It had been three days since the night Winston had attempted to attack Liza and his body had been dumped into the sea. Miles was hoping, quite deeply, that there would be no more issues in the coming days before they reached Boston. He was quite aware of the two other men, Smith and Maxwell, who had joined the crew with Winston and who were not satisfied with the justice done on Liza's behalf. They believed Winston had been wrongly punished, and that punishment – his death – too harsh.

"We are keeping a watch on them," Clark assured him. "They've not openly threatened her, or anyone else for that matter, but none of us are pleased with the things we've been told about their activities. We separated their watches to keep them from each other as often as we can."

Miles leaned back in his chair. "Thank you. I trust you all to make sound decisions, but come to me if you need to."

Clark nodded. "We only wanted you to know we are aware of their... discontent and mean to address it as needed."

Miles had worked beside Clark long enough to see that he was attempting to hold something from Miles. It was rare for Clark to do such a thing, but in those rare times it had been for the best. He had taken the time to fully assess a situation with crew members before bringing it to Miles's full attention. It had allowed him to have all the answers Miles had needed in those instances. He trusted that this was no different from the past.

"I will be watchful of them myself," Miles told him. "Only so that I am aware of them and their activities, not for lack of trust in you. I believe you are all doing rightly by the crew and by me. If anything becomes dangerous, I do expect to know."

Clark looked relieved, and nodded. "Of course. I don't believe I've failed you before, and I don't wish to begin doing so with this."

Miles smiled. "Nor do I expect you to."

Miles was awoken a few hours later by the booming sound of a gun being fired nearby. He sprang from his bed and nearly collided with Asher when he flung open the door to his cabin. 

"It's the Fortune," Asher quickly explained. "The prisoners must be attempting to retake the ship."

It was dawn and Miles could see the prize ship moving away from them some distance. The two ships were still close enough that Miles could discern yelling and the sounds of a fight taking place. The crew of the Fortune had numbered forty, and most had seemed to accept the loss of their ship. Miles had not been terribly concerned about placing a crew of twenty on the ship to return it to Boston and watch over the prisoners. Clark had given him no warnings of any concern among the crew when he had returned from notifying them of Winston's fate. Now, however, Miles feared he had made a grave error.

"Make for them," Miles commanded, realizing as he spoke that the crew was already doing so. "Quickly."

Jane was at the helm and had already begun to alter the Scot's course to draw closer to the fleeing prize. At Miles's command, others mounted the rigging and unfurled more sail to enable them to capture more wind and move more quickly.

On the Fortune, Miles saw a fight begin over the sails on the merchantman. A figure began to climb up to the sails that had remained furled, but someone else fired a pistol at him. Miles couldn't see if the man had been wounded by the shot, but he nevertheless lost his grip on the rigging and plummeted to the deck. Moments later, others began cutting the lines holding the sails from below, causing them to lose the wind. The Fortune began to slow. Several more shouts and gunshots rent the dawn air, the acrid odor of gunpowder reaching the Scot like a warning of the sight they would soon behold.

The commotion on the ship began to quiet as the Scot closed the distance between them. Miles expected the worst and ordered the guns run out. As little as he wished to fire on a ship where his own crew was possibly being held as prisoner, he expected the guns to fire on the Scot at any moment.

The Scot slowed as they reached the Fortune, and Miles was flooded with relief when he beheld his prize crew binding their prisoners on the deck. It appeared some of the Fortune's crew were assisting in the binding of their fellows, as well. Though several casualties were sprawled about the deck, only three appeared to be unmoving.

Miles ordered the Scot alongside the Fortune, and went to address the issue the moment the ships were secure. He was thankful to see that most of the injuries among the prize crew were minor and only one man had been killed, one of the deserters from the Royal Navy who went by Frost. The worst injuries had been among the Fortune's crew attempting to regain the ship.

"We didn't think they meant to take us prisoner," Caswell explained when Miles approached him. He was bloodied but not badly. "We fought to protect our lives."

"How did this happen?" Miles asked, gazing at the bound prisoners. Some of them appeared defeated, while others were even angrier than when the ship had first been captured.

Caswell shook his head. "I don't know how they escaped the hold, as it had been locked. But they came on deck and attempted to overwhelm us. Fortunately for us, several among them did not agree with their plan." He nodded to a group of nearly ten sailors who were helping to tend the wounded. "They fired the gun to signal the Scot before we could and assisted us, making the fight far more even. I'll ensure the prisoners are more secure from this point forward."

Miles nodded. "I expect you will. You did an excellent job regaining the situation," he added, as, from his experience, his crew always performed best when they were praised for any success, regardless how small in comparison to their mistakes. "I will place a larger prize crew on the next ship we take in the hopes that no other prisoners consider attempting to overpower us."

Caswell nodded. "Thank you."

Miles sent Thayer to tend the wounded, and time was spent better securing the prisoners and setting the Fortune to rights. At last, late that morning, they continued on their way to Boston.

Miles continued to observe Winston's friends as they carried on sailing toward Boston, just as he continued to observe the activities of the Fortune. The crew on the Scot was watchful for more possible prizes, but those they saw were too heavily guarded even for a frigate, and the crew was eager to be home as soon as possible. They already had one prize in their possession and were due to be paid for another respectable haul from the previous autumn. They all also wished to visit family and friends in Boston or Dunnstown. Miles hoped to find America safe enough for him to dock for some time and allow his crew extended leave to visit family even outside of Massachusetts, but he wasn't certain such an event would be likely. With a less noticeable ship, perhaps it would have been possible, but the Scot would be noticed and certainly attacked if they remained in any one place for longer than a few days. They had already fled numerous British warships and convoys that had been greater than the Scot in armament, and some escapes had been terribly narrow.

There had been no developments from Smith and Maxwell that Miles was aware of when, three nights later, Miles was awoken at dawn by voices not far outside his cabin door. Someone yelled, and it was followed by the sounds of running, then that of something heavy hitting a wall. Then the deck. At the sound of a pistol shot Miles was dashing out of his bed. He reached for his own pistol. He had kept it loaded since he had first noticed the unhappy expressions of Smith and Maxwell.

He stood, watching the door as the scuffling continued outside it. His pistol was held at the ready. The door shook, then opened. Asher yelled, "Captain!"

Maxwell stepped into the cabin. He was oddly illuminated by the rising sun now entering through the stern windows. His pistol was raised. He snarled as his gaze found Miles. He aimed the pistol directly at him.

Miles fired first. The ball hit the man in the forehead. He fell as his shot fired. The ball narrowly missed Miles and struck a window, shattering it.

Asher and Clark both pushed into the room, weapons drawn. Asher visibly relaxed the moment he saw Miles and lowered his pistol. Clark did the same only a moment later, then knelt beside Maxwell's body. He checked for signs of life, then nodded grimly. Several members of the crew looked in through the doorway. All appeared relieved.

"I hope the other is being dealt with," Miles said calmly.

"He and their two other associates are dead," Asher replied.

"Explain."

Clark glanced at Asher, then took a deep breath. "They didn't speak of mutiny until after they grew tired of speaking of revenge on Liza. We waited to be certain how to act. They spoke most often when away from us, but others on the crew reported what they were saying. Two joined them, some of the others offered to be spies and say they wished to join them so they could prevent the mutiny at the time it was to happen. One of us has been guarding your door every night after you return from the first night watch. We didn't have the time to warn you when we were informed it was about to happen. We didn't expect any of them to fight through us and make it through your door. The others were taken before they got near to your cabin. They're all dead on the deck. Maxwell was quite determined not to fail in his mission."

Miles gazed at his lieutenants, then at the crew watching quietly from behind them. "Thank you. All of you. I would have appreciated more warning of this, but given that it did not end differently, I'm not concerned. Did we lose anyone?"

"Everyone who assisted in stopping their actions are unharmed," McDowell replied from outside the doorway. "Though a few minor injuries."

Asher closed his eyes and shook his head. "Is that what 'unharmed' means to you, McDowell?"

The boatswain was clearly flustered. "I suppose I meant 'not seriously harmed'."

"I'm content if no one else is dead or nearing death," Miles assured him. "Thank you, Mr. McDowell. You did well. You all did. I will be certain to reward you all after we reach Boston. I do regret losing my last quarter hour of sleep and a good window pane, but we are all here to fight again. Deal with the bodies and we will carry on with the day."

They reached Boston with no further incidents and Miles was relieved to see the people of Boston still greeting the Scot's return with a mood akin to celebration. Levi Finley was quite happy with the accounts of their prizes taken, and Miles was quite happy with the payment they received for their previous haul. He was also pleasantly surprised to learn one of the ships he had ransomed had sent payment, and Finley did not seem concerned about their cases of breaking bulk during the winter. Perhaps, if the Scot could survive the Royal Navy and any further mutiny attempts, and the new army could survive the veteran British army, they would all see the end of the war happier and wealthier. 

Finley and Goodman appeared to be rather optimistic about the war, despite explaining that the British forces currently held Philadelphia after Washington's army had failed to prevent its loss, and that the army had been suffering through the winter near to that city, though not in a siege. So long as the Congress and the army remained in existence Finley seemed content to hope for the best for them. Miles knew that to believe otherwise would be a poor business decision for them, and so he chose not to dwell on the war very much himself. 

After the thorough update on the war's progress at the pleasant house of Nat Hill's, and a detailed recounting of much of the winter cruise, Miles returned to the Scot. The day was growing dark and he expected the prize haul from the hold had been unloaded and stored in Mr. Finley's warehouse and the crew from the Fortune returned to the Scot, save Caswell who would remain in Boston with the ship. Much of the crew had taken their leave already, but Miles found several of them gathered at the rail and looking out toward the sea.

"I'd say she's bigger than us!" someone called down from up in the tops.

"What is it?" Miles questioned.

Asher handed him a spyglass. "Not a friend, I'd say."

Miles took the glass and looked toward the ship on the horizon. He judged it to be at least a ship of equal size to the Scot, if not larger.

"Could it be French?" a hopeful sailor asked. "Or Spanish?"

"She's English," Asher declared. "France and Spain wouldn't be this near to the American colonies with such a war happening, not when they aren't involved in it. I'm also certain she's hunting us. They certainly know we take our prizes to Boston."

"Do you suppose there would be a consort or a fleet with it?" Miles questioned, hoping Asher's experience as a Royal Navy lieutenant might give them some insight into what might be awaiting their departure.

"I don't know," Asher replied with a sigh. "Such a cruise would be determined by how spread the fleet is along the coast."

Miles sighed. "Retrieve the men and get our supplies and provisions on board. Quickly. We'll need to run past her. Tell the crew to write home and I'll leave the letters with Mr. Finley. I won't lead the Royal Navy to Dunnstown."

If the navy did any harm to the island of Nantucket Miles knew he would be all the more despised by the people there. They still did not think well of him for stealing a British frigate and bringing it near Nantucket regularly. They were afraid of being seen as supporting his actions in any way, even if a small number of sellers still supplied the Scot with much-needed stores by selling them to James in Dunnstown. Such an action could be denied and hidden by the need to supply James's fishing vessels.

Leaving the American coast so soon was not a development the crew was happy with, but they complied. Miles reported the urgent change in their plan to Levi Finley, who willingly received the letters from the crew to their families at midnight. Miles did not wait until daybreak to leave the harbor. Immediately after giving the letters to Finley and ensuring for a final time that their prize cargo was secure and ready for the court, Miles ordered the Scot to get under way without lights and in silence.

It was a risky task, but they now knew the waters around Boston well enough to execute it without mishap. As soon as they were away from the shore, Miles ordered all sails set and they sped out to sea. He couldn't see the British ship in the darkness and had been unsure of its position since nightfall. He could only hope they had escaped the navy's predatory jaws.

When dawn arrived he could see no ship pursuing them. Miles knew it would not be the final time the British Royal Navy came looking for them above any other privateer on the high seas.