First page Friday: Kestrel on the Horizon

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Kestrel is available through February


Nathaniel Collins, captain of the sloop Golden Horizon, walked the morning streets of
Bridgetown, Barbados. The cries of vendors, the soft laughter of the islanders, and the noises of animals all blended into a pleasant change from shipboard life.

Passers-by saw a tall, thin man, his long reddish-brown hair tied back in a green velvet bow,
dressed in a coat and breeches that -- while not the height of fashion -- were at least clean and neat. Observers, mostly ladies from behind their fans and under the edges of parasols, could
watch him amble from shop window to booth, his sharp green-brown eyes above a sharper nose
and both taking in the morning and the life of the city. An auction notice on a building caught his eye.

The Estate of one Elijah Goodman was to be sold in its entirety: house, furnishings, slaves and
other livestock, beginning at eight. The sugar plantation called Breakfront was to be liquidated to pay the deceased owner’s debts.

Collins checked the sun. He had time and he had money, a great deal of the latter from a Spanish
ship: silver mostly, from Spain’s mint in Mexico; but also some American gold, Spanish reales
and even a few louis d’ors and English crowns were jumbled into the mix. His orders from the
King were explicit in his Letter of Marque and Reprisal. Spaniards, French, Barbary corsairs --
any ship not flying the flags of England or her former colonies -- was fair game. An attack on the colonial ships could reopen hostilities that had only ended twenty years before. He often
regretted he was born too late to see heroism against the American rebels.

Even so, there was one colonial ship he was more than willing to make an exception for. He’d
seen the Kestrel lying at anchor in the bay. He only hoped to avoid Captain Thomas Harrison for the length of his stay.

The fragrant island air cloyed now, as he thought of the rival captain, the flowers and fruit that had been so pleasant blending into a reek that clung like the powder and cologne the other captain favored. Collins remembered the scent well; remembered it beside him on deck, and above him in the Captain’s bunk.

He’d sailed under Thomas Harrison for six years, learning all the man had to teach. The Captain
had been smitten with him. Collins hadn’t minded at first. Thomas was a handsome man, tall,
clean featured and strong. But the second position had never sat well. He could accept a lesser
share of treasure, but being always ignored, always second and always on the bottom in bed wore
badly.

Now he was his own man, with his own ship and crew. He shared all spoils fairly and took only
the willing to his bed. They never left unsatisfied.