The French Prize Read Online Free PDF

was good. There was about eight knots of breeze and Jack’s instinct told him it was building, but for now he was comfortable with the sail they were carrying. Tucker, he knew, would be thinking about stowing the topgallants, but Jack was willing to hang on to them for a while longer.
    He stepped clear of the scuttle and moved quietly down to the leeward side of the quarterdeck. This was a moment he loved: when he was on deck, lost in the dark, his watch not yet begun, no one even aware that he was topside. He could stand still and let the beauty of the ship and the sea and the night envelop him. He could feel the warm, regular breeze on his face, and the long, steady roll of the ship underfoot. He could hear the sound of the water rushing down along the hull and gurgling under the counter as Abigail ’s bluff bows parted the seas and the sails above drove her hundreds of tons of bulk along its steady track.
    He took a deep breath. This was the reward, the moment of rest as the sun was setting, the warm fire at journey’s end, the cool dip in the pond when a long summer’s day of labor was over. This was the prize won by hours and days of standing the deck through blowing wind and freezing rain and seas piling up like mountains to windward. This was the compensation for standing watch upon watch in bitter weather, struggling with torn sails, shattered spars, rigging snapped like cotton thread, for bearing the responsibility of driving a ship through reefs and bars and shoals, through waters swarming with pirates and privateers and customs agents and tight-fisted merchants. This was why he went to sea.
    This, and because he was not sure he was capable of doing anything else.
    Jack saw a seaman heading aft to turn the glass and ring out eight bells, so he pushed himself off the rail and sought out Oliver Tucker on the windward side. Tucker was bigger all around than Jack, who stood five foot eleven and had his father’s muscular build. Tucker was toying with six feet, was inches wider than Jack, and ten years his senior, but he lacked Jack’s time on blue water.
    Tucker had spent most of his career in coasting vessels, or fishing for cod on the banks, and had only recently taken to the deepwater carrying trade. That was why, despite the difference in age, he was second mate and Jack first. And that seemed to be fine with Tucker, who was competent but unimaginative and largely devoid of ambition. He said little and seemed quite content with his place in the world and in the hierarchy of the ship.
    â€œEvening, Jack,” Tucker said on seeing the mate’s approach.
    â€œEvening, Oliver. Fine night.”
    â€œFine indeed,” Oliver agreed, then went about the formalities of turning over the watch. “Course is northwest, and Montserrat bearing west southwest and about ten leagues distant. Not much else to report, we haven’t touched a rope since I came on deck. Wind does seem to be building. I was thinking of handing the topgallants, but reckoned I’d wait for the change of watch.”
    Jack nodded. Abigail , like most merchantmen, carried a bare minimum of crew, because Oxnard, like most merchants, was too mean to pay for more hands than were absolutely necessary, and generally less than that. There were ten men in the forecastle, five for each watch, along with a cook, steward, two mates, and Asquith, making a total of fifteen souls aboard, excluding the two cats, who displayed even less evidence of having souls than did the cook.
    Any task of notable difficulty, such as winning the anchor or reefing topsails, required all hands, but stowing topgallants did not rise to that level. In truth, Jack knew, Tucker was under orders not to make any sail changes without waking the captain, and he did not want to wake the captain, so he had waited for Jack to make his appearance.
    â€œWe’ll probably need to hand them soon,” Jack agreed, “but I reckon I’ll hang on to