Kent tore off his tricorn, wiped the sweat from his brow, and gazed up at the sun directly above his head. He didn't know if it was better to keep the hat on for shade or allow the breeze to run through his damp hair. He decided on the latter and tossed the brown tricorn to the bottom of the longboat.
The oars struck the water in unison, sending the craft speeding across the choppy sea toward the coast of the Spanish Mainland under the jurisdiction of the Viceroyalty of New Spain. Kent studied the shoreline, looking for enemy ships, but saw nothing save a ribbon of brown and green extending in both directions.
Sawkins' loud grunts drifted back to Kent from where he'd placed the scoundrel at the front of the boat and ordered him to row.
Cutter grinned. "I fear his lordship is not accustomed to physical labor."
Kent chuckled. "If I am forced to bring him along, he will earn his keep; which I believe for him will be a first."