Just like she had promised, Burned Beck and her flotilla had waited patiently for us at Ilha de Fogo. We arrived in good spirits, with the wind in our sails and our French ‘prisoners’ free of their chains. They did not look like prisoners at all as they sang their French shanties while they worked the lines with the rest of the men.

I later found out that the island’s name literally meant “Island of Fire,” and indeed, even from a great distance it looked like something eerie and hellish. We approached the island at dusk, and the red sun crested over the peak of an enormous volcano that dominated the island’s silhouette. The light touching the water made it look like the entire ocean was aflame. It had the all the beauty of a crackling bonfire.

We dropped anchor a little way offshore and ferried our captives and most of the men to the island proper with jolly boats. When we docked, the Maroons that had been sent to watch over us greeted their comrades with enthusiastic jabbering, no doubt telling them of the Peregrine’s hard-won achievement against the polacre Merveilleuse. Other maroons set to the task of returning our weapons to us, while Burned Beck watched over the whole thing from atop a small hillock with a few maroons clad wearing epauletted jackets of varying colors over their plain shirts and torn breeches, who looked like they might be her senior officers. Once she saw the officers of the Peregrine and I set foot on the beach, she beckoned us over to her.

“Yuh did a fine job, Mista Rooshian,” she said as she surveyed the new ship with her spyglass. “What be her name?”

“The Marveilleuse, or however it is pronounced. She’s a fine vessel. Captured her with minimal dead on our side. Her crew seems to be loyal to our cause. Apparently, new ideas in France encourage the common men to rise up against their betters. There’s a whole new world out there that could be perfect for people like us.”

“A fine ting, dat. I gine try an make a free man’s paradise of me own right here on de Island of Fire.”

“Madame, if I may say so,” said Lieutenant Riley, “The capture and subjugation of this island is an infringement on Portuguese sovereignty."

“Just like New Providence an Port Royal were violations of yuh own, Mista Englishman?” said Burned Beck, referring to the pirate republics of centuries past.

“Yes, exactly like them, and they will be crushed just like they were.”

Burned Beck whirled toward Riley and grabbed him by the collar. His eyes went wide and he began shaking in fear as Beck forced him to look into her ashen black eyes.

“Dem gine try, an I gine make dem suffer when dem do.”

Riley could offer no response but a silent quivering of his lips, and Beck tossed him aside and came to me.

“Mista Rooshian, what of de polacre’s captain?”

I ran my finger across my neck, “Done in by my heroic sergeant. The man saved my life, may he rest in peace.”

“She gine need a new one for de assault on Cape Coast I have planned. Who yuh have in mind?”

“Assault?” Riley said softly, as if he could not believe what he heard, “On a British colony? Do you honestly think that I or any of the other officers will stand for this, madame?”

“And what yuh gine do, little Englishman? Clap me in irons?” Beck scoffed. “De men of yuh ship be just as sick of de tyrant’s yoke as de slaves we freed. We give dem de opportunity to be free men – yuh an de men like yuhself see dem as mere puppets. In fact, I be proving dis to yuh now.”

“How?”

“By allowing yuh an de other officers to be free. Only a tyrant would worry about de ravings of a madman. None of de men gine listen to yuh. Now, you will be silent while I speak to your superior,” she said as she turned to me. “Mista Rooshian, on the matter of a captain for de Marveilleuse?”

“Well, since you placed me in command of the Peregrine, I am now trying to bond with the men, and abandoning them now for another command would undo all my progress. However – there is one man I can think of with naval experience who may be loyal to our cause. Have you considered the Tatar?”

“I don’t believe we’ve had de chance to be introduced.”

I pointed out Aidar among the cadre behind me. “The one with the turban and beard who prefers black and red over the English navy’s blue. He’s definitely your man.”

Aidar must have noticed that I had pointed him out, for he walked straight up to us and gave Burned Beck a low bow with his hand clutched to his chest.

“Aidar Pasha, hanımım, at your service. You summoned me?”

“No bowing,” she said, shaking her head. “Now, my friend de Rooshian tinks yuh could be of use to me against de British when de time comes, with a vessel of yuh own. Prove him right.”

“Very well,” he said with a smile. “No offense to our mutual friend, but I know far more about sailing than he does. I was educated in the mariner’s arts long before we met, and while we were imprisoned together, I listened to the same lectures he did.”

“And what yuh know about killin’?”

“I know that both of you are driven by revenge. Rodion Ivanovich has told me about the governor of Cape Coast. A terrible man, no doubt, but ultimately a threat to your existence and my freedom. I say we have a mutual enemy, and I will help you on one condition.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Tis a bold man dat be makin’ conditions while he be a captive.”

“Oh, I think you shall like this very much,” he said, widening his grin. “My sole condition is that once Cape Coast has fallen, you shall allow me and my ship to sail free of your command and harass British shipping in the area.”

Beck scoffed, “De enemy of me enemy den. Yuh have a deal, Mista Aidar.”

Once we had put the carpenters to task to repair our vessel and the captains had made their plans for the assault, the sight of the combined fleet was truly something to behold. The Marveilleuse, now captained by Aidar, sailed abreast with the Peregrine, now sailing with her guns fully manned and a firelock for every sailor and marine. Behind us sailed the Vengeance and her two dozen pirogue escorts, freshly resupplied and ready for battle.

With the whole flotilla under full sail, we headed for Cape Coast – to you, Monsieur Rochat.

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“And it was here that you met your doom,” Auguste Rochat had been listening intently to the Russian’s story for what seemed like hours now. Indeed, the sun had descended on the horizon, and outside, soldiers had begun to light torches and lanterns. Though the British captain found himself oddly fascinated, he feigned indifference. “After listening to your story, I find you to be indeed innocent of any act of piracy, however you are still very guilty of the act of rebellion against the crown and the penalty of death still applies.”

The Russian merely grinned.

“You seem to be in high spirits for someone who is about to meet his swift demise. We slaughtered your friends on the beach, and we captured you. Your invasion is finished, monsieur.”

“Captain Rochat, how many vessels did your lookouts spot on the horizon when my men first made it ashore?”

Rochat narrowed his eyes.

“I neglected to share details of our invasion plan, which, judging by the hour, I should do so now before we run out of nighttime oil. Do you not think the battle on shore was a bit too easy? Even against pirates your men would have sustained a small number of casualties.”

Rochat frowned but kept silent as warm sweat rolled down his forehead.

“Do you think that good Lieutenant Riley or any of the officers still loyal to your King George, in any sort of conscience, would allow us to proceed unhindered with our operation? They protested with no lack of vigor… I say, soldier,” said the Russian turning to one of the men standing guard, “Did you notice anything odd about the dead men on the beach?”

“Aye,” he mumbled with a sudden realization, “They had their swords bound to their hands…”

The Russian nodded. “And some of the survivors claimed to be British officers and have friends in the admiralty, no doubt – but you ignored their cries, for the admiralty is made up of gentlemen, and no gentleman would resemble a pauper, would he?”

Rochat’s eyes widened, “Nom de Dieu…”

“It is hard to surrender when you cannot release your weapon, is it not? In fact, it is especially threatening when a ruffian waves his sword in the air at you. I am afraid you sent Lieutenant Riley and his loyalist friends to the afterlife before me. Such a pity. I will greet them when my time comes.”

“Damn the hanging!” Rochat said, drawing his pistol, “I will shoot you where you sit!”

A series of loud explosions pierced through the silence of the night before Rochat could cock his weapon. The jail cell shook with the violence of an earthquake as dust and bits of rubble drizzled into Rodion’s cell. From outside the jail, someone shouted,

“The castle is under attack! Everyone to your battle stations!”

With his hands still bound, Rodion launched himself at the distracted Rochat and tackled him to the floor. The guards readied their muskets but the Russian got his arms around their captain’s neck and rolled over, presenting him as a human shield.

“Drop your weapons,” said Rodion, panting as he brought Rochat’s neck into the crook of his arm.

Slowly, the soldiers laid down their muskets on the floor.

“What are you doing?” gasped Rochat, “Shoot him!”

“But sir…” one mumbled.

“Striking an officer is death,” Rodion finished for him, “You men know the rules, good. Now, leave us. Be good soldiers and man your battle stations.”

Without an argument, the two soldiers left and ran out the cell door, leaving it unlocked.

“You have been a wonderful listener, Monsieur Rochat,” said Rodion as he tightened his grip around the captain’s neck, choking him.

As Rochat’s face turned blue and the air left his lungs, he kicked about and tried to claw at Rodion in desperation, but the Russian’s grip held firm. It took minutes for him to die, but Rodion’s grip held firm, and soon he was left holding the captain’s lifeless corpse by the neck in the crook of his arm, with his tongue out and his eyes bulging.

“Such a pity,” he mumbled as he untangled himself from Rochat.

The blade of the guard’s bayonet on his discarded musket was as good as any key, and cut through Rodion’s rope bonds with ease. Now it was time to join the fight, but foremost on Rodion’s mind was that he had been separated from his shashka – again.

Meanwhile, several miles from the coast, the British-flagged Peregrine, which had been hiding in plain sight, had commenced its bombardment of Cape Coast Castle. Observing from the quarterdeck, clad in her old green Russian uniform, was Eirene, commanding the Peregrine in Rodion’s stead.

“Starboard battery, concentrate fire on the coastal turrets!” she roared, “Don’t give them a chance to breathe!”

The British gunners, without a trace of hesitation, loaded and fired the ship’s cannons as quickly as if they were engaging the French themselves. Like a single rock altering the course of a river, Rodion’s words had taken hold, and now they yearned for the freedom that they knew was just within reach.

Through her spyglass, Eirene watched as smoke began to billow up from the badly damaged fort. Whole sections of wall were missing, and the castle garrison was scrambling to get its own guns to bear on the Peregrine.

“Mister Kuznetsov!”

Andrei Vasilyevich, who had now abandoned his rolling pin for a musket, ran up the stairs to the quarterdeck– a place normally reserved for officers.

“Yes, Your Nobility?”

“Stop calling me that, Andrei, you serve no one but yourself from now on.”

Andrei smiled and let out a small chuckle. “Well, you can get your own damn drinks then.”

Eirene, stone-faced, was still looking through her spyglass. “Mister Kuznetsov I did not summon you here for that. Our captain is missing – have you seen him?”

“Ah, yes, indeed I have. He was in the jolly boat with Lieutenant Riley and the loyalists. He engaged me in quite a lengthy conversation before he set off with them.”

“Why the devil did he do that?”

“He said that ‘someone had to make sure they did not cut their own bonds.’”

“The idiot! Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He feared that you would direct the guns away from the castle if you knew that you’d be shelling him as well.”

“Damn him! Damn that man’s bullheadedness!” Eirene tossed her spyglass at Andrei and drew her sword. “Starboard battery hold fire! Marines, to me! We’re forming a shore party, damn your captain!”

Meanwhile, on shore, the chaos of the shelling provided an excellent distraction for Rodion’s covert activities. He had snuck his way into the armory and broken its lock with the musket he had stolen. Once again, he was reunited with his shashka and pistol. It was now time for the next step of Rodion’s plan: free the prisoners.