King's Ransom. William Speir

      “Yes, sir.”

      Both men peered into the night at the coast of Normandy off their starboard side. The wind changed direction, and Hardcastle pulled his coat tighter around his chest and shivered. Harry didn’t move. He continued to stare into the night and wonder when their mysterious passenger would arrive.

      “That’s the third set of lights I’ve seen in the last hour, captain,” Hardcastle said several nights later as he and Harry stood on the quarterdeck.

      “Got to be at least a full squadron, don’t you think?” Harry asked.

      “Yes, sir. 1st and 2nd Rate ships-of-the-line by the looks of them. Way out of our class, sir. Do you think they’re looking for our overdue passenger?”

      “Probably. I want you to increase the deck watch. We’re still running dark so the French won’t see us, but I don’t want one of the French ships bumping into us by accident.”

      “Yes, captain.”

      Harry continued looking toward the coast of Normandy. Under the cover of darkness, he had moved his ship closer to shore than a warship of another nation would normally dare. He knew that he had to be well away from the coast before morning light or risk triggering an engagement with the French fleet, but he needed to be in the right position to pick up his passenger since this would be the last night the Winchelsea would be waiting off the coast.

      Sunrise was fast approaching, and the person Harry had been waiting for had still not arrived. The ship couldn’t wait much longer without attracting the attention of the French ships patrolling the coast of Normandy in earnest over the past week. On several occasions, the Winchelsea had to change course to avoid the French patrol ships. Then under the cover of darkness, the Winchelsea would carefully return to the rendezvous point to wait for its passenger. He flew no flag, but Harry knew the French would have no difficulty recognizing the markings on his ship that identified it as part of the English Navy.

      The presence of so many French ships made Harry feel comfortable that his passenger hadn’t been captured, but it wasn’t going to be easy to get him back to England safely if he didn’t appear soon. Harry walked along the weather deck of his ship, staring into the moonlit waters off the coast of France.

      He finally decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He was about to give orders for the ship to get underway when one of the lookouts on the quarterdeck called softly for Harry. Harry ran over to the lookout.

      “I think that’s him, captain,” the sailor whispered excitedly, pointing to the single-sail boat approaching the starboard side of the ship.

      Harry peered through his telescope and saw only one passenger onboard the boat. Turning to Hardcastle, Harry said, “Prepare to get underway as soon as we have our passenger aboard. We don’t have much time.”

      “Yes, captain.”

      The small boat approached the Winchelsea slowly. Harry felt impatient; it would be another twenty minutes before they were underway, and that meant they would still be in French waters when the sun rose.

      As Harry continued watching the slow progress of the small boat, he saw a large spray of water shoot up just in front of the boat. Then he heard the familiar boom of cannon fire. Turning, he saw the lights of a French warship approaching their position.

      “Do you think they’ve seen us yet?” Hardcastle asked.

      “In this light, I don’t doubt it,” Harry replied. “Pass the word quietly for the larboard battery to run out and prepare to fire on my order. Don’t use the drums; I don’t want the French to know what we’re about to do.”

      “Yes, sir!” Hardcastle said as he ran to obey the orders.

      Harry watched the gun crews of the larboard battery unlash the cannon carriages and begin moving the cannons away from the gunwales. Powder and cannon shot were rammed down the barrels, and then the cannon crews ran the guns out by hauling on the ropes attached to each cannon carriage and pulling the cannons forward until the muzzles were protruding through the gun ports below the larboard gunwales.

      The small boat had almost reached the Winchelsea, and Harry called out a challenge to its passenger, which was the pre-arranged recognition signal. Sinclair responded to the challenge, confirming his identity. “Hurry up!” Harry shouted. “We have to get underway now or we’ll never make it back to England!”

      “Toss me a line,” Sinclair shouted back.

      Harry turned to one of his midshipmen and ordered the man to throw one of the ropes coiled on a nearby belaying pin to the small boat. The midshipman obeyed, and a moment later, Sinclair caught the rope and dove over the side of his boat into the water with the rope firmly clutched in his hands.

      “Help that man get onboard,” Harry ordered. Turning to his sailing master, Harry said, “Make your course north – best possible speed.” Gesturing to one of the Marines standing nearby, he said, “Go tell Mr. Hardcastle to have the larboard battery open fire as soon as we begin moving forward. Aim for her rigging and sails!”

      “Yes, sir,” the Marine responded as he left the quarterdeck.

      Harry heard the French ship fire again and looked over the railing in time to see the small boat shatter as the cannon shot hit the boat dead center. That was close. He looked up to see if the sails were set.

      He felt the ship begin moving. Looking over the larboard railing, he watched as the French ship continued to approach his position. He heard Hardcastle give the order to “Fire,” and then the roar of the cannons sounded.

      The French captain, apparently unaware that he was approaching a ship ready to defend herself, turned his ship quickly to fire a broadside at the Winchelsea. Harry ordered the larboard battery to reload, and he turned to the sailing master to see if the ship could maneuver more quickly.

      “I’ll see what I can do, captain,” the sailing master responded.

      The larboard battery had run out again when Harry saw Sinclair being pulled up over the railing. “Get that man a blanket and take him below,” Harry ordered before returning his attention to the French ship getting ready to fire on his position.

      Looking up, Harry saw clouds moving in and covering the moon. He saw the light from the French ship’s lanterns, but since the lanterns on his own ship were dark, the French would have to aim their guns based on where the Winchelsea had been when it first opened fire. He ordered the larboard battery to fire again and then ordered the quartermaster to turn northeast.

      As the ship turned, the French ship opened fire. Harry and everyone else on the quarterdeck dropped quickly to avoid being hit by the debris from the French cannon shot. The wind increased speed, and Harry decided to run rather than fire at the French ship again. He stood up and ordered the larboard battery secured. He then shouted to his sailing master to add as much sail as possible to outrun the French.

      As the sky grew lighter, Harry saw that another French ship had joined in the pursuit. Being a smaller ship, the Winchelsea had more speed, but there were several other French ships patrolling off the coast that Harry had to slip past. He saw their sails in the distance and knew that he’d soon have an entire squadron trying to intercept him.

      He turned to see Sinclair coming up on deck wearing dry clothes and clean-shaven. “Welcome aboard the HMS Winchelsea,” Harry said. “I’m Captain Hastings.”

      “Thank you, Captain,” the passenger replied. “My name is John Sinclair. I’m sorry to be the cause of all this bother.”

      “Not at all, Mr. Sinclair. My orders are to get you to England no matter what, so we’ll deal with the bother, as you put it.”

      “I’m grateful, Captain. The information I have is urgent.”

      “You’re a spy, then?” Harry asked, curious about his passenger.

      “Among other