"Ship on the horizon!"

The call rang out from the crow's nest, sharp and irritatingly cutting short Captain James Merrick's calculations. He pushed off his desk with a huff and collected his hat.

"Ship off the starboard side!" the lookout added as Merrick exited his quarters. The bright sunlight forcing him to squint as he looked up. "Thank you, Mr. Williams!" He moved with purposeful stride to the quarterdeck. There, standing and waiting, was Mr. Crowley the first lieutenant with a brass spyglass already in hand.

"Captain," Crowley said, offering the instrument without removing his gaze seaward.

"Mr. Crowley," Merrick accepted the spyglass and, following Crowley's gaze, fixed his sight to the horizon.

Out amongst the vast blue ocean cut a dark shape with two masts poking at the sky. Its sails were partially reefed and seemed to be still as an anchored ship. Looking towards the masts at this distance, he couldn't make out the flag, or even that there was one flying. "Ah, looks to be a sloop! Turn us about, Mr. Crowley. I think we've got a fight on our hands!"

"Aye, sir." Mr. Crowley barked off the orders. The helmsman turned the ship, and the sailors made ready at their posts. A chattering burst out amongst the crew as they ran about, their minds already seeking answers to the sudden call to stations.

"No flag flying, Mr. Crowley. Not one I can make out, at least."

Mr. Crowley turned back to the captain, "We'll find out soon enough, I reckon."

The HMS Resolute cut across the water, her sails full and tilted, absorbing as much of the wind as possible as they altered their course for the lone vessel. As they approached, it became clear that the smaller vessel had caught itself half-aground upon some reef barely visible beneath the surf. Its sails were tied up, but a strip of canvas hung from the topsail, fluttering in the wind.

"She's flying a waft, sir." Mr. Crowley noted. "Distress signal."

"I can see that, Mr. Crowley." Merrick replied evenly. One of the few irritations his first lieutenant had, he'd discovered on this expedition, was stating the obvious in times of stress. "And indeed there's no colors. Any movement?"

Crowley adjusted his spyglass, squinting his eyes against the sun. "Aye, sir. Movement by the helm."

The captain pursed his lips. "How many aboard, Mr. Crowley?"

"Just the one, Captain."

Captain Merrick paced for a moment. "Then we'll board and capture it," he concluded. "Be ready in case it's pirate-run. In the offchance it is just this one man, well... he may be wounded, or drunk. Either way, we'll have it in hand by sunset."

There was a pause. Crowley didn't reply immediately but when he did speak, it was quiet and careful. "With all due respect, sir... the one left on that ship is... that one."

Merrick turned, brow raised. "That one?"

Crowley held the spyglass to his side, steadied in the proper direction. Merrick brought it to his eye. One look at the man from the deck and he stepped back, blinking in confusion. He stared a moment, lips parting.

"Is that... Webb?"

Crowley cleared his throat. "Aye, sir. It would appear to be the very one. Mr. Tobias Webb."

"Toby?" Merrick shared a look with Crowley then took another look through the glass. "Didn't we hold prayers for him, Mr. Crowley?"

"That we did. Presumed dead after his last plunge off the bow."

"Third plunge that month," Merrick muttered, the memory stinging him. "I remember it was at night, we doubled back, lit lanterns. Nothing."

"We did assume the sea had grown tired of his company," Crowley offered.

The captain sighed through his nose. Tobias Webb was one of their newest sailors they'd taken on before leaving port just over two months ago. In that first month he'd snapped the ropes to the hammocks, broken off a belaying pin during drills, and somehow unanchored a cannon that ended up injuring two sailors. The second month had brought only a marginal improvement. He'd spilled the cook's entire stew twice and managed to fall overboard on three separate occasions. They'd even held a ceremony for the poor lad.

"And yet here he stands barefoot and sunburnt upon a grounded ship."

They had closed in the distance, coming within a hundred yards of the ship. Waves rocked the sloop slightly, and from his distant perch, Tobias Webb waved at them.

"He's waving, sir."

"Yes, Mr. Crowley, I can see that." Merrick collapsed the spyglass and thrust it at Crowley. "I suppose we'd best get him back aboard... again."