Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  Every minute they delayed meant another minute Marianne must suffer aboard that British frigate.

  “We’ve lost three guns, Cap’n.” Weller gaped at Noah as though Noah’s mind had also been a casualty of the battle.

  “Aye, but we have five left, do we not?” Noah forced confidence into this tone, but Mr. Weller simply frowned.

  Daniel, however, beamed a hearty grin. “That’s the way, Mr. Noah!”

  Blackthorn gazed out to sea then drew Daniel close. “Ye know my thoughts on the matter. Pure foolery.”

  Noah chuckled. “And it wasn’t pure foolery when we had all eight guns?”

  Blackthorn nodded and joined in his laughter.

  With a smile, Luke turned and began shouting orders to furl sail.

  Noah touched his shoulder. “Wait, let me speak to the men first.”

  Luke nodded then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Belay that. All hands, assemble amidships!”

  Taking a position at the quarterdeck railing, Noah gazed at his measly crew as slowly one by one, his men mustered on the main deck, their curious gazes filtering upward. A surge of pride rose within him at their loyalty and courage.

  Taking a deep breath, he said a silent prayer for the right words. Something had changed during the long night, during the fear, during the thunderous blasts, during the heartache. Noah had not only renewed his relationship with God, but the Lord had forgiven him and filled him with such love he’d never known.

  And now he knew what he was supposed to do.

  “We are no longer a private merchantman.” He began, ignoring the quizzical groans. “As of today, we are no longer the Fortune.” The groans silenced and a sea of wrinkled brows stared back at him. “Today, gentlemen, we are the Defender.” Noah raised his hand. “I deem this ship a privateer for the United States of America. Let us defend the freedom we have come to love. Let us defend our homes, our families, our cities from the pompous tyranny that is trying to crush us.”

  The men stared agape at him. Seconds passed. Would they join him? Or would they think him mad?

  “But don’t we need a letter of marque or somethin’?” Mr. Simon said.

  “And more guns?” Mr. Boone chuckled and his fellow sailors joined him.

  “Yes, we do.” Noah’s shout silenced the laughter. “Items I intend to procure next time we make port. But for now, we haven’t the time to follow proper procedure. We must help defend the USS Constitution.”

  “An’ risk bein’ hanged as a pirate?” Mr. Lothar spit to the side.

  “Some things are worth the risk, Mr. Lothar.” Noah gazed across the grimy faces of his crew. Exhaustion tugged on their haggard skin. “Are you with me?”

  The wind blasted over them. A snap sounded from above, and all eyes shot to the American flag flapping on the gaff of their foremast, its red and white stripes waving proudly in the breeze. Each man seemed mesmerized by its beauty.

  One by one they dropped their gazes as shouts sprang from their midst.

  “For America!”

  “We are wit’ you, Cap’n!”

  “For freedom!”

  “For the prize money!” one man yelled, eliciting chuckles from the others.

  The men pumped fists into the air.

  Luke gave Noah a slanted grin and shook his head. He faced the crew. “Let’s be about it, men. Rupert, aloft to furl sail! Mr. Boone, fetch planks and nails to repair the hole!”

  The men scattered to their duties.

  “Pa, you get to be a pirate again.” Daniel snapped hair from his face.

  Blackthorn grinned, revealing the black holes of his two missing teeth. “Aye, but not for treasure this time, son. For something far more valuable: honor and country and the life of an innocent woman.”

  Patting the handkerchief in his pocket, Noah leapt on the gunwale. He grabbed a line and leaned over the churning waters. A crisp morning breeze played with his hair and filled his nostrils with the briny smell of the sea. Blood pumped through his veins, heightening his senses, strengthening his resolve. A sense of purpose filled him. And for the first time in his life, he felt as though he had finally come home.

  Perhaps he did have a destiny after all.

  Perhaps this had been his destiny all along.

  Marianne hefted the sack of laundry in her arms and trudged down the ladder. She blew a breath toward her forehead, sending her hair fluttering and cooling the perspiration on her brow. The smell of rot and sweat and bilge assailed her. Would she ever get used to the foul stench of a ship below deck? Or the heat?

  Eight days had passed since she’d hidden the knife in her cabin. Eight days and they’d not come across a single ship, American or otherwise. Eight days in which she’d been forced to endure the captain’s furious grumblings as he pored over his charts and snapped at anyone who dared enter his cabin. Marianne was beginning to think she’d risked Mr. Garrick’s ravishment to steal a blade she would never need.

  Sorrow tightened her throat. Perhaps she had not heard from God. Perhaps she had no destiny at all.

  Making her way to the laundry, she lowered the stuffed bag and tossed it beside the others. Griffin, the sailor who cleaned the captain’s clothes, looked up from the huge water-filled barrel he stirred and gave her his usual scowl. Black soot blotched his face and his muscled bare arms. Marianne resisted the urge to suggest he dunk himself in the barrel along with the clothes.

  Turning, she withdrew her handkerchief and dabbed at the perspiration on her neck and face. The day, like all the others before it, had slogged by with a legion of chores and errands until the ache in her feet matched the one in her back. Possessed by one of his foul moods, the captain had spent the day in his cabin ordering her about and criticizing everything she did. She had not laid his tooth powder and cloth out properly. The water in his basin wasn’t warm enough. She’d forgotten his morning sip of brandy. She’d missed a few specks of dust on his boots. After a while Marianne had drowned out his incessant whining and simply nodded and went about her tasks— tasks that had become so routine to her, her mind could be occupied elsewhere with thoughts of distant lands and magical places where she was free and happy and not a prisoner aboard a British warship.

  But much to her dismay, Noah always appeared in those distant lands. It had been a little over a month since he’d dropped over the side and left her. Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind? Instead of dwelling on what could never be, she’d resorted to praying for him and for Luke, Weller, Blackthorn, and precious Daniel. Praying they were all safe somewhere.

  She pressed a hand on her back and started on her way back to the captain’s cabin when a burst of muffled thunder echoed through the timbers of the ship. A storm? Lord, not another storm. Memories of the last storm she had endured pushed themselves forward in her mind. And there she found Noah again, coming to her cabin to comfort her.

  “You enchant me.” The memory of his soft words lit a dark place in her heart. She could still see the look of adoration in his blue eyes, so clear and bright against his tawny skin. She could feel his gentle embrace, could sense his warm breath on her neck and his lips on hers. Heat swept over her as she ascended the ladder.

  Did he love her? Or was it just the allure of the moment? Regardless, he had not come back for her. He had left her a prisoner both of this ship and of her memories. Memories of being loved and cherished by an honorable man—if only for a moment.

  Boot steps pounded on the deck above as she made her way upward. Shouts flew like pistol shot through the air, the captain’s authoritative voice chief among them.

  Thunder bellowed again in the distance.

  All this commotion for a storm?

  Curiosity drove Marianne farther above where she halted at the head of the companionway and stared at the flurry of sailors dashing about the deck. A brisk wind wafted around her, playing with the hem of her skirt and fluttering her wayward strands of hair. The captain and his officers stood at the quarterdeck stanchions, taking th
eir posts as masters of the sea, their jaws tight and their eyes focused straight ahead.

  The ship bolted. Bracing her feet, Marianne wove through a mob of sailors to the railing. Following the gazes of the officers, she squinted against a setting sun to see the faint tips of masts, crowded with snowy sail, poking above the horizon.

  Gray smoke puffed and the thunder bellowed again. That was no storm. It was cannon fire. Her heart clamped. Had they found the Constitution? Too far away to tell.

  And who was firing at whom?

  As the frigate sped toward the battling ship, Marianne’s gaze distinguished the masts as two sets from two different ships. A cloud of smoke filled the gap between them.

  She glanced aloft. With all sails crowding the masts and bursting with wind, the Undefeatable flew through the water like an angry demon out for blood. The ship pitched over a rising swell. Salty spray showered over Marianne, threatening to loosen her firm grip on the railing. Her stomach flipped and nausea boiled within. Fear of the sea, fear of death, fear of living out her days on board this ship caused the blood to swell in her head until it throbbed.

  Though longing to go below to the false safety of her cabin, Marianne kept her feet in place. At least until she discovered the identity of the ships.

  French, British, or American? She shifted her gaze between Captain Milford, his officers, and the ships, knowing one or all of them would soon answer her questions.

  Above her, top men scurried across lines to adjust and tighten the canvas to the wind. Thank God Noah was not among them anymore.

  Another thunderous boom echoed across the graying sky. “Bear off, haul your braces, ease sheets!” Mr. Garrick shouted.

  Minutes passed as the Undefeatable plunged through roller after roller, riding the sea high and wide, foam spraying over the deck.

  Marianne craned her neck and she squinted toward the ships, but she couldn’t make out their ensigns.

  “It’s the HMS Guerriére!” Captain Milford barked, lowering his spyglass.

  As the ships closed in on one another, the sky exploded in a barrage of cannon fire and the pop pop pop of musket shot. A thick cloud of smoke consumed the two ships. When it cleared, one of the vessels veered toward the setting sun, bringing its flag into full view. The red and white stripes and star-studded blue flapped proudly in the evening breeze.

  The USS Constitution. And she seemed to be holding her own against the British warship. Marianne’s heart swelled with pride, then shrank in fear.

  The Constitution was no match for two British warships.

  “Clear for battle!” Lieutenant Garrick bellowed. “Starboard guns stand by!”

  The fife and drum played the “Heart of Oak,” signaling the call to quarters. A shrill whistle sent sailors scrambling over the deck, removing all obstructions and sprinkling sand across the planks. Some landed on her shoes. Crewmen rigged nets over the deck to protect those below from falling blocks and other tackle. Gun crews mobbed the guns as powder boys leapt above from the hatches carrying the powder bags, wads, and shot. Marianne thought of Daniel and thanked God he wasn’t here as well.

  But she was. And she had to do something.

  Boom boom boom boom boom, the blast of a broadside drew her gaze back to the battling ships, not more than fifty yards away now. When the smoke cleared, the Guerriére’s main yard hung shattered and lifeless. She resisted the urge to raise a huzzah in the air. Excitement charged through her as the Constitution bore around the British ship yet again. The air thundered with another broadside. Marianne held her breath until the sooty smoke cleared. The mizzenmast of the Guerriére dragged lifeless in the water. Thank You, Lord. The Constitution was winning!

  Could the ship also beat the Undefeatable and rescue Marianne? Dare she hope?

  “Run out the guns!” Mr. Reed’s deep voice bounced over the deck.

  The Undefeatable would be upon the ships within minutes. Marianne faced the battling duo again just in time to see the two ships ram into each other and the Guerriére‘s bowsprit become tangled in the Constitution‘s fallen lines. Musket and pistol shot popped through the air. Along with the screams of men.

  A gust of wind struck her, bringing with it the sting of gunpowder.

  “We’ve got her now!” Captain Milford shouted.

  He was right. Entangled as she was and unable to maneuver, the Constitution would have no defense against the Undefeatable‘s broadside.

  Panic iced through Marianne. She must do something. Perhaps this was her time. Perhaps she’d been placed here for such a time as this.

  CHAPTER 28

  Sail-ho!” A shout bellowed from the masthead.

  “Where away, Mr. Crenshaw?” Noah scanned the surrounding sea.

  “Off our starboard bow, Cap’n.”

  Plucking his scope from his belt, Noah jumped onto the main deck and raised it to his eye. Steadying it against the rise and fall of the ship, he focused on the fading horizon.

  “Two sets of sail!” the shout spiraled down from above just as the billowing canvas came into view.

  Noah lowered the scope. “Four points to starboard, Mr. Pike,” he yelled over his shoulder. “All hands on deck. Let go the topgallants!”

  Behind him, Luke repeated orders that sent his meager crew scurrying into the shrouds.

  Noah braced his boots over the hard planks as the ship veered to starboard. Wind whipped his hair, tossing it in his face. He snapped it away and raised his glass again.

  They’d not spotted a sail since their encounter with the British war sloop. And now two sails appeared near the area Marianne had said the Undefeatable was to join the Guerriére.

  Marianne. His heart jumped at the thought that she was near. Oh Lord, let it be her.

  Under a full press of canvas, the newly christened Defender sped through the choppy seas. But not fast enough. Though his men had plugged the hole with canvas and tar and boarded it up with wood, sea-water seeped in to join the waterlogged hold, weighing them down.

  Luke appeared beside him, his stubbled jaw stiffening. They shared a knowing glance.

  “Make that three sets of sail!” Mr. Crenshaw’s excited voice once again showered over them from above.

  Noah raised his scope. Three distinct hulls settled on the horizon. And if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, a cloud of smoke drifted between them.

  Cannon shot thundered, confirming his suspicions.

  “Seems we’re intruding on someone’s battle.” Luke rubbed the scar on his ear.

  “But ‘Whose battle?’ is the question. Only one interests me.”

  Scratching his chin, Matthew took a spot on the other side of Noah. Behind them, the setting sun tossed golden spires across the foam-capped waves and reflected on the ships beyond.

  Another burst of cannon cracked the air. Noah leapt up the fore-deck ladder and dashed to the bow for a better view. He studied the ships through his glass but still could not make out their ensigns.

  The Defender plunged down a massive swell, and Noah gripped the railing as salty spray stung his face.

  More cannon shot exploded.

  He focused his scope on the ship closest to him. His heart skipped a beat. He’d know that ship anywhere. The Undefeatable. Spinning on his heel, he approached the foredeck railing and spotted Weller and Blackthorn below. “Ready the guns!”

  With a shake of his head and a look of disbelief, Weller swerved about and called for the men to assemble. Blackthorn and Daniel scrambled to their positions at one of the stern guns.

  Noah patted his pocket, seeking comfort from his brother’s handkerchief, but nothing but fabric and air met his touch. It was gone. He’d had it in his hand when the shot crashed into his cabin. Panic seized him. But then he realized something anew—he had another comfort, one that went far deeper than a piece of fabric, a comfort that didn’t fade. An odd peace settled on him. He no longer needed the token. His brother was in heaven, and Noah had been forgiven. His guilt was gone. His debt was pai
d.

  Not by a bloody handkerchief, but by the blood of the Son of God.

  Noah smiled and turned to Agnes and Matthew who stood arm in arm gazing at the battling ships. The woman’s normally ruddy cheeks had turned as white as sea foam.

  Even Luke’s blue eyes held a hint of foreboding.

  Noah swallowed. Was he leading his men to their deaths? Oh Lord, please be with us. Turning, he stared at the Undefeatable.

  Undefeatable, indeed.

  Yes, his ship was half its size. Yes, he was taking on water. Yes, he had only twenty crewmen compared to the frigate’s two hundred and fifty. Yes, he only had five guns compared to the frigate’s thirty-two.