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had risen at dawn and hauled in a yellow-scaled flatfish from a baited line he had hung off the stern rail on the previous night. Having cooked the fish to perfection on his galley grill, he arranged it fussily on a silver platter with thin slices of lemon, a sprinkle of red pepper and a dash of rock salt. He placed it on a tray, along with half a decanter of Madeira wine and two of the special thin malt biscuits from Redjack’s personal tin. Folding a serviette neatly, he put it in the captain’s pewter goblet. Carrying the tray aloft on the flat of his left palm, the plump little cook set off along the starboard deck for the captain’s cabin. About halfway along the deck, he stopped to admire the sun rising through a pink and pearl misted cloud. Mounsey sighed. He loved the Caribbean and its exotic climate. That was when he saw the ship rounding the tip of the headland beyond the cliffs. The cook dashed for’ard, still balancing the tray. He kicked at the two crewmen who were sleeping away their watch.
    â€œCharlie! Bertie! Look, a ship!”
    Captain Redjack Teal was seated at his dining table, clad in a silk dressing gown and a tasselled hat, awaiting his breakfast. However, this morning proved a little different from others. Instead of the cook’s gentle tap to warn him of the meal’s arrival, the cabin door burst open and the cook was pushed to one side as the two watchmen hurtled into the room shouting, “Cap’n! Cap’n, sir—!”
    Teal sprang up in a fury, his finger pointing at the doorway. “Out! Out of my cabin, confound your eyes, or I’ll have the hides flogged from your oafish backs. Out I say!”
    Bertie spoke up hesitantly. “But, but, Cap’n, beggin’ yore—”
    The captain fixed him with an eye that would have frozen Jamaican rum on a warm day. “Outside . . . now!” Both crewmen knew better than to argue and stumbled out. Still standing outside balancing his tray, Mounsey gave them a knowing look, then tapped gently on the door, which he had just shut behind them. Teal’s voice called out languidly, “Come.”
    The cook glided in smoothly, setting the tray carefully on Teal’s table and rearranging a lemon slice as he spoke. “A very good mornin’ t’ye, sir. H’I wish to report two h’of the crew’s watch, waitin’ outside to see ye, sir.”
    The privateer captain poured himself some Madeira, moderating his voice to its usual aristocratic drawl. “Really, two of the watch, y’say. Send the fellows in, please.”
    Mounsey called to Charlie and Bertie, both standing outside. “H’enter, an’ close the door be’ind yew!”
    Teal glanced over the rim of his goblet at the pair, standing awkwardly in his presence. Before either of them could speak, he held up a hand for silence and began lecturing them. “Never taught to knock politely, were we? Now, repeat after me: Bumpkins should always knock before entering the cabin of a captain and a gentleman of breeding. Repeat!”
    Charlie and Bertie stumbled over some of the words, but they managed, after a fashion. Teal wiped his lips by dabbing at them with the serviette.
    â€œPoliteness is the first rule to one’s captain. Now, you there.” He picked up his fork and pointed at Charlie. “What exactly was it you wanted to report, eh? Speak up, man.”
    â€œShip off the starboard bow, Cap’n, passin’ the ’eadland. Looks like a French buccaneer, sir!”
    Teal’s fork dropped, clattering upon his plate. “Demn ye man, why didn’t you say?”
    Bertie piped up. “We was goin’ to, sir, but you said—”
    The gimlet eye froze him to silence as Teal reprimanded him. “Excuse me, but did I address you?”
    Bertie shuffled his bare feet and stared hard at them. “No, sir.”
    The captain nodded. “Then hold y’tongue,