“I assure you, Mr. Huntley. Drew is no burden. No harm shall come to him under my watch. You can depend upon me to protect him with my life. On that I give you my word.”
The uncertainty in Huntley’s expression washed away, though not replaced by his usually jolly grin. “I believe you, Captain. In truth, I’d be lost without your assistance. My daughter is worth my very life, and all that I have means nothing without her. I promised her mother before she died that I would protect her and see to her happiness.” The man’s voice began to falter, and he paused for composure.
Brogan knew well enough what pain and turmoil came with loving a child.
“Sailing with the prevailing winds and currents, it shall take the Lady Julia approximately four weeks to cross the North Atlantic,” he explained to the shipbuilder. “From our inquiries in Plymouth, we know from the boat’s agent that she travels eastbound at the latitude of New England, following the main sailing route and taking advantage of the Gulf Stream. As long as weather and wind hold, my confidence remains with the Yankee Heart in being quite swift to overtake her, not only because of her superior design but because she has the cleanest of hulls, this being her maiden voyage. And with her copper bottom I expect she’ll exceed a speed of thirteen knots. Rest assured. Luck is with the hunter, Mr. Huntley.”
“Oh no, Captain, more than luck, I should say. God’s blessing is upon your ship. Lorena was the one to christen her. May the Almighty send you a successful voyage and a safe return,” Huntley said, offering his hand. “I trust you’ll bring my children safely back to me.”
Brogan took firm grasp of the man’s hand and shook it. “That I shall, sir.”
“Then Godspeed, Captain.” Nathaniel Huntley released Brogan’s hand and turned his attention to Drew. He held out his arms. “Give me a hug, then, and you can be off on your adventure.”
Brogan left man and boy to exchange a private farewell while Mrs. Culliford and her daughter Temperance bestowed proper and polite kisses to both Jabez and himself. His chief mate’s face flamed to the roots of his bristly red hair over a minor peck on the cheek from the diminutive Wealthea Culliford.
He chuckled. Jabez’s admiring glances at the housekeeper had not gone unnoticed by Brogan. And who could blame the mate for his attraction? Mrs. Culliford was a comely woman, and with the exception of Temperance’s plumper figure, she’d produced a near replica of herself in her daughter.
A nod of farewell accompanied by a parting smile and then Brogan shouted loud enough for the sake of the crowd, “Prepare to board, Mr. Smith. We are off to rescue one of Duxboro’s own!”
He scooped up Drew’s ditty bag, amazed at its weight, then glanced down at his son with renewed respect. “How is it you’ve managed to drag this dunnage? What have you in here, lad? Rocks?”
“How else shall I use my sling? There are no rocks to be found on the sea.”
“Rocks indeed, Mr. Smith.” Brogan cocked a brow at the reproof, then looked to his chief mate.
Jabez tapped his temple. “He thinks like a privateer.”
They exchanged a grin and boarded the Yankee Heart. On deck, Brogan handed Drew’s rock-filled bag off to his thirteen-year-old steward, who winced at the unexpected weight.
Brogan had confidence the slightly built Warrick Farragut would fill out with time given the strenuous demands of working aboard ship. When Brogan first met the lad, he and his older brother William had been little more than children, fending for themselves and barely getting by after their destitute parents had released them to their own fates. They sought to sign with his privateer.
Brogan had expressed strong reservations. Then he considered his own humble beginnings as a seafarer, thanks to the charity of Jabez, and found he could not turn them away. He appointed the younger Warrick his steward, where he could keep him the safest, and now it would be Warrick’s duty to watch over Drew whenever duty called Brogan from his son.
They continued aft from the waist and ascended the ladder onto the Heart’s quarterdeck. Brogan called his chief mate aside while Drew and Warrick waved to the cheering crowd.
Already the sea called, stirring his senses with a blend of oakum, paint, pine, and sailcloth, fresh scents from the new vessel that awaited his command.
“Set all plain sail, Mr. Smith. Pilot us out of the bay, and then I’ll have the topsails and jib sheets on a course southeast by east.”
“Man the capstan there!” Jabez shouted to the crew.