CHAPTER 23 “Fiiiire!”
Renato cursed his poor eyesight. The two Haitians had run away, but after much straining, all he could discern was a tiny smudge of gray between sea and sky.
“Sail ho!” he shouted. “Rouse yourselves, you worthless scum!”
No response. They were all still hungover from celebrating his downfall.
At last a shape loomed over him, and he looked into the face of yet another slave.
“Out there!” he said in French, pointing with his head. “What is it? A frigate? A sloop? A brig?”
The Haitian shrugged. “Ship,” he said.
“Is she square-rigged or lateened?”
The man looked again at the horizon, his head nodding. “Yes,” he said. “Ship.”
Renato grimaced. Clearly, he would get no more from this fellow. He stared at the distant smudge, willing it to come nearer. The possibility
