Based on the last few nights he knew that the French would reduce their speed also, seemingly content to keep their pursuer at a safe distance until they rounded the Cape and had the whole ocean to loose themselves in.

“Wind’s pick’ng up, Cap’n” the master noted and Butler could hear the angry flapping of the collapsed sails as the topmen struggled to control the material. The ship pitched more violently as the troughs undulated brutally to the wind’s command.

“Batten the hatches, Mister Fowler, if you please,” Butler pulled his hat down tight on his head as the wind picked up.

******

The storm hit in earnest around four in the morning and whipped and snatched at the Swift as it lifted it high on troughs of agitated water before letting it crash down with bone shattering violence. Men, tied by rope to the masts, still worked the deck, their hunched figures bent into the driving wind as they slipped across the deck made slick with rain and vomit. Butler remained on deck despite the screaming wind and numbing rain and within an hour the wind had seemed to have blown itself out.

Despite the violence of the storm Butler could now see brightness on the horizon that heralded the coming dawn and a promise of better weather.

“Deck there, sail on the starboard side,” the call came from high above in the top gallants and Butler rushed over with his telescope and scanned the horizon for the enemy. It was still dark but the looming shape of the French frigate was easily visible against the lighter horizon.

They had caught them, by God, he thought as he felt his heart thunder in his chest.

“Take her up a point, Mister Fowler,” Butler bellowed and felt the immediate response of the ship as the sails were unfurled. The enemy was only two hundred yards ahead of them now but, judging by the activity on their deck, they had just discovered their pursuer’s position.

“We’ll have them within the hour, Captain,” Fowler beamed.

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HMS SWIFT ADVENTURES