Captain Hampshire stood at the stern of the small sloop as her crew worked on securing the vessel’s mooring lines. The wind and rain was deafening, such that orders had to shouted at absurd volumes to even be heard. Like the rest of her crew, Fir had wrapped herself in a heavy cloak to protect herself from the elements. She had selected fifty of the most able crew from the HMS Endymion for this endeavor. She trusted these men to their full capacity to not incapacitate themselves or desert—they were the best men aboard. Of course, that also meant a significant loss in fighting power and productivity aboard the HMS Endymion, but she trusted her second officer to deal with any situations that might rise aboard the frigate. 

From her vantage point, she was able to see the silhouettes of the town and other ships through the fog and heavy rain. The small vessel rocked heavily, and she could see the same for the other vessels as the gray forms of their masts crisscrossed each other. She concluded it would probably be best for the better part of the crew to stay aboard and mind the boat, so to speak. An unmanned vessel in this weather would be disaster, and the more men out of the way of temptation and scrutiny, the better. 

“Mr. Hudson! Have we secured the mooring line?” Fir’s call into the wind seemed almost futile, but the first officer managed to hear her shout and trudged his way over to the quarterdeck. 

“Secured nice and tight, captain. You won’t have to worry about any waves dashing us against the piers.”

Fir nodded in acknowledgement, before waving to two midshipmen and the ship’s boatswain. “Very good. Robert, you’re with me. Mr. Clark, Mr. Smith, and Reeves—You too. We are heading into town. Remember now, we are privateers, of French import, pursuing English shipping. I hope you’ve practiced your French well.” 

Shortly after descending from the ship’s ladder with her entourage, they were met by a peculiar long-haired pirate on the dock. He seemed keen and his wits about him –He was clearly watching as the sloop came into port. As the captain expected, he began to ask questions. 

Captain Hampshire frowned, and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Hello, there. Weather’s a shame, really. We caught an old brig with a bit of rum for cargo. Then this fine weather here forced us to port.”

She shrugged again, with a shake of her head to emphasize her disappointment.

 “We’re heading to the tavern, if you’d like to come with us. The dock isn’t a fine place to talk in this weather, after all.”