The Revenge sailed at a nippy speed through the mild summer Atlantic waters. It was midday and the weather was calm and refreshing, with moderate winds that carried the ship on its way at good speeds. At the stern of the flush deck frigate, a small table and chair was laid out against the stern railing. Captain Hamilton sat lazily in this chair with several charts and a jug of light wine laid out on the little wooden table. A single route was clearly defined on the topmost chart with graphite pencil, but Hamilton wasn't looking at the chart. He was staring out towards the bow of the warship in deep thought. They had been out of port for two weeks as of two days ago, so rations, fresh foods, and luxuries were still readily available. The Revenge and her crew had just weathered a large storm yesterday that had moderately damaged the ship's topsail rigging, but it was being fixed at that very moment. Otherwise, the state the ship was fantastic as it should be for a new frigate, and her crew was reliable and trim as always, and he didn't doubt their loyalty. The navigator, a rather unique one that had been pressed into the crew nearly a year ago, had completely warmed to the position, and Hamilton couldn't have asked for a better navigator. Everything was as he hoped for, and he was ready for duel with a Royal Navy warship anytime.
The penciled lines on the chart did not represent their own course, but rather one of the very large, and very wealthy British convoy that would be setting sail from the colonies in a few weeks' time. It had been leaked to Hamilton and his crew by a very reliable source within the colonies, but it had been quickly propagated throughout the pyrate community and there were likely many other vessels looking to cash in on such a haul. Hamilton didn't mind, however; the convoy would be large enough for several vessels, and if its escort was competent, would scare away all but the most hardened or experience sea captains out there. Hamilton looked forward to hassling the Royal Navy and gaining some pocket change, but there more immediate and pressing issues to address. Ahead of them, a medium sized topsail schooner about a few nautical miles out, was making a frantic scramble into to the wind. A British flag proudly waved on its mast, but it was fleeing the Revenge, which was in hot pursuit of the merchant vessel. They were still out of range of the frigate's long-nines, but most vessels would have lowered their flag long ago against a warship of the Revenge's size and speed. It would obviously put up a fight before going down. The captain liked this; it was nothing else but approach, wait for the flag to be lowered, and seize the vessel's goods for the past month or two. A fight would be refreshing for the crew, which had gotten no action save for gunnery drills on makeshift floating targets. Hamilton showed no sign of excitement, however, as he drank his wine and stared at the little schooner through the midday sun.