“In that case, get some rest, Major. I’ll take the first stint.”

Lawrence turned to go and then paused. “Y’know, I think it’s about time we dispensed with rank, don’t you? Given our circumstances.”

Lawrence had spoken quietly even though Stagg had moved further along the deck and wasn’t close enough to overhear. The nearest crew member was the helmsman, whose attention was centred on maintaining their course and awaiting his skipper’s instructions.

“It’s been a while since I was captain of anything,” Hawkwood said. “The name’s Matthew.”

“Douglas,” Lawrence said with a grin.

Hawkwood smiled. “I remember.”

Lawrence clapped him on the shoulder. “And it’s been a while since I slept with a loaded musket. Here’s hoping I don’t move around and blow my bloody head off.”

“If you do,” Hawkwood said, “I’ll be asking Stagg for a refund.”

“Ha! Good man. You do that. You can put it towards the funeral expenses.”

With a final chuckle, Lawrence turned and made his way below as Stagg returned aft. Arriving at the stern, he ordered the helmsman to the bow while he took command of the tiller.

It occurred to Hawkwood that, despite his aversion to matters nautical, the movement of the Snake’s deck beneath his feet was, as well as being instantly familiar, strangely comforting.

He studied the rowers as they continued their steady pull. A couple were similar to Stagg in stature. The others were not as hefty, but their sinewy frames suggested a tough resilience. Irrespective of the difference in their builds, from the way they handled themselves and drove the oars they all looked to be very fit men. The trim and pace of the boat had not faltered once, suggesting they had worked together for some time.

None of them had acknowledged the arrival of their two passengers. Hawkwood suspected that too had much to do with the chain of command. Stagg was the skipper, the one who made the decisions, who negotiated the jobs, paid the wages, and put food on the table. His word was law. If the rest of his crew were curious about his acceptance of Hawkwood and Lawrence’s presence, they were keeping it to themselves.

The Vermont and New York shorelines glided by in eerie silence, save for the soft splash of the oars. Vermont to starboard; New York to port. In the darkness it was just possible to make out some details as the wooded hills began to give way to a skein of marshy backwaters along both sides of the main channel. Moving north, the eastern shore then merged into a series of rocky headlands, while the western shore grew more undulating before giving way to marshland once again. Thin glimmers of light indicated the presence of isolated homesteads.