“I’m damned if I agree with you, Hargreaves. She’s only a fishing boat.” Captain Young addressed the mate.
“I don’t think she is, Captain,” Hargreaves was an elderly man with more grey than black in his hair. He screwed up his eyes in concentration. “I’d say she’s a Dunkirk privateer. No fishing boat carries that volume of sail or has such a crowd of men aboard.”
Young grunted. “You could be correct, Hargreaves.” He looked around his craft for inspiration. With his crew of old men and young boys, Maid of Kent could not put up much resistance. “Smith! Have you any gunnery experience?”
Maid of Kent “Some,” Smith looked at the four-pounder that was the vessel’s sole armament. “Do you have powder and ball?”
“Some,” Captain Young echoed Smith’s reply. “Can you cripple that vessel before she
