As Winston and Katherine led their prisoners slowly down the shore, the Defiance stood out against the dark sky, illuminated by flashes of lightning as it tugged at its anchor cables. The sea was up now, and Winston watched as her prow dipped into the trough of each swell, as though offering a curtsy. They had almost reached the water when he spotted John Mewes, waiting by the longboat.
"Ahoy, Cap'n," he sang out through the gusts of rain. "What're you doin'? Impressing Roundheads to sail with us now? We've already got near to fifty of your damn'd indentures."
"Are they on board?"
"Aye, them and all the rest. You're the last." He studied Katherine and Morris in confusion. "Though I'd not expected you'd be in such fine company."
"Then we weigh anchor."
"In this squall?" Mewes' voice was incredulous. "We can't put on any canvas now. It'd be ripped off the yards."
"We've got to. The Roundheads are already moving on Bridgetown. We'll try and use those new short sails." Winston urged Morris forward with his pistol, then turned back to Mewes. "Any sign of that African we talked about?"
"I've seen naught of him, and that's a fact." He peered