“Stand by at the capstan!” Lieutenant Bishop shouted, returning order. “Loose the heads’ls, hands aloft, loose the tops’ls fore and aft!”

The crew scattered to their duties. A ring of men surrounded the wooden spoke wheel of the capstan, ready to raise the anchor. Wyatt moved quickly toward the ship’s helm while the rest, Jacob included, climbed the shrouds of the three masts.

“And what are you two waiting for?” Mr. Temple asked after Hadrian had joined Royce. “You heard the lieutenant—get those sails loosed. Hadrian, take station at the capstan.”

As they trotted to their duties, Mr. Temple gestured in Royce’s direction and remarked to Wyatt, “No wonder he doesn’t have rough hands. He doesn’t use them!”

The ship’s captain appeared on the quarterdeck. He stood beside the lieutenant, his hands clasped behind his back, chest thrust out, and chin set against the salty wind that tugged at the edges of his uniform. Of slightly less than average height, he seemed the opposite of the lieutenant. While Bishop was tall and thin, the captain was short and plump, with a double chin and long hanging cheeks, which quickly flushed red with the wind. He watched the progress of the crew and then nodded to his first officer.

“Take her out, Mr. Bishop.”

“Raise anchor!” the lieutenant bellowed. “Wheel hard over!”

Hadrian found a place among those at the capstan and pushed against the wooden spokes, rotating the large spool that lifted the anchor from the bottom of the harbor. With the anchor broken out, the wheel hard over, and the forecastle hands drawing at the headsail sheets, the Emerald Storm brought its bow around. As it gained steerage, it moved away from the dock and into the clear of the main channel, and the rigging crew dropped the remaining sails. The great canvases quivered and flapped, snapping in the wind like three violent white beasts.

“Hands to the braces!” Mr. Temple barked, and the men took hold of the ropes, pulling the yards around until they caught the wind. The sails plumed full as the sea breeze stretched them taut. Hadrian could feel the deck lurch beneath his feet as the Emerald Storm slipped forward through the water, rudder balanced against sail pressure.

They traveled down the coast, passing farmers and workers, who paused briefly to look at the handsome vessel flying by. At the helm, Wyatt spun the wheel, steering steadily out to sea. The men on the braces trimmed the yards so not a sail fluttered, sending the ship dashing through the waves as it raced from shore.

“Course sou’west by south, sir,” Wyatt said, updating Temple, who repeated the statement to the lieutenant, who repeated it to the captain, who in turn nodded his approval.