Cassandra glided easily through the entrance under her topgallants alone. The seemingly lifeless village of Freetown squatted above the mud banks to starboard. Despite the lush jungle crowding the water’s edge, the place had an air of desperation and abandonment. Near the center of the inlet lay a small finger of an island with a low rectangular fort at its western end. The fecund odors of the land and the heavy, sultry air overwhelmed the cleaner scent of the sea. Below the fort four sleek merchantmen rode at anchor. “Hoist the colors, Daniel,” said Charles. “You may run out the starboard battery. We will come to anchor between those vessels and the sea. May as well not encourage any false hopes.” “Aye, aye,” Bevan responded. He nodded to Sykes to send the ensign up its halyard and shouted for Winchester on the gun deck to set the cannon crews into motion. Charles watched as three of the ships, all schooner rigged, hurriedly sent up the peculiar red and white striped flag of the new United States, with its blue square in the upper corner and white stars.
