They were soon to learn it was not only the British Royal Navy that sought to take the Scot, her so-called rebel pirate captain, and her treasonous crew. 

When the three ships were spotted, Miles at first believed them to be other American privateers. He had encountered many of them and was not concerned by the trio of sloops approaching the Scot. As they drew nearer, however, he became concerned. The group split itself so one ship was near to each side of the Scot, the third seemingly preparing to cut in front of the larger ship. Miles knew his striped American flag was flying, but he saw no flags on any of the three ships closing on them.

"Ready the guns," he told Asher. "Get the crew to stations quietly. Take the pipes from Mr. McFadden if you must."

The sloops did not give any clear signs they meant to engage, but they continued to approach. Finally, when the largest of the three was close enough, the captain called over to him.

"A fine ship for an American flag. How came you by it?"

"Where are you from?" Miles questioned instead of answering. "You have shown no flag. I would rather like to know if you are friend or foe."

The man laughed. "I am an honest man and I will remedy that detail. I quite wanted to know if you were Miles Dunn before I showed my colors. I believe that is who you must be. As for who I am, I am Captain John Andrews and all three ships you see before you carry letters of marque, though ours are quite legal, issued by the consent of the King and Parliament to us in New York."

The small hope Miles had held that these were allies in some way fled from him in an instant. This was certain to be the most dangerous of all their battles since taking the Scot to sea, but they would not be able to outrun all three sloops, not now that they were already so near to them.

He nodded to Clark, beside him on the quarterdeck. "We will need to fight out of this."

Clark gave a resolved nod in response. 

Miles looked up at the tops, filled with his best marksmen and grenade-throwers. "Tops, when it range! Gun crews, hold!"

He then ordered the ship slowed further. Tension grew thick on the deck of the Scot as the crew readied their weapons and prepared the guns.

"I request your surrender," Andrews called. "I will take this ship on behalf of the navy it rightfully belongs to and return it to them, and you will hang for the act of stealing it. Then we will be paid handsomely. There's quite a large bounty promised to any who capture you."

Miles glanced back at the tops at the very moment John's rifle cracked. The Tory Captain Andrews fell to the deck without another word. The men aboard the New York privateer were clearly shocked at the terrible and sudden death of their captain. For a moment all was quiet. Then there was brief disorder on the ship, while the crew looked for their new commander. Miles turned his gaze to the sloop on the other side of the Scot, which was very obviously preparing to fire its guns into them.

"Starboard gun crews, fire!"

The ship heaved as the guns fired. Miles was grateful to see the sloop's attempt to fire a broadside at them disrupted. They managed to fire two guns. One ball hit the side of the Scot and bounced off.

As soon as the ship steadied, Miles ordered the port side guns fired in another broadside at the ship now without a captain. He squinted through the smoke to determine if the ship still flew its colors or if it had struck. The flag still flew. It seemed the remaining officers wished to continue what their captain had begun. The men in the tops of the Scot continued to fire into the enemy crews. It appeared the Tories did not have many men of their own in their tops, as no one seemed to be firing down onto the deck of the Scot. Those who were in the tops seemed only to be concerned with disabling those in the Scot's tops.

The third ship passed on the far side of the second sloop, using its sister ship to shield itself. Miles was only just able to turn the larger Scot to catch the third foe in the next broadside.

It was as desperate a fight as Miles had ever been in, either on board the Scot, against a whale, or while on his father's privateer. Though the Scot was larger than the sloops, the very detail of there being three foes to contend with was a test of the crew's resolve and Miles's command. He sought every momentary advantage he could in the battle, every possibility he had to save the lives of his crew. There was never an opportunity to flee the attack. The third sloop prevented the Scot from running and frequently raked them from bow to stern. The other two sloops continued their attacks. Thankfully, they had fewer guns than the Scot and many of those guns were disabled by the Scot's larger shot and the precision of the Scot's marksmen against the enemy gun crews.

Miles never saw his crew falter. Those in the tops rained down consistent fire on all three ships, continually emptying the enemy tops of their own fighters. The gun crews firing the bow chasers never ceased in firing at the sloop blocking their escape.

By the close of the hour the first ship had lost its masts and surrendered, and the second ship was listing terribly and clearly sinking. An attempt was made to board the Scot, as the ships had drifted nearly close enough, but the Tory crew had been unable to climb to the deck of the Scot without having all their ropes cut and grapples tossed into the sea. It was only when the third sloop, while attempting to rake the Scot once more, also fired on its own ally, that the second ship finally surrendered.

Miles left the two surrendered sloops to tend their wounded and attempt to save their ships, and gave the order to finally deal solely with the third. With the addition of a bit more canvas they moved forward deliberately. Within moments they emerged from the smoke of the battle. The final Tory crew could certainly see their two allies in ruin, yet they fired once more. A shot nearly hit the wheel, which would have dramatically changed the balance of the battle. The bow chasers continued to fire toward the ship as they bore down on it, certainly surprising the crew that had surely expected the battle to be theirs due to numbers alone.

"Resupply the tops," Miles ordered. "Then prepare to board."

The enemy crew fired again as his orders were carried out. The foremast shook and Miles hoped it wouldn't give way under the damage the raking fire had surely done to it. Miles saw the sloop begin to open more sail. He wasn't certain if they meant to flee or maneuver into a different position, but they were not fast enough to do either. The bowsprit at the front of the Scot caught the shrouds of the sloop, tangling the two ships' rigging. The battered bow of the Scot drove hard against the hull of the sloop, causing those on both ships to flail for their balance on bloodied and debris-strewn decks.

"Boarding crew, off!" Miles commanded.

Boarding the smaller ship by climbing down its shrouds would be dangerous, but John and the others in the tops were skillful in their targeting of the enemy. It took only minutes for the Tory crew to surrender, perhaps due to the knowledge that their allied ships had already surrendered before them. The cries of victory from the crew of the Scot, those who had the strength to cry out in victory, was deafening. 

Only then did Miles feel a deep pain in his upper arm. When he looked down, he realized his sleeve was dark with blood. A quick assessment from Thayer assured him he'd been cut by flying debris, as many others had been. Thayer bound the wound tightly, then went on to more seriously wounded members of the crew, leaving Miles to complete his after-battle duties without fainting from blood loss.

It took some time to disentangle the Scot from the sloop, called the Hudson, Miles learned. The enemy crew was not pleased to have surrendered to a ship full of "rebel pirates" and made certain Miles knew it. 

The same was true of the two other crews. The Mercy was already sinking and beyond saving. The other ship, the Lass, could have been repaired with significant effort, but Miles decided it was best to sink it. He was quite surprised to discover that the holds of all the Tory privateers were filled with sundry goods. He wondered if the goods had been taken from prizes or if the privateersmen were supplementing their prize earnings through smuggling. He had a suspicion the ships were not engaged in merchant trade and merely acting as letters of marque when the occasion warranted.

When pressed, the captain of the Hudson laughed. "All justly confiscated from your own traders," he declared. "Pardon, from your smugglers, that is."

Miles gave him an amused look. "And who is the pirate?"

The man simply laughed again.

Considering the amount of manpower it would require to guard so many prisoners, many of whom were wounded, Miles allowed the Tory crews to go free, after removing all the powder and shot available from them and taking the stolen cargoes onto the Scot. They sank the Lass after removing what they needed and sending the crew and that of the Mercy to the Hudson. Then they set as much sail as they dared on the damaged masts to make for the nearest neutral port for repairs. Jean Louis was already busy with many other crew members patching and mending what they could, but there was only so much material on board, even after taking what they could from the New York privateers.

Miles, though exhausted and somewhat faint from his wound, sat down to document the battle and record the deaths in his crew log. They had lost fourteen in the battle, and many more were wounded, some more seriously than others. Once prepared, the dead would be buried at sea while the cannon called to each of them. It was miserable and unpleasant, but it was the way of war. He regretted, as he did after each loss of life, that they had to endure such pain, but it was what they had all joined for –  glory or the cold embrace of the sea.