”
Quince, somewhat relieved by the officer’s civil tone, responded with equal politesse. “Sir, we have been on a long journey where we suffered shipwreck and witnessed many horrific acts by lawful authority—some committed against us. We’ve come to respect authority only when we are sure it is not born of tyranny.”
Good Lord, thought Jack. Quince had been paying more attention to the philosophical ravings of Paul than he had imagined. The American captain and the lieutenant seemed impressed with this response.
“Perhaps so, Captain. But still, we must ask if you’re carrying proper ownership papers for this vessel. Your transom shows no sign of home port.”
“That’s because this ship is born of the sea. It is a combination of the Perdido Star out of Salem, which was wrecked with us aboard in the South Seas, and the hulk of a Dutch blackbirder.”
“Most interesting. But do you have ownership papers from the Dutch master. It seems a most intact, and if I may say, elegantly appointed vessel.”
“No papers, sir. The captain of the Peter Stuyvesant died from a sudden onset of lead poisoning. He was a blackguard from a nest of blackguards and serves the world much better as crab food.”
The lieutenant stiffened at this allusion to what could only have been an act of piracy, but said nothing in the presence of his superior officer. Jack, silent with a dagger in his belt, stood a pace behind Quince with his hands clasped behind his back. He glanced about, taking in what he knew the lieutenant realized, somewhat nervously, was the armament and deployment of men on the Adams.
Captain Bowdoin suddenly turned his attention to Jack, as if something had just fallen in place in his memory. “You wouldn’t happen to be Jack O’Reilly?”
Though surprised and taken off guard, Jack responded matter of factly, “Aye, sir, that would be me.”
Bowdoin placed his hands on his hips. “Black Jack O’Reilly, scourge of the Western Pacific?”
Jack looked in the man’s eyes unwaveringly. “Sir, I’m probably the person behind that silly myth, but I’m far from a scourge, except to those who attack my shipmates.”
Bowdoin turned to Quince. “No discourtesy intended to you, Captain, for continuing to address your, uh, executive officer. May I continue?”
“Of course.”
“Granted, Mr. O’Reilly, there are many unfounded stories that come from those parts,” Bowdoin said. “And granted, you may have had some reason to sink a Dutchman, and to travel all the way to the Straits of Florida from the Pacific in ballast.” He pointed to the waterline of the Star, which definitely was too high for a ship carrying cargo. “But I wager you have no papers of ownership for this ship and are probably considered a pirate by several sovereign nations.”
Jack’s heart dropped. He was strangely sad that he would be seen as a criminal in his own land. He realized for the first time that, despite the family’s problems in Hamden, he considered himself a loyal American.
“You’re right about the papers but I can’t say what other nations think, if anything at all.”
Damn it, he thought, glancing at the Stars and Stripes fluttering from the mainmast. My father fought for that flag. It’s where I grew up. It’s my home.
“Well, I can tell you what they think. The Admiralty has received written complaints from the Dutch and British about your doings.”
Jack and Quince stiffened. It appeared the conversation was in a downward spiral.
“Well, sir,” answered Quince. “If you take the complaints of Dutch blackbirders more to heart than the interests of your own countrymen wronged in foreign lands, I’m afraid there might not be much more to talk about.”
“Ah, but there is, Captain.” Bowdoin looked both in the eye. “I happen to hate the goddamn Dutch and could not care less what you and Black Jack have been up to with them, though I expect it’s just as you say.” He began to pace. “I must tell you also that we’re damn sick and tired of being bullied by the British and French and every other son of a sea cook who enters our waters—even the Spanish are giving us fits off and on.”
Jack couldn’t see where this was leading, but he felt a faint glimmer of hope; something a barkeep had told him in Manila had popped back into his head. Something about problems between the British and the Americans.
“What say you to a letter of safe passage signed by me?”
The surprise must have been evident in Jack’s eyes; he could certainly see it in the faces of Quince and Lieutenant Feller.
“Our navy is pitifully small, gentlemen. We are months, or short years, from another conflict with the British and maybe the French. We cannot possibly face them ship to ship, but we can damn well use good patriotic seamen who will man privateers.” He looked at them both again appraisingly. “I judge myself good at taking measure of a man, and it’s clear to me that the both of you, pirates, saints, or whatever you might be, are men of your word.”
“That we are, sir,” stated Quince.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll sign a statement swearing that you and your crew will accept a letter of marque or commission by the United States Navy if hostilities were to resume with our enemies, I will sign the aforementioned letter of safe passage.”