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might prey on other British shipping.
    “Order the American to heave to,” Hawkes commanded. He would board her and have her taken back to England, where people greater than he could sort it out.
    When the
St. Lawrence
didn’t respond, Hawkes ordered the
Gorgon’s
guns run out and a warning shot fired. He noted that, while the
St. Lawrence’s
gun ports were open, her cannon had not been run out. This was a condition that could be changed in an instant, and the American’s gun crews were doubtless poised to do just that.
    The
St. Lawrence
again did not respond. Instead, she turned and started to sail away. For an instant, Hawkes found himself admiring the graceful lines of a ship that belonged to a bygone era. Sail had first been replaced by the steam engine and the paddle wheel. Soon the cumbersome and vulnerable paddle wheel had been succeeded by a propeller, or screw, that was beneath the stern of a ship like the
Gorgon
and safely out of the way.
    The
St. Lawrence
and others like her were two generations behind modern warships. Even the mighty
Gorgon
had fallen behind. She could not compare with ironclad monsters like the Royal Navy’s
Warrior
and
Black Prince,
or France’s
Gloire.
    “One more warning shot,” Hawkes said sadly. His course of action was now clear to him.
    The Gorgon’s naked masts were in stark contrast to the billowing sails of the anachronistic St.
Lawrence,
The U.S. ship continued to ignore him, and even ran out her guns. It was a threat the British captain could not ignore. Hawkes easily maneuvered the
Gorgon
so that his powerful port-side guns could rake the stern of the
St. Lawrence.
    “Fire,” he ordered and, seconds later, the broadside thundered out, causing the ocean around the ships to quiver. The shells from the
Gorgon
smashed through the
St. Lawrence
and streaked down her length, smashing the guns and maiming the crew, who were swept away by the torrent of metal and wooden splinters.
    The
Gorgon
turned and presented her starboard guns to the desperately maneuvering American. A second broadside thundered, again raking the
St. Lawrence,
and she shook as if a giant hand had grasped her and pummeled her. A few of the American’s guns returned fire, but to no effect. Hawkes wondered if they had been aimed or set off by the fires that were ravaging the ship. No matter, the American’s honor was intact—she had fired back. Why didn’t she strike her colors?
    A third British broadside brought down a mast and caused a massive explosion within the smaller American vessel. Hawkes watched as a body was flown clear of the ravaged ship. It was enough. The American flag was run down.
    Hawkes ordered the cease-fire and sent men to take over the frigate and to treat the American wounded. From the looks of the ship, there must be literally hundreds of casualties. God help the United States of America if this was the best they had in the way of warships. The
St. Lawrence
had been both toothless and helpless in comparison with the
Gorgon
. It had been an execution, not a fight.
    “Well” Hawkes said grimly as he turned to the knot of officers gathered behind him. “If we weren’t at war before, we certainly are now.”
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
     
       When Nathan returned to what he now referred to as home, it was late at night and he was attracted by the light in the first-floor sitting room. General Scott was in a chair and sipping a brandy. Beside him was an empty plate.
    “I hope you fared better than I did,” Scott grumped. “The sandwich was dry. Sergeant Fromm made it for me since Bridget had the evening off. Fromm should stick to guarding me and answering the door.”
    Nathan grinned. His earlier suspicions about the man who had opened the door had been correct. The man was a retired soldier who was devoted to Scott. Bridget was the young Irish woman who cooked and kept house. Nathan thought it amusing that the old man had been waiting up for him as if he were a child.