Miles watched the Dutch merchantman sail off into the distance with frustration. He did not enjoy being defeated through trickery and deception, but he supposed it was all an aspect of the game of privateering. He could not win every round.

"A pity we couldn't prove they were flying a false flag," Asher commented from beside him.

"I'm certain they were," Miles commented. "The crew was entirely English and Irish. I don't believe the captain spoke a word of Dutch. Yet I found nothing to prove they were not honest. The cargo wasn't worth the risk of taking the ship and hoping our suspicions would prove true."

Asher nodded. "I agree. We've been fortunate enough in the courts to not lose the cargos we have broken bulk on."

Miles almost chuckled. "I hope they are as forgiving when we bring in the broken cargoes from the winter."

Due to the increase in other privateers and the knowledge that the war must end at some time, Miles had chosen, with the ready agreement of his lieutenants and crew, to alter their strategy for the capture of prizes in order to continue cruising through the winter. Ships that fought the Scot were intentionally fired on not to merely stop them, but to make it nearly impossible to safely sail them, though not to sink them. The cargo was then taken and the crew held prisoner until they could be released in a neutral port or eventually allowed to row themselves to a British port while the Scot remained safely at a distance. Miles then made use of his book of contacts from Levi Finley to dispose of the perishable cargo. The rest of the cargo he kept to return to Boston with all documentation to prove that their actions were the only option to save the cargo in these cases.

"We all agreed to the risk," Asher reminded him. "We needed the funds for supplies and to give the crew something for their work."

"I don't disagree," Miles assured him. "It was the best option available to us. It may come to be better for us than the ransomed ships."

Miles had reluctantly ransomed the ships that had immediately surrendered when presented with the broadside of a frigate flying an American flag, allowing them to go on their way with a written agreement that they would send payment to Mr. Finley in Boston once they returned to port. The ships' captains were taken onto the Scot until payment was made to free them. Once a dozen of them were aboard the Scot, however, they grew more bothersome than the prisoners of the other captured vessels. The Dutch merchantman had proven useful for setting the captains on parole before anyone on the crew killed them for treating them with so much contempt, no matter how much respect Miles attempted to show them. A few of them had not been too terrible, but most of them hated everyone on the Scot, and everyone on the Scot had hated them in return.

"Trusting in a man's honor doesn't result in quite what it used to," Asher grumbled. "But perhaps Mr. Finley will surprise us with news that someone, at least, has sent him payment."

"Assuming we can reach Boston without issue," Miles reminded him. 

"As always."

They had wintered in warmer southern waters and did not know the current state of the war, though they had heard some news, which was old by the time they received it. He knew New York City had fallen to the British, but General Washington had led a successful Christmas attack against Hessian soldiers employed by the British at Trenton, New Jersey. Of what had happened since, he knew very little.

Miles leaned on the rail of the ship and continued to gaze out into the distance. "Sometimes I consider how thoughtless it was of me to take this ship," he confessed. "The crew is in far greater danger being on a stolen English frigate that the usual privateer. You and the other sailors who were on this ship at the time are in increased danger were we to be captured."

"We're risking our lives in many ways, here," Asher said, his voice calm despite them having had this conversation more than once already. "We all chose this. I can't say what they will do to the others, but I'm certain they will either kill me immediately or take me to England for a sham court martial before they hang me. I knew that risk before we followed the Wing away from New York. To them, this is treason. I knew this. I suspect most of the crew do, as well. Especially after the captains recently on board reminded them of it daily. Did you know of the bounty on your capture before they told you?"

Miles glanced at him and saw a look of calm resolve. "No, but I suppose I expected it. A bounty on my capture doesn't concern me overly much. I'm concerned for what will be done to the navy's deserters. If it is within my power, I will never allow this ship to be taken by the British navy," Miles promised. He gazed around him at the ship, seeing members of his crew going about their duties or relaxing on deck. He could hear laughter from below and sailors talking aloft. "There is much more to be considered than if we were on a more regular sort of privateer. I am responsible for my crew."

Asher nodded. "I know. The crew appreciates how well you treat them and how much care you take for their safety."

Before anything more could be said, someone called, "Ship on the horizon!"

It took little time to determine it was a new possible prize sailing in their direction, and, his concerns shut away once more, Miles ordered the crew to make ready to intercept it when it drew close.

The ship was laden with almost nothing but sugar from the West Indies and surrendered without attempting to defend itself. That night Miles sat to prepare a copy of his account of the capture for Mr. Finley and Mr. Goodman. It was late in the evening and he could hear the crew, most of those who were not on the prize crew being off watch, enjoying themselves below deck. It was the usual noise, things he was quite used to. Someone was playing a stringed instrument they had acquired when they'd stopped in Havana for supplies, though Miles wasn't certain what instrument it was. The playing was accompanied by multiple voices singing rather terribly, but Miles had no right to judge them. There was laughter and much talking. Everyone seemed to be in an excellent mood after the successful capture of another prize.

Then the jolly mood was broken by a yell. A commotion followed. The music abruptly stopped. Miles set his quill aside, concerned by the amount of yelling and swearing he could clearly hear. It was not truly unheard of to have problems among the crew, but the situations were rare enough on his ships that Miles worried immediately that a fight had begun.

The commotion was disrupted by the distinct, loud, drawn-out call of, "Ayo!" from McDowell, the boatswain. "What's this about?"

There was still some commotion that Miles could hear, though the details were beyond his understanding. He felt confident his lieutenants could address whatever had occurred and only involve him if it had been serious, so Miles picked up his quill again to continue his account.

Moments later he heard footsteps approaching his cabin. He set the quill down again when a knock sounded on the door.

"Enter," he commanded.

The door opened and Asher appeared. He looked decidedly unhappy. "There is a situation we need your assistance with, Captain."

The added formality and the seriousness of Asher's voice confirmed for Miles that it was a very unhappy circumstance indeed they had encountered. Miles drew a deep breath and stood from his desk. He picked up his pistol and loaded it. Asher remained quiet about this action, only continuing to confirm the severity of what had happened. Miles fully believed a murder had taken place among the crew. Little else would cause Asher to be so unhappy and resolved, he believed.

Miles followed Asher below. The crew on watch were talking quietly to themselves, certainly gossiping about what was happening out of their sight.

When he arrived below he found the crew standing in complete silence, a rarity for most of them. The other lieutenants stood beside one man, someone who was rather new to the crew. Miles had not liked him overly much, but he'd found no obvious fault with the burly man who was so tall he was forced to double over below decks. The ship had needed a few more crew members when the man had signed on. He'd then proceeded to cause no issue that Miles had been made aware of, causing Miles to forget his original concerns. It even took Miles a moment to recall the man's name – Winston.

Nothing else was unusual. He saw no bodies laying before him, blood, or other obvious signs of an attack among the other crew members, though many of them wore looks of anger and hatred that they directed toward Winston.

"What happened here?" Miles demanded.

"Only a misunderstanding," Winston slurred.

A surge of curses and sneers went through the assembled crew. Miles held up his hand for silence.

"I want an explanation. Immediately."

"He tried to force himself on Liza."

Miles wasn't certain who said it, but it mattered little to him. There were quiet sounds of agreement from around him. Miles turned to look for Liza, and found her standing close to Jane. She did appear to be quite upset. Jane had her arms around her consolingly.

"Is that what happened?" he asked her. This was something that had never happened on his ships before, not to his knowledge. He had been quite clear, at all times and in his ships' articles that such actions would not be tolerated between any members of his crew. This was the first anyone had dared test his word on the matter.

Liza nodded. "A few of the men stopped him."

"That wasn't what happened," Winston argued. "She came to me. Wanted a good tumble."

"Not from the words we heard you saying to her!" someone yelled.

"Some of 'em like the aggressive fucking."

"You son of a bitch!" someone snarled and another commotion started.

"Enough!" Miles bellowed. The crew fell silent again and he turned to Liza. "I'll take the truth of it from you. Do you stand by what you told me?"

She nodded. "I have no need for men such as him. I don't enjoy being abused. What he's saying is a lie."

Miles knew her well enough to believe her words over Mr. Winston's. He turned back to gaze at the man sitting in a chair flanked by Miles's armed lieutenants. 

"You agreed to this ship's articles when you joined. You know I run my ship on respect. That is a mutual thing. Each crew member gives their respect to their fellow crew. When that respect is broken, there is punishment. Acts of force are strictly forbidden on my ship. You agreed to this."

"I didn't force her to do a thing," Winston spat. "Only what a woman is for. Why they here if they ain't our whores?"

"Enough!" Miles roared a second time, before the commotion had even truly begun. "I have just explained respect to you. You did not respect Liza." He turned back to Liza. "What would you like to see done to him as punishment?"

Liza was quiet for a long moment, then she nodded slowly. "I want him to be shot. And I want to shoot him."

Miles glanced at his lieutenants. None of them gave any indication that they believed the punishment too harsh for the crime. Miles motioned Liza to him.

"You can't believe her," Winston snarled. "You'd believe a woman over a good man? I thought you had honor."

"I do," Miles assured him. "You, however, do not. You are one of the worst sorts of men. This punishment fits the crime well. Myself and the lieutenants have agreed. You chose the act, now you must be punished for it."

In truth, he knew the only other option would be to have him held prisoner under guard until they reached the next port, then put him off the ship with no additional pay and the freedom to attack others for however long he lived.

He handed his loaded pistol to Liza. Winston tried to stand, but Clark, Asher, and McDowell all held him in the chair. He sputtered, spat, and cursed, but Liza lifted the pistol with a steady hand and shot him through the chest. The shot seemed to echo through the ship and the smell of the smoke was acrid.

Moments later he slumped, silent and unmoving, in the chair. Liza handed the pistol back to Miles. He nodded to the lieutenants. 

"Have him dumped into the sea, and tell those on watch what happened. I want no rumors and I want every person on this ship to understand I will not tolerate such cruel displays of disrespect and abuse on my ship. Then I want one of you to take a boat to the Fortune and inform Caswell and the prize crew of what has taken place. The rest of you, carry on."

As the crew dispersed, Miles followed Liza to where she and Jane settled in a corner along the side of the ship. He knelt beside them and watched Liza press her hands to her face. He touched her shoulder, but when she flinched he immediately removed his hand.

"I have no tolerance for how he behaved, as you well know," he told her. "If any such event happens to either of you, or anyone on this crew, I want to handle it immediately. I will not keep such creatures on my crew."

Liza nodded, but didn't speak.

"Thank you," Jane told him. "We will remember."

Miles nodded. "Take care of her."

"I will," Jane assured him.