Caution to the Wind (American Heroes)

by Mary Jean Adams

  “What is it?” the captain asked in a clipped voice.

  “British merchant ship on the horizon!”

  “Looks like breakfast is over.” Captain Stoakes pushed back from his desk, scraping the chair over the wooden floor.

  Amanda glanced about, unsure what to do next. The sailor’s words reverberated in her brain. British merchant ship on the horizon. Did that mean they were going into battle?

  Chapter Four

  Amanda picked up the captain’s empty plate and carried it to the galley. Her hands shook when she set the plate in an oak washtub alongside the cast iron pan. She scoured bits of dried egg while guilt did the same to her conscience.

  She should be on deck and preparing for battle with her shipmates. Yet, regardless of how much she knew where she should be, her feet refused to obey. For the first time in two weeks, it occurred to her that joining the Amanda might have been a grave error.

  She stacked the dish next to the oak tub and strained her ears to make sense of the sounds coming from the deck above. The dull thuds of running feet shook the planks, there was a muffled shout, then silence—a silence so all encompassing that the soft, ever-present lapping of waves against the hull seemed to fill the small room.

  Amanda dried the last of the dishes then wiped her hands on her apron and hung it from a tack on the wall. She straightened her shoulders in an effort to stiffen her resolve and left the galley, venturing into the dimly lit open space that served multiple functions, dining room for the crew, sleeping quarters…and surgeon’s operating room during battle.

  With three shifts, hammocks filled with snoring sailors almost always swung from the sturdy beams overhead. Or there would tables lined with hungry men to wend one’s way through before reaching the stairs leading to the upper deck. Not now. The area below deck stood empty, the hammocks neatly stowed and all but a couple of tables turned sideways and pushed against the outer walls.

  Amanda slowed when she came to the two upright dining tables covered in canvas sailcloth. She ran her fingertips across the space that might soon hold one of her fellow shipmates, his blood soaking the stiff white fabric beneath him, life draining away.

  The ship groaned, rolling on a wave, and the lanterns rocked back and forth, rattling like the chains of a ghost. Amanda hurried toward the ladder. She needed to assure herself that her shipmates were still among the living.

  She grasped the railing in a white-knuckled grip and pulled herself up to the main deck, poking her head above the planks.

  Men stood motionless at their stations. The breeze rustled the sails and the rigging creaked. Overhead a gull circling the ship called out, its wraith-like cry echoing against the waves.

  She peeked about, eyes level with the crew’s feet. Every face angled toward the captain. He stood at the rail, his looking glass to one eye, peering out at the thin, hazy line where the choppy gray ocean met the cerulean sky. If she moved slowly, she just might make it to her station without drawing undue attention.

  Bull caught her eye, pointed to her station, and mouthed something unintelligible. Her absence had been noted. Hunching her shoulders in a futile attempt to become invisible, Amanda scurried to her assigned position.

  Lowering the glass, Captain Stoakes turned and shouted to the sailor standing on the platform high above the deck. “Any sign of an escort, Nate?”

  “No sir!” the lanky, young man yelled down through cupped hands, one elbow hooked around a rope.

  The captain bared a row of strong white teeth, and his eyes reflected the late morning sun. Amanda shuddered. Gone was the man whose soft smile had charmed her so just a moment ago. The wolf with the golden eyes had returned.

  From her station, Amanda followed the captain’s every move. A shiver of excitement rippled through her when he called out orders to those standing around him. He was in his element, his enjoyment evidenced not so much by his expression as by the unwavering confidence in voice and action. Once, to get a better sighting, he leapt gracefully onto the ropes as though it took no more effort than climbing the stairs. Amanda’s heart leapt with him.

  In long, fluid strides, he moved to the base of the main mast where Buck stood, squinting at the horizon, no glass to assist him. Captain Stoakes handed him the glass, and Buck raised it to his eye. Moments later, he shut it with a resounding click and handed it back. Buck’s lips were set in a firm line, but even from her post, Amanda caught the steely look of anticipation. He said something unintelligible to the captain that made them both laugh.

  Stationed near one of the center guns, Amanda strained to hear what they said. Curiosity winning out over fear, she crept closer, then a little closer still.

  The captain spoke to the dull gray smudge taking shape in the distance. “Well, my little lamb, didn’t anyone ever tell you there are wolves in these waters? Best not stray too far from the flock.”

  Buck gave a low chuckle. “Shall we give chase, sir?”

  “Hmmm,” the captain squinted at the horizon again. “Odd for a ship of that size not to have an escort.”

  It didn’t seem like a question to Amanda, but Buck offered an opinion anyway. “She could have been separated from the rest of the convoy by a storm.” His voice held the childlike eagerness of a little boy asking for permission to play in the garden.

  “Could be.” Captain Stoakes tapped his looking glass against his open palm. “Or, it could be a trap.”

  A trap? Amanda crept closer, dread and excitement warring in her stomach. She focused her eyes on the distant sea and tried to make out which of the dark patches might be the enemy ship and which were low-hanging clouds.

  Without warning, the captain turned and shouted over her head, “To stations!”

  Amanda grasped the mast to steady herself while she waited for her ears to stop ringing. She had just managed to regain control of her wobbly legs when Buck turned to take a position at the rear of the ship and almost tripped over her. He made only the briefest eye contact and then stepped around her. Amanda’s face flamed.

  Captain’s orders given, the ship sprang to life with sailors rechecking guns, powder, and ammunition. Bull shouted orders at the less seasoned sailors, Amanda and Neil included, directing them to where they needed to be and giving them last minute instructions. Both she and Neil were assigned to carry powder and shot to the men at the guns. Theirs was a menial task, but its importance had been drilled into them, none too gently, by Bull.

  Within seconds, every man stood ready, and again, there was nothing to do but wait. Eager anticipation roused some chatter, but one quick order for “quiet on deck” from the captain stopped it in an instant. The heavy silence descended once more.

  Amanda strained her eyes, trying to make out the form of a ship in the dark smudge on the horizon. Feature by feature it materialized, the outline of a sail, the glint of copper in the sunlight, the curve of a hull.

  Still at a distance, it grew obvious the Amanda couldn’t match it in size. The sides of the other ship were well rounded and the upper deck rose high above the deck of the small schooner in pursuit. The ship’s towering sails blended with the swollen clouds scuttling across the spring sky.

  The Cross of St. George fluttered from the ship’s foremast. It snapped in the stiff breeze, like the heavy, oppressive hand of the king himself extracting retribution from his rebellious subjects. The warm sun ducked behind a cloud, and a cool breeze cut through the thin cotton fabric of her loose tunic. A shudder rippled through Amanda. This ship belonged to the enemy.

  Bull stood next to Amanda, and she couldn’t help but voice at least one of her thoughts aloud, “Bull, that is a merchant ship, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, it is,” Bull replied, without taking his eyes off their quarry.

  The sailing master called for more sails. Sailors took to the rigging, and the air soon filled the canvas sheets. The Amanda gained on the massive vessel.

  “Isn’t it rather large?” Amanda asked, finishing her thought.

  “A
ye. That it is. She’ll be loaded with supplies for the Tories,” Bull’s gold teeth glinted as the sun slid from behind the clouds, “of which we shall be happy to relieve them.”

  Amanda could see the ship clearly now, and she marveled at Bull’s confidence. The merchant ship looked to have three decks with several small hatches propped open on each. She couldn’t yet see in the open ports, but she had a feeling she knew what lay within those dark recesses.

  “Are merchant ships armed?”

  “That they are,” Bull confirmed.

  Of course, she had known they would be armed, but had long-since convinced herself the guns on a merchant ship were for nothing more than show. Likewise, she had convinced herself the guns on the Amanda would be enough to induce any ship they encountered to drop their defenses and surrender post haste. She eyed the nine-pounder next to her. How foolish she had been!

  The Amanda’s guns had filled her with awe and dread when she first came aboard, but compared to the massive ship looming on the horizon, they seemed little more than toys, her namesake no more than a sailboat.

  The Amanda glided ever closer to the merchant ship, and she tried to count the number of open ports. She gave up when she reached thirty.

  “Aren’t we outgunned?” She asked in a cracked voice.

  “Yes, we are,” Bull answered, with characteristic bluntness.

  “But why would the captain attack a ship when he is outmatched?”

  Bull looked fully at her this time, and there could be no mistaking the reproach in his eyes. “I agreed we was outgunned. I never said we was outmatched.”

  With every ounce of her concentration on the merchant ship, Amanda hadn’t noticed the captain leave his position at the main mast to perform a quick inspection of the crew’s readiness.

  “Where are you supposed to be?” His strong voice snapped her out of her stupor.

  “P-p-preparing the powder,” she said, mortified that he might have overheard her questioning his decisions.

  “Then get to it!”

  ****

  Will watched Adam scurry to his station, careful not to let his concern show. The boy had arrived late on deck. Moments before he took up his glass, he noted Adam’s absence. Then when he called “to stations” he nearly tripped over him. Adam had had the audacity to eavesdrop on his conversation with Buck. That he didn’t mind so much. In the young, courage often mingled with curiosity. However, he also noticed the young sailor conversing with Bull, an unusual thing in the moments before battle, especially since Will had ordered silence. He took his inspection tour close enough to hear the exchange.

  The fear in the boy’s voice concerned him. Fear was natural. Not to have fear before going into battle could get the lad killed. Yet, to voice fear aloud did not speak well of the young man’s courage and the effect he might have on the crew’s morale. Not that Adam had expressed his fear in so many words, but Will could hear it in the high, tight pitch of the boy’s voice.

  Of course, Adam was hardly the first new recruit to let his fear show. It wasn’t unheard of for a ship’s boy to dissolve into tears during their first battle or soil themselves the first time they heard the roar of a gun. Either the lad overcame his fear, or he returned the boy to his family with the gentle suggestion that their son take up farming or some suitable trade.

  He’d hate to have to leave Adam behind. He liked having the boy around. His skill with a stove had been evident, but there was more to it than that. The boy had a gentleness not often found among sailors. Will found it...soothing.

  Will shook his head at his own foolishness. A gentle soul did not belong on a privateer anymore than a woman did.

  “All men at the ready, sir,” Bull reported.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Will walked past each of the nine-pounders, Bull trailing behind him.

  “Will you have trouble with that one?” he asked when his inspection took him to the far end of the ship and out of earshot of Adam.

  “No, sir,” Bull responded, turning for a moment toward the gun where Adam stood, waiting for orders from the captain of the gun crew.

  Will wondered that Bull didn’t have to ask to which of the new recruits he referred. Several sailors still had a hard time keeping their grog in their bellies and their feet underneath them when the Amanda pitched without warning. More than a few were still unsure of their duties. Many of them had eyes glistening with fear.

  Had he done something to lead Bull to believe he had a special concern for Adam? He would have to guard his expressions better to avoid having his crew think he had gone soft.

  “So you believe the boy can do his duty?” Will asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

  “He will or I’ll toss him over the side meself,” Bull said. Then his tone softened, “It’s his first battle, Captain. Everyone has to have a first battle.”

  Truer words were never spoken. Will’s stomach roiled as he remembered his own first battle on the HMS Triumph in the last days of the French and Indian War. Until then, the life of a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy had seemed easy compared to that of an officer in the army. On a ship, one could spend days on end without so much as spotting the enemy. Battles often lasted only a short time, and some captains struck their colors after the first warning shot across their bow.

  Then he witnessed first-hand the carnage left behind when ships of war engaged in a full offensive, and he knew the illusion of a bloodless battle to be just that, an illusion.

  However, the real test of character was not to quell one’s fear before battle, but to perform one’s duties during battle in spite of the fear. He still held out hope that Adam would do himself credit.

  He could read the name on the back of the merchant ship now. Duckworth.

  The boy would soon have his opportunity.

  With any luck, the Amanda could rake the side of the larger ship and then draw past before the merchant ship’s twenty-four-pounders made toothpicks out of her. The superior speed of his Baltimore schooner over a heavily laden merchantman gave him more than enough advantage to overcome the mismatch in firepower. However, not every captain had as much skill at leveraging that advantage. Nor as much luck.

  Time slowed. Every eye focused on the captain. Every ear, alert for his next order. Even the wind whistling through the rigging quieted as though to listen for the captain’s command.

  “Fire!” Will’s cry split the silence and bounced across the deck a fraction of a second before a series of explosions rocked the small ship. The pungent aroma of spent gunpowder permeated the air.

  Several of the shots fell clear, but a number of them hit their mark in a spray of splinters.

  Although clearly better armed, the merchantman’s crew didn’t appear to be well-trained or well-supplied. Many of the enemy’s guns were not fired, and those few that were, fell short. Tell-tale shouts of confusion rang across the short expanse of sea separating the two ships.

  “Above the water line, men!” Will yelled, before ordering the helmsman to bring the ship around. “We don’t want to sink our prize before we get a chance to see what she offers, do we?”

  A raucous cry rose from the deck. A good sign for a new crew.

  The Amanda came about to take another shot at her prey, giving the men time to reload the guns. Will spent the few minutes of respite considering his good fortune to have a crew so hearty and capable and a merchant ship so defenseless on which to cut their teeth.

  Crews aboard a privateer were neither pressed into service nor required to serve for a specified length of time. Many men returned to shore once they had made enough money to pay off their debts or start a new life. For sailors aboard a skilled privateer, it often didn’t take more than a year or two.

  Still others stayed on, either for patriotic or personal reasons. With each new voyage, Will prayed he would have enough seasoned sailors joined by willing, capable new hands to continue the almost legendary string of the Amanda’s successes. A lucky captain was a g
ood thing, a skilled crew even better.

  Will laughed when Bull sent a sailor sprawling to the deck with a boot to his backside. Never vicious in his discipline, when he felt the men were shirking their duties, Bull made sure they knew it.

  He had been crew master on a whaler, but eager to join the fight when war broke out at last. With Bull’s rough edges and his disregard for authority, he made a natural privateersman, especially under Will’s command. He had great respect for Bull’s experience and trusted the grizzled old veteran without question. On the rare occasion when Bull argued with him, Will listened. Bull respected his captain too, and if he saw fit to resist an order, he usually had good reason.

  Although Will trusted Bull’s counsel, he trusted his own instincts more. He watched Adam go about his duties. The boy juggled three of the nine-pound balls while his brother yelled at him to keep up.

  Had he been wrong this time?

  After more than two weeks of hard work, Adam still looked like he might snap in a stiff wind. Struggling with his load, fear showed in the boy’s wide eyes and colorless lips.

  As if sensing Will’s gaze on him, the boy looked up. He gave Will a look that was clearly apologetic, then tightened his grip on his load.

  Sighing, Will focused his attention on the rest of the preparations. With the Amanda bearing down on a much larger vessel with vastly superior armament, he couldn’t allow himself to be absorbed in concern for one ship’s boy.

  “I don’t think we’ve woken her up yet, men,” he bellowed. “Prepare to give her another round.”

  “Fire!” The boom of his voice was echoed a moment later by a chorus of cannons.

  A momentary chaos descended on the Amanda when shot from one of the merchantman’s guns struck a railing. Wood splinters rained down on the crew, a man screamed, and Buck and Bull shouted orders above it all.

  Once the smoke cleared, Will assessed the damage. Minimal, he thought with relief. A railing could be replaced. Masts and men and guns were not so easy.

  One man lay on the deck, his face chalky. A large piece of wood pierced his thigh. He struggled to get up while another sailor held him down.