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Once a French corvette, she was reborn HMS Jester, sleek and fast. At her sea-sprayed helm is former Midshipman Alan Lewrie, turned grizzled warrior by trade. But when Commander Lewrie reaches the island of Corsica, he gets orders for which even he is not prepared: lure his archenemy, French commander Guillaume Choundas, into battle--and personally strike him dead.

In 1805, with news of Admiral Nelson's death fresh on his mind, Captain Lewrie's HMS Reliant joins up in the voyage that will culminate in the Battle of Cape Town, in which the British wrested control of South Africa from the Dutch. In the wake of that victory, Lewrie heads west to South America, where Britain's attacks on Buenos Aires and other Spanish colonies have not been faring as well. But the worst is yet to come, and soon Lewrie will be facing a battle at sea that will put his naval career and life at risk.

It is 1781, and the British-held American port of Yorktown on the Chesapeake Bay is under siege. Pounded by the American colonists on land and the deadly warships of their French allies at sea, the once proud city is in flames and near ruin. But on the horizon, the King's own fleet of heavily armed frigates heads full sail to blast through France's blockade. Aboard His Majesty's swift flagship DESPERATE, midshipman Alan Lewrie quickly sets his gunners to their lethal work, firing rapid broadsides of 24 pound shot at the enemy vessels.

December 1801. The Peace of Amiens end the long war with Napoleon Bonaparte's France, but Captain Alan Lewrie, Royal Navy, is appalled by its consequences. First, he's been in the Navy since 1780 (most unwillingly, most of the time!) and at sea for the better part of nine years, since 1793, so what is a dashing and successful frigate captain to do with himself, if he's ashore on half-pay, and if so, for how long? Second, and even worse, is where will Lewrie twiddle his thumbs and be bored to death until the war begins again, as he's sure it will?

For a fellow like Captain Alan Lewrie, Royal Navy, who despises the French worse than the Devil hates Holy Water, it's hellish-hard to gain a reputation for saving them, not once but twice, when the French refugees from Haiti surrender to England rather than the vengeful ex-slave armies in November of 1803! After that, it could be "all claret and cruising" in the Caribbean, but for a home-bound sugar convoy, one so frustrating as to make even the happy-go-lucky Alan Lewrie tear his hair out, kick furniture, and curse like...well, like a sailor!