Tag Archives: Barbados Bound

Women on board

Transgenders serving on ships is nothing new.

I’ve long been interested in women on ships in the Age of Sail — particularly women posing as men, passing as men, doing what was considered men’s work. This interest arose when I signed aboard HM Bark Endeavour, a sailing replica of Captain James Cook’s historic ship, and lived the life of an 18th century seaman for three weeks. This life included heaving, hauling, standing watch, taking my trick at the helm, and going aloft, out on the yard arm to make and furl sail. It included stringing my hammock from the deckhead, snug alongside the other recruits, and taking my turn in the galley. (Although my husband was aboard as crew too, we never once slept together — nor did we even sleep next to each other!) What I learned was that although the work is hard and requires some training, it doesn’t require a Y chromosome.

I’m not by definition transgender. Nor is my fictional character — though in her mid-18th century world she has found it more convenient to be male than female. Actually, she’s found it expedient to be male.  The term transgender first appears in 1974, according to Miriam Webster’s online dictionary, so the concept, as such, doesn’t exist in my series. But the problems are similar: Individuals not allowed to serve in the military because of their apparent sex.

As I’m writing my way through Patricia’s story in the Patricia MacPherson Nautical Adventures, I’ve learned a lot about life in the 18th century from a female perspective  — a young white female of British heritage. Much depended upon parentage and social standing.  Much depended on luck. And of course much depended on their sex.

Hannah Snell, Royal Marine. Born 1723, died 1792. Buried with the old soldiers at Chelsea Hospital, which was her wish.

The Age of Sail was an Age of War. The emerging nations of Europe waged battles — entire wars — at sea. The need for sailors, marines, and craftsmen continued for several centuries, offering a few hardy and daring females an opportunity to escape social and economic confines, to find adventure – or maybe they were just looking for three meals a day and a hammock to sleep in. For a destitute young woman, life aboard a ship was safer than life on the streets.

What we know about these desperate imposters comes mostly from naval records, broadsheets, and the romanticized biographies and fictionalized memoirs written by or about these cross-dressing or transgender figures. One of the most well known and well documented 18th century female soldier/sailor was Hannah Snell who served first as a soldier in General Guise’s regiment, then as a Royal Marine in Frasier’s Regiment under the name of James Grey. She saw action and was wounded several times in India  “Here is a Woman, and an English Woman, who, notwithstanding the many Dangers and Vicissitudes she underwent for near the Space of five Years, during her Travels, was never found out to be of the feminine Gender.” — from The Female Soldier; the Life and Surprising Adventures of Hannah Snell. (Project Gutenberg) Hannah herself couldn’t write but she sold her story to a London publisher Robert Walker. After she left the service she performed military drills on stage in costume and sang military songs and The Gentleman’s Magazine reported her story for its readers’ enjoyment.  Hannah Snell’s story is unusual in that the Royal Hospital recognized her military service and granted her a pension.

Stories like Hannah Snell’s have inspired my historical novels. I’m not out to prove that cross-dressing or transgender women existed — we know they did — but to explore why they chose that path and how they might have carried it off. Although Hannah Snell’s memoir (published anonymously but likely penned by her publisher) claims finding her estranged husband was her inciting reason, I suspect that was a literary convenience for the publisher, and one the readers might readily accept. The chance of her finding her errant seaman husband was slim — but the chance of her earning a living was guaranteed. Not to mention respect, opportunity, adventure — and a pension.

There may not have been great numbers of cross-dressing women on board ships in the Age of Sail. But there were some. They existed. They carried it off. At least, for a while.
















More Barbados Bound give-aways

Barbados Bound Amazon E-book Sweepstakes

Congratulations to those who won trade paperback copies of Barbados Bound in our recent Amazon give-away; may you enjoy the voyage. Now we’re offering ten e-book editions of Barbados Bound to be given away in a new Amazon sweepstakes. Enter for a chance to win by clicking on this link.  

Good luck!  And thank you for the thoughtful reviews.

“I came aboard with the prostitutes the night before the ship set sail. It was a rash scheme, but I was a brash girl with nothing to my name but a promise. Half of Europe as at war, but the grappling between kings held little interest for me. Though the conflicts were far flung across the globe, my troubles were of a much more personal nature. My fear was not that England might lose her place in the world, but that I might lose mine…”  Barbados Bound copyright 2010 by Linda Collison.


Rhode Island Rendezvous, the third book in the series, will be available this September from Old Salt Press.

Here’s a brief excerpt:

     Placing the freshly groomed peruke on my stubbled head, I looked in the mirror hanging above the dresser of my rented room, adjusting the wig slightly. Acceptable. Yes, except for the ears – rather too small and pink – I passed muster. The only feminine feature about me was my delicate ears – and perhaps my pillowed lips, though they were often sunburned and wind-chapped. I regarded the young man staring back at me from the looking glass. Patrick MacPherson, a rising young merchant seaman dressed to go to a wedding feast where he will rub shoulders with Newport’s best. Good day to you, sir! In this colony anybody could be a gentleman, if he had the means to dress the part. Here, the lowest born man could rise above his station through cunning, hard work, and the right connections. Oh, and luck, I should add. Luck always plays a role. Thus far my luck had been most unpredictable.

     The wig had been made from my very own hair, shorn from my head and at last tamed into submission by the peruke maker’s hand. Two smooth ginger-colored rolls just above my ears and a compliant queue held at the nape by a blue satin ribbon. A shaved head was so much easier, especially at sea, when all I needed was a snug Monmouth cap to keep the wind out of my ears. A shaved head was free of tangles, free of lice. My hair, perfectly groomed, kept in a box, ready for going ashore. No need for powder, no one in Newport bothered with powder anymore. Men were flaunting natural colors – black, brown, and auburn too – though none were as vibrantly colored as mine, the flaming red-gold of a Guy Fawkes bonfire.

     I should have been born male, I thought with chagrin, regarding my reflection. I cut a fine figure in my pressed linen shirt, lace stock, and brocade waistcoat that completely hid my breasts, the size of two quail eggs. My long legs were shown off to their best advantage sheathed in the finest of silk stockings, the tightest of breeches buttoned just below the knee. I had the hind end of a young boy and, as for that part of my anatomy that was decidedly lacking, an old pair of stockings knotted into a ball and stitched inside the crotch of the breeches added the necessary slight bulge.

     Trinity’s bells pealed the hour. The biggest wedding feast Newport had known in months was about to begin. I slipped into my coat, fastened the pewter buttons, adjusted my cravat, and placed the tri-corn on top of my wig. One last look at the young man in the glass, then down the stairs I bounded, a greeting to the innkeeper’s wife, and out onto Thames Street, busy as always this Saturday, with ox carts and carriages drawn by fine Narraganset-bred horses. No carriage for me, but the walk was a short one and I welcomed the opportunity to stretch my legs and catch a glimpse of Andromeda, tossing on the harbor chop and pulling at her dock lines like a restless filly.

     The schooner Andromeda was more often my home than the drafty rented room above the Osprey Inn; I loved her as my own. That morning I assessed her exterior quickly, with a practiced and loving eye. Her reddish brown sails were neatly furled on the booms, her rigging had been freshly tarred, and although her faded hull was in need of a fresh coat of paint, it could wait until spring. Paint was dear. I inspected the dock lines for signs of chaffing, making certain she was well before turning toward Spring Street, shoving my hands, red and cracked, deep into my coat pockets to warm them. The sun was bright but the late October air was raw, smelling of tidewater and wood smoke from hundreds of chimneys.

     My own wedding day, I couldn’t even recall what the weather had been, foul or fair, but I remembered well my mood was gloomy and resigned. Ah, but Aeneas had been a good old man, a firm but kind husband for the brief time I was his wife. And I might have married again, to the man whose memory remained a burning ember, but no. The one man who had known me well, the man who had accepted my ruse but had loved the woman inside, that man was gone from my life. The sorrow over losing him, I still felt it; he was my first love, though I never could have lived as a warrant’s wife, kept like a cat in dark, close quarters belowdecks on the very ship I once served as surgeon’s mate. It wouldn’t have worked, not for me. Not after who I had been and what I had done… 

— from Rhode Island Rendezvous; Book Three of the Patricia MacPherson Nautical Adventure Series, copyright 2017 by Linda Collison





Enter for a chance to win Barbados Bound

With Rhode Island Rendezvous, Book Three of the Patricia MacPherson Nautical Adventure Series, on the horizon we’re offering five copies of book one — Barbados Bound — as a give-away through Amazon. To enter the sweepstakes click on the link at the end of the post. We’ll also be giving away some Kindle copies soon.

I came aboard with the prostitutes the night before the ship set sail…

Portsmouth, England, 1760. Patricia Kelley, the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Barbadian sugarcane planter, falls from her imagined place in the world when her absent father unexpectedly dies, leaving her no means of support.  Raised in a Wiltshire boarding school far from the plantation where she was born, the sixteen-year-old orphan stows away on a ship bound for Barbados in a brash attempt to claim an unlikely inheritance.  Aboard the merchantman Canopus, under contract with the British Navy to deliver gunpowder to the West Indian forts, young Patricia finds herself pulled between two worlds — and two identities — as she charts her own course for survival in the war-torn eighteenth century. 

 Barbados Bound was first published as Star-Crossed in 2006 by Alfred A. Knopf, and chosen by the New York Public Library to be among the Books for the Teen Age – 2007.  The story is basically the same but the author has made minor changes to the manuscript, in some cases replacing words and phrases edited out from Knopf’s Young Adult version.  


It all started with a ship. On April 14, 1999, I saw in the newspaper a startlingly anachronistic photograph of a three-masted wooden ship under sail. It looked like it had just sailed out of the eighteenth century. Below it, an intriguing advertisement:

Help wanted: Deckhands to man floating museum…a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to sail as crew on Endeavour, the replica of Capt. James Cook’s ship that will visit Hawaii in November. Crewmembers sleep in hammocks slung together on the lower deck.  They must be prepared to go aloft and work the sails at any time of day in any weather, not suffer from chronic seasickness or fear of heights, and be physically fit.  Sailing experience is not essential…

Six months later Bob and I were at the dock in Vancouver, signing ship’s articles.

We spent three weeks aboard the Endeavour, as part of the foremast watch, crossing the Northern Pacific Ocean. We learned the names and functions of the hundreds of lines, sails and spars that power the ship; we learned to climb aloft on the ratlines, stepping out on the foot ropes under the yards to make and furl sail. We took turns steering the ship and were responsible for cleaning and maintaining her in eighteenth-century fashion. We slept in hammocks we strung from the deckhead every evening.

The voyage crew, as we green-but-willing sailors were called, bonded quickly, for we were all in it together and we all felt the same swing of emotions — anxiety, fear, fatigue, exhaustion, sea-sickness, hunger, occasionally resentment – but most of all, exhilaration and awe. For me, those weeks on the Endeavour were nothing short of a time machine.

When Bob and I disembarked in Kona, Hawaii, I carried with me the seeds for a novel. It would not be about Captain Cook or his extraordinary voyages, but it would begin in the mid-eighteenth century aboard a ship much like the one I had sailed on.

It would take me more than five years to research and write the story born aboard Endeavour. In 2006 Alfred A. Knopf published it under the title Star-Crossed, as a stand-alone, young adult historical novel which the New York Public Library chose it to be among the Books for the Teen Age – 2007. I had not written the story for teen readers per se, but I had written about a teenager, from her narrow and still immature perspective. Star-Crossed became Barbados Bound, the first book in a series about a young woman coming of age in the 18th century who tries to find her place in the world, disguised as a man.

Click on the link for a chance to win a trade paperback copy of Barbados Bound; Book One of the Patricia MacPherson Nautical Adventure Series. Open to readers in the United States who have an active Amazon account.





Beyond Research: Creating Verisimilitude in Historical Fiction

Beyond Research I. _002-page-0 - CopyHere are a few of the slides from my power point outline, Beyond Research, shared at the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer’s spring Genre Con, May 14, at Table Mountain Inn in Golden, Colorado. The keynote and morning session was given by Kristin Nelson and Angie Hodapp of Nelson Literary Agency. The afternoon was devoted to craft in genre breakout sessions.

Rebecca Bates — Mystery  Linda Collison — Historical Fiction  Nathan Lowell — SciFi/Fantasy

Bernadette Marie — Romance   Aaron Michael Ritchey — YA

The works-in-progress of the writers in my group is indicative of the wide spectrum of historical novels being written and published today. Our stories include historical mystery, historical fantasy, historical paranormal, historical adventure, literary historical, family sagas, fictional memoir, and contemporary novels with strong historical elements.  Interest in historical fiction has never been stronger.

The importance of setting is something all historical fiction has in common — and it’s generally agreed that these stories takes place before the author was born, usually set 50 years or more in the past. Setting isn’t arbitrary; a story happens in a particular place and time for a reason. Setting affects character, plot, mood, and tone.  Beyond Research D._013-page-0

But how do we go beyond gathering events, dates, and second-hand details to make our setting feel real? How can we bring first-hand authenticity to the page?

While there are effective techniques a writer can use to enhance setting, credibility can’t really be crafted. The old “write what you know best” is what leads to convincing settings.

To tap into our own individual wells of verisimilitude we discussed our personal connections to our stories.  I asked the group to consider:

What drew you to write about your particular time & place? How did you fall in love with your setting? What problems does your character face that are inherent to the setting?

What areas of expertise do you have; what skills, hobbies, and life experiences can you take back to the past with you to enrich your story and add meaningful and credible detail?

For me, it was my sailing experiences and my nursing experiences. Another woman has a biomedical background, having worked for the Federal Drug Administration. She takes her 21st century knowledge in writing about medieval herbalists and apothecaries. Several writers had a deep interest in genealogy and were writing novels based on the immigration stories of their own ancestors. These personal connections and experiences give our stories conviction and authority and direct our focus. We bring our own past and passions to the page.

Discovering your personal connection to the story and using it with authority gives your work verisimilitude.  It’s also part of your author platform. Be sure to mention it in your bio; use it to engage your readers.

Beyond Research C._015-page-0






Who wouldn’t sell a petticoat and go to sea?

A sailor takes her ease artwork by Eye Be Oderlesseye.   mimifoxmorton.blogspot.com

A sailor takes her ease
artwork by Eye Be Oderlesseye.

Women in breeches — I got caught up in the masquerade back in 1999, while serving as a voyage crewmember aboard the HM Bark Endeavour, a replica of James Cook’s 18th century ship, which was circumnavigating that year.  On my three-week passage from Vancouver to Kealakekua, Hawaii I worked alongside 53 officers and men (one of whom I was married to) to sail, steer, and maintain the ship.  Eight of us were female.  On this passage of a lifetime, I became intrigued with the idea of a woman dressing like a sailor and doing a man’s job aboard a ship – because that’s exactly what I was doing!  I figured if a middle-aged woman could do the work, surely a much younger gal would have no problem.


In spite of the persistent, old husbands’ tale that women are bad luck at sea, women have long been going to sea, luck be damned.  But for a period of several hundred years some of them had to resort to disguise.

And for some, it ended badly.  From the St. James Gazette, supplement to the Manchester Courier on July 5, 1890 we hear this snippet of a story:

The case of the poor little sea apprentice “Hans Brandt” who the other day fell into the hold of the barque Ida of Pensacola, at West Hartlpool and was killed, adds one more name to the long list of women who, for one reason or another, have put aside the garments of their sex and have donned the habits and imitated the ways of men.  Not until “Hans Brandt’s” body was being prepared for burial was it discovered that the Ida’s apprentice was a girl…  (britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk)

From the Renaissance through the Victorian age there are many acounts of women in disguise working aboard ship as sailors, servants, skilled craftsmen, marines –and even a few officers, such as Anne Chamberlyne, twenty-three year old daughter of a lawyer, who served aboard the Grifffin Fireship, commanded by her brother Clifford, during the Battle of Beachy Head in 1690.  Most of these femmes fared better than poor Hans Brandt who fell into the hold.  Some went on to write their memoirs.  Some became immortalized in folk songs.  And some, like Anne Chamberlyne, had memorials errected in their honor.

The first books I came across that were entirely devoted to women at sea were Joan Druett’s Hen Frigates, and She Captains; Heroines and Hellions of the Sea.  I soon discovered many other works, but Joan’s books introduced me to the world of women on ships.  Another of her books on the subject is Petticoat Whalers; Whaling Wives at Sea, 1820-1920. Over the years I’ve collected many more sources.  Historians Lesley and Roy Adkins, authors of several British Naval history books, have been very helpful in sharing their own research with me.

Just as I was writing this post, Andrew Beltz, one of the crew aboard “All Things Nautical” Facebook group gave me a hot tip about Louise/Louis Giradin, a French woman who masqueraded as a steward on La Recherche, which set out 1791 under the command of Bruny d”Entrecasteaux, in search of the missing La Perouse.

“She had appeared at Brest disguised as a man, with a letter of introduction to Mme Le Fournier d’Yauville. She persuaded her brother Jean-Michel Huon de Kermadec, then second in command to d’Entrecasteaux, to recommend her as a steward on the Recherche. It appears that d’Entrecasteaux knew her secret, and gave his approval…  She had a small but separate cabin…  During the voyage, Girardin maintained a male identity, despite widespread suspicion. She even fought a duel with a crew member who questioned her gender… “  from — Journeys of Enlightenment  

While Louise Girardin is honored with a plaque in Tasmania,  few scholars have given serious attention to the many women soldiers and sailors of the pre-modern era.  Not many fiction writers have given life to their stories, either.  Crossdressing women on ships seem to be regarded by many historical novelists as unwanted intruders into the male domain of wooden ships.   Why can’t the damned dames just stay home, card wool, and mind the starving brats?  OK, maybe there were a few of these broads in breeches (obviously lesbians) — but NOT on my ship, dammit!  Julian Stockwin includes a crossdressing stowaway named Pookie in one of his Kydd adventures, but for the most part, they are shunned.51EKdjKF1vL__SL500_AA280_

But crossdressers were once objects of admiration.  Beginning in the Elizabethan era and continuing through the 19th century, stories and songs about young women gone to war on land or sea, were popular among the working classes of Great Britain and North America.  According to Dianne Dugaw, these folk songs were as well-known in their time as Blowin’ in the Wind was, in the 1960’s.  The female soldier or sailor was an enduring motif – a character who displayed both male courage and female fidelity.  In most of these ballads (Dugaw cites hundreds of them) the theme is that of a virtuous woman gone to war in search of the man she loves.  This heroine captured the imagination of the public for hundreds of years but died out in the twentieth century, as women’s rights became more of an issue — and perhaps more of a threat.

“But how did they get away with it?”

I can only throw out some educated guesses based on my own experience and what others have to say on the matter.

As Joan Druett, Suzanne Stark, and other nautical historians have pointed out, there were many young boys serving aboard these ships.   A female in breeches might easily pass as a teenaged boy.  We’ve all seen such epicene youngsters in that awkwardly beautiful stage of development; people who could be either male or female, we can’t be certain.

Before the twentieth century the navies didn’t require thorough physical exams.  The only time seamen were required to strip was if they were about to be flogged.  The navies needed capable men — especially when a war was on, which was much of the time in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries.   If someone presented themself as a man and was dressed like a man, and gave a man’s name – why, he would be welcomed aboard, no questions asked.  Who cared if he had a smooth cheek and a soft voice?  Ample breasts are easily flattened.  Loose breeches rather than tight ones would hide what wasn’t there.  My fictional crossdresser Patricia/Patrick MacPherson is by nature flat-chested with boyish hips and a complexion ruined by freckles.  It’s only her voice she has to work on.  After a time it becomes second nature.

Having lived and worked aboard the Endeavour Replica, I can tell you that seamen are kept busy most of the time and people aren’t lurking around corners waiting for you to flash your undergarments or to see what’s hidden inside them.  Eighteenth-century ships were ill-lit and extremely dark belowdecks, even during the daytime.  People didn’t bathe often; they seldom changed their clothes.   Women likely held their bladders until after dark before relieving themselves in the heads, or the “seats of ease.”  People in crowded places, such as ships, tend to respect one another’s privacy.  As sodomy was punishable by death, men likely tended to keep their eyes and hands to themselves, once they sailed away from the prostitutes who came to the ship by the boatloads when the ships were at anchor.  Then again, the warrants could take their wives to sea with them –the ship was their home –so 18th century ships were not the exclusive male clubs some novelists make them out to be.   There were women on many ships and maybe some of these warrant’s wives recognized and helped their sisters in disguise.

What of menstrual periods, some ask me.  If you’re a squeamish male, you might want to skip the rest of this paragraph.  Well, what of it?  I mean, can you walk into a crowded room today and pick out the women who are menstruating?  I doubt it.  There were rags — and there was oakum, the fibers of worn-out ropes picked apart and collected to reuse as caulking.  Pretty scratchy, but it might work in a pinch.  Beause many of the seamen suffered from constipation and bleeding hemmorhoids, blood-stained breeches would not draw much notice – and the stains could be covered up with tar, plentiful on a ship.   Then again, amennorhea may have been the rule.  The Mayo Clinic lists stress, low bodyweight and excessive exercise as conditions which can cause the cessation of menstruation.  Due to the hard work and limited diet, women posing as men might have skipped menses or have had very light flows, easily contained.  OK squeamish males, you can start reading again. 

Maybe some of these masquerading women had sponsors –  men or  women aboard who knew their secret and helped them get by.  Maybe they were friends or lovers on land.  Maybe the sponsor felt compassion for them.  Maybe they admired them.   Then again, maybe some of these women were coerced into giving sexual favors in return for guarding their real identity.

In The Discovery of Jeanne Baret (Crown Publishers; 2010) Glynis Ridley suggests that the the crossdressing Jeanne who went on Bougainville’s expedition as the botanist Commercon’s assistant, was gang-raped by some of the crew on the island of New Ireland, and subsequently became pregnant, delivering the baby on Mauritius, where she remained for seven years before completing her circumnavigation.  Ridley’s interpretations of the accounts of Bougainville and his officers, is a dark and chilling one.  I don’t always agree with the conclusions she comes to, but the case she presents is plausible.  Although in Ridley’s interpretation it wasn’t the sailors who gang-raped Baret, but the other servants and possibly, the ship surgeon.

So why did they do it? The paycheck was of course, the big draw.  Always in arrears, the pay was likely more than a femme sole could make selling fish — or selling her favors.  The roof over her head, leaky though it might be, was a nice perk.  As were the three square meals of weevily ship buscuit , mouldy cheese and salt beef.  A ration of grog and a hammock to sleep in?  And aboard a naval ship, the chance of prize money, which was divided among the crew!   Are you kidding me?  Who wouldn’t sell a ragged petticoat and go to sea?


But some females were coerced into the role of cabin boy by their masters.  Mary Anne Talbot, for instance.   Talbot’s master was militia captain Essex Bowen, who assigned her with boy’s clothing, the name of John Taylor, and brought her along to the West Indies as his personal servant.  We can only imagine the many tasks she was required to perform for him…  Another reported case is that of thirteen-year-old Rebecca Ann Johnson whose father dressed her as a boy and apprenticed her to a collier ship where she served four years.

But surely a few girls went to sea primarily for the adventure, as I did aboard Endeavour.

How many?  We’ll never know.  How did they get away with it?  We can only surmise.  What I can tell you for certain is that a woman can do a man’s job aboard a sailing ship.   I did it, and I earned the respect of my male watchmates, whose knees trembled as much as mine  the first time we climbed up the ratlines, up and over the futtock shrouds, on up to the cross trees and out on the foot rope to make and furl sail.  When no sail changes were required, we were put to work doing ship maintenance, which was never-ending.  And when, after four hours on watch we went below, we strung up our hammocks and collapsed from fatigue.

In summary, some crossdressers had inside help — someone who knew their secret and helped them — or forced them — to maintain their ruse.  But I believe a few enterprising females acted independently,  deftly pulling the wool over their shipmates’ eyes.  I base this on a phenomenon I call “male pattern blindness” or “androgenic visual deficit.”  Many ordinary objects are totally invisible to men who have this genetic trait, which has reached epidemic proportions in the twenty-first century.  Maybe you know someone with this handicap?  Someone who goes to the refrigerator for a bottle of beer but literally can’t see it lurking behind a jar of mayonaise, and calls to his wife, asking for help?



Having lived and worked with men, both at sea and on land (and having found countless bottles of invisible beer in the refrigerator) I think I know how a women could get away with it.  Dress like a man  (or a mayonaise jar) and pull your weight.  Do your duty, don’t cause trouble, and chances are good your watchmates won’t see past your seaman’s slops and your sunburned, tar-smudged face.   Apparently it worked for Hans Brandt — but watch out for open hatches.

In future blogs I’ll share more of my personal experiences as an ordinary seaman  aboard HM Bark Endeavour — and I’ll discuss individual crossdressing seamen in more detail.


By a Yankee Moon, a novel about a crossdressing sailor and book three of the Patricia MacPherson Nautical Adventure Series, will be available in 2014.  Barbados Bound and Surgeon’s Mate, the first two books in the series, are published by Fireship Press.

For more nautical posts please visit the rest of the fleet on this week’s blog hop, organized by Helen Hollick, author of  Sea Witch Voyages, a pirate-based fantasy, and other historical fiction.  A rising tide raises all ships!

J.M. Aucoin

Helen Hollick

Doug Boren

Linda Collison

Margaret Muir

Julian Stockwin

Anna Belfrage

Andy Millen

V.E. Ulett

T.S. Rhodes

Mark Patton

Katherine Bone

Alaric Bond

Ginger Myrick

Judith Starkson

Seymour Hamilton

Rick Spilman

James L. Nelson

S.J. Turney

Prue Batten

Antoine Vanner

Joan Druett

Edward James

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