Surrender the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  Noah shook his head as his hope for justice faded completely before this blustering man.

  “You both are in violation of Article 22 of the Articles of War which prohibits all fighting, quarreling and reproachful speech aboard a Royal Navy ship. Since this is your first offense, I’ll spare you the cat.” The captain waved a hand toward Luke. “Lock him in irons below. No food or drink for two days. Perhaps that shall suffice as a lesson to you, sir, that I do not tolerate brawls on my ship.”

  Marianne gasped and all eyes shot to her.

  “With all due respect, Captain—” Noah stepped forward.

  “This is madness,” Luke interrupted. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “Hold your tongues or I’ll have you both flogged!” The captain’s left eyelid began to twitch. “You are British sailors now, not crude, undisciplined Americans.”

  “We are not British sailors,” Luke spit out through clenched teeth.

  “Make that three days,” the captain said. “Shall we go for four?”

  Noah elbowed his friend and shook his head. Luke scowled but remained silent.

  “Captain, please!” Marianne’s sweet voice flowed over Noah from behind like a refreshing wave. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She stepped forward, her anxious gaze shifted from him to the captain. “Have mercy, I beg you.”

  The captain cleared his throat and for a moment—a precious, hopeful moment—the harsh glare in his eyes lessened. “I told you to leave, Miss Denton.” His steely voice softened as he addressed her. She remained firmly in place. Noah blinked. How had the woman worked her charm on such an ill-tempered beast?

  The captain snapped his gaze back to Luke. “Take him,” he ordered the marine, who promptly tugged Luke by the elbow and led him toward the door. Noah tried to give his friend a reassuring look before he left, but Luke’s gaze remained on the deck.

  The marine sergeant smiled, while his companion Lieutenant Reed stared ahead, his lips set in a stiff line.

  Captain Milford turned flashing eyes toward Noah. “And this one? What did he do?”

  “He, too, was in the midst of the altercation, sir.” The marine announced proudly.

  “You’re the captain of that merchantman we boarded, aren’t you?” Captain Milford studied Noah as one would an insignificant organism beneath a microscope.

  “Yes, I am, sir.” Noah searched the captain’s eyes for the honor, the integrity, he had hoped existed in the commander of a British war ship. But instead, he found nothing but an apathetic cruelty that set the hairs on his arms standing straight.

  “Ah, but you are no longer a captain of anything.” Milford circled his desk and planted his thick boots in front of Noah.

  “Captain, my men and I are not deserters.” Despite the man’s obvious derision toward them, Noah had to convince him of their innocence. He leveled a stern gaze upon Milford, captain to captain. “We are American citizens stolen from my ship without cause. Your man Garrick did not even examine our papers.”

  A slow smile lifted one corner of the captain’s mouth. “Tsk tsk. I have no time for woeful tales.” He exchanged a glance of amused annoyance with the marine.

  “I have friends in South Hampton, Captain,” Noah went on, “who can vouch for my character and integrity.”

  “To the devil with your character and integrity, sir! You and your men are sailors in His Majesty’s Navy. You will forget your past. Forget your ship. Forget your country.” Milford thrust his rigid face toward Noah. The odor of brandy and sweat filled the air between them. “I run a tough ship, and I’ll not stand for insubordination, sir. Do I make myself clear?”

  Noah stiffened. The captain swung about and grabbed a glass from his desk, giving Noah a chance to steal a glance at Miss Denton who was behind Lieutenant Reed. Desperation poured from her brown eyes. Desperation for him or for herself, he couldn’t tell. Regardless of her culpability in their dire situation, a war ship was no place for a lady.

  He faced forward. Knowing he might not have another opportunity to speak to the captain in person, he must try to win Miss Denton’s freedom. He must risk the captain’s temper once again. “Permission to have a word with you, Captain.”

  Giving a disinterested huff, Captain Milford poured himself a drink and waved him on.

  “It’s about Miss Denton.”

  The topic brought the captain’s cold gaze back to Noah.

  “She’s an innocent, captain. She’s not a seafaring woman, sir, and found herself on my ship quite by accident.”

  He glanced at Marianne. Shock filled her misty eyes.

  The captain sipped his drink. “Nevertheless, she is here now.”

  “I appeal to your honor, sir.” Noah took a bold step toward him. Surely an officer in the Royal Navy would do no harm to an innocent woman. “She is a civilian. A proper lady with fortune and status in Baltimore. By the laws of civilized warfare, please return her to her home.”

  “You appeal to my honor, do you?” Captain Milford chuckled. “I have been in enough wars to know, sir, that there is nothing honorable about the men who fight them. You ignorant, savage Americans”—he pointed at Noah with his glass—“Ever a source of amusement.” He glanced at Reed but the man remained a statue.

  The marine sergeant chuckled.

  Anger flared in Noah’s belly. “Yet I do believe it was we ignorant, savage Americans who defeated Britain’s best army and navy and sent you scurrying back to England.” He knew he sailed on dangerous seas, but Noah could not allow the insult to his country, to his countrymen, to go unchallenged.

  The captain’s face turned a dark shade of purple. “The presumption, the audacity, sir! I should have you flogged!” He set down his goblet and moved toward Noah.

  Marianne gasped.

  “Mark my words, young captain”—Milford crammed a finger toward Noah’s face—“should our nations meet at war again, we shall squash your American spirit as well as your pathetic military forces and reclaim the land that belongs to us!”

  Noah didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t allow the fury boiling within him to rise to the surface. He had once thought that a country so steeped in traditions of honor and glory, so rich in the history of fighting for their own freedom, would never consider stealing the freedom of others. Now he knew differently. Now he knew better.

  Captain Milford’s dark brows arched. “For your insolence, sir, you will scrub the weather deck day and night for as long as your slick-tongued friend is locked below.”

  Noah’s breath clogged in his throat.

  “And if you are caught sleeping while on the job,” the captain leaned toward him, a greasy smile on his lips. “The penalty is death.”

  ♦♦♦

  After a sleepless night that left her eyelids as heavy as anchors and her head throbbing, Marianne attended her duties with the mind-numbing routine of a long-time servant. She fetched and served the captain his breakfast and then helped him on with his uniform, brushing off specks of invisible dust. Afterward, she ushered him on deck, promising to have his cabin sparkling by the time he returned.

  She’d learned to ignore his insulting quips and constant grumbling and placate him with feigned agreements hidden behind an occasional smile. He was British, after all, and who could argue with a man who believed he came from a master race destined to rule to world. Mad or not, when he straightened to his full commanding height and raised his voice to its most vociferous capacity, her insides melted in fear. But she’d learned that not soon after such an incident, his shoulders would sink and his voice lower and he would speak to her as if he hadn’t just called her every abominable name he possessed in his vast vocabulary.

  Leaning on her knees, Marianne scrubbed the wooden planks of the captain’s floor and thought of her mother and Lizzie. Without Marianne’s marriage or a certificate proving her death, her mother would never be able to touch Marianne’s inheritance. Another year and her beloved family would run out of money to live on. And then what would they
do? Marianne’s chest grew heavy. If she had not taken matters into her own hands aboard Noah’s ship, and ended up a prisoner on a British frigate, Noah would have returned her home after his voyage. Now, because of her lack of faith, none of them would ever see home again.

  Lord, I’m sorry I didn’t trust You. Yet with the utterance of the words came the realization that she still didn’t trust God—that she no longer truly knew how to trust anyone. Please, God, if You’re listening, please help my family. But her prayer seemed to dissipate into the humid air of the cabin.

  The scent of linseed oil and lemons burned her nose. Pain shot into her legs and angled over her back. She grew accustomed to the constant aches, welcomed them, in fact, as punishment for bringing such tragedy upon herself, her family, and her friends. Friends? Could she call Noah, Luke, and Mr. Weller friends? Would they consider her as such? And why, lately, did her thoughts center on the one man who had caused her the most grief—Noah Brenin?

  She cringed at the thought that he’d been up all night scrubbing the deck above. And poor Luke, locked in irons below. She must do something to lessen their strict punishments. Yet her attempt to bring up the subject with the captain that morning had resulted in yet another outburst of his fury.

  Noah had risked punishment on her behalf. She could not shake the thought, nor could she imagine why he would do such a thing, when she was the one who had put them all in this horrible situation. The door squeaked open and in walked Daniel, wearing his usual bright smile, torn shirt and breeches. His hands were tucked behind his back as if he were hiding something from her. His eyes sparked with excitement. “Hello, Miss Marianne!”

  Sitting back on her haunches, she returned his smile. “Hello, Daniel.”

  “I brought you something.” He swept out his hands and handed her a book.

  On closer inspection—a Bible.

  Marianne set down the cloth and allowed him to place the holy book on her open palms. She gazed down at it with an affection that surprised her. As a child, she had enjoyed hearing her mother read aloud the wonderful stories it contained. As she grew, she immersed herself in its loving words whenever she needed wisdom or comfort. But, much to her shame, Marianne had not read from the precious book in quite awhile—not since her father died. “Is this yours?”

  “Yes, miss. But God told me you needed it more than me right now.”

  “Oh, indeed?” Marianne laughed. “But I really can’t accept this.”

  “You must. Not forever.” He shrugged. “Just until you help rescue me.”

  “Oh, Daniel.” Marianne set the book atop one of the padded chairs and began scrubbing again. “I am not so sure you have heard from God. How am I going to help you escape when I can’t even help myself or Mr. Heaton and Mr. Brenin?”

  Yanking a cloth from a pile, he dabbed some oil on it and began scrubbing beside her. “It don’t matter, miss. God’ll help you.”

  “God help me?” Marianne concentrated her scouring over a particularly stubborn patch of dried dirt. “He has better things to do.” Much better things or He wouldn’t have allowed her father to die, wouldn’t have allowed her mother to become ill and wouldn’t have allowed their family fortune to blow away in the wind.

  Or Marianne to get stuck aboard Noah’s ship.

  Or her to become a slave to a mad captain.

  Halting, she sat back and gazed at the rays of morning sunlight reflecting off Daniel’s dark hair and surrounding him with light as if he were precious to God.

  While she remained in the shadows.

  “I fear you have the wrong lady, Daniel, I’m just a plain, ordinary woman. I am nobody special. And I won’t do anything important.” She sighed. “I’m terrified of water. I can’t take care of my mother and sister properly, and I can’t even keep a man’s interest long enough so he’ll marry me.”

  Daniel snapped the hair from his face and gazed at her forlornly. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but there ain’t nobody ordinary in God’s Kingdom.”

  Marianne held up the Bible. “I’m not like the people in here: Moses, Abraham, Elijah, Paul, all great men that God used.”

  “And Daniel.” He stopped scrubbing and smiled. “He was a prophet.”

  “Yes, he was.” She wiped a smudge of dirt from his face with her thumb and remembered her Bible lesson to the men on board Noah’s ship. Daniel in the Lion’s den. And that is why we must always have faith, even in the midst of hopeless times. She could still hear her voice so full of feigned conviction—a masquerade of the strong woman she longed to be.

  “And I am God’s prophet too. He told me so.” Daniel’s brown eyes sparkled.

  Marianne moved to another spot and continued her scrubbing. The boy’s childish innocence warmed her heart. Let him have his dreams, his illusions, his hopes. They were probably the only things keeping him alive on this horrid ship.

  “What of Esther?” he asked.

  Marianne searched her mind for the story her mother had read to her long ago. Ah, yes the queen. “She was beautiful.” Not like Marianne.

  “Rahab?”

  The old stories flooded her mind like rays of sunshine on a cloudy day. Rahab was the harlot who hid the spies of Israel so they could defeat Jericho. Definitely not like Marianne. “She was brave.”

  “I know what story is like yours.” Daniel’s eyes widened with delight. “How about Gideon? His clan was the weakest in the tribe of Manasseh, and he was the least in his father’s house. Yet God used him to defeat the Midianites with only three hundred men.”

  Shaking her head, Marianne grabbed the bottle of oil and shifted to a fresh spot on the deck. “I know you mean well, Daniel. And I’m sure God has great plans for you. But my life has been fraught with tragedy. I can never seem to rise above the struggles, to conquer them like others stronger than I.” She continued her scrubbing. “I fear God will do what He wills in this world and in my life, and I will always be what I am--a plain, ordinary girl.”

  She circled the rag over the wooden planks. Round and round like the monotonous circles of her life until her wrists ached and perspiration beaded on her neck. Tears burned behind her eyes. She could not fathom where they came from or why they appeared. Something about Daniel’s words, his enthusiasm, his faith, tugged upon a yearning in her heart—a longing, beneath her bitterness, to be something more.

  He touched her hand, stopping her. “You don’t think God loves you, do you?”

  Halting, Marianne drew a deep breath and looked away. She’d never truly considered the question.

  Daniel shook his head. Strands of hair hung down his cheek. “Even your name means that God loves you. Marianne, taken from Mary, the mother of our Lord. She was an ordinary girl from an ordinary family. And look how important she was in God’s plan.”

  She gazed at him, astounded by his wisdom. But she could not allow these fanciful notions to take root. For if she did, if she started to believe God truly loved her, if she believed she was special and that He had a plan for her life, then the next disappointment, the next tragedy would rob her of her will to go on.

  And then she would end up face down in the Patapsco River like her father.

  “Of course, I know God loves everyone.” She shrugged, hoping to shrug away her tears as well, along with the hope that had ignited them.

  “You know it up here.” Daniel pointed to his head. “But not in here.” His hand flew to his heart.

  Pouring more oil on her cloth, she leaned over and buffed the wood into a shine. “I believe I’m going to heaven, but I expect nothing else from this life.”

  “You’ll see that you’re wrong.” Daniel smiled. “When God tells me something it always comes true. He told me a beautiful woman and three men would come on the ship and save me and my da—save me.”

  Beautiful woman? Marianne chuckled. Now she was certain she was not the woman in Daniel’s prophecy. Looking into his hope-filled—no, faith-filled—eyes, she wished with all her heart that she could make his vision
come true. But she couldn’t. All she could hope to do was to try to alleviate some of Noah and Luke’s discomfort during their punishments. A glorious thought occurred to her which might be the solution she sought, but she couldn’t do it alone.

  She brushed the hair from his face. “Daniel, do you know where Lieutenant Reed is?”

  He gave her a perplexed look and glanced out the window. “He may be in the wardroom, miss. He likes to have a cup o’ tea about now. What do you want him for?”

  Though Lieutenant Reed’s stiff, portentous exterior would normally dissuade her from seeking him out, the expression on his face last night and the way he shifted his feet uncomfortably when the captain had unleashed his temper led her to believe there may exist a smidgeon of compassion behind his stuffy facade.

  “I want to ask his help to lighten the captain’s sentences upon Mr. Brenin and Mr. Heaton.”

  Daniel’s exuberance of only a moment ago faded beneath an anxious look. “I doubt he’ll help you, miss. ’Sides, when the captain issues a punishment, it stands. I ain’t never seen”—his eyes snapped to hers—“Oh, I forgot to give you Mr. Noah’s message.”

  “Message?” She ignored the tiny leap of her heart. “When did he give it to you?”

  “At supper last night before those sailors stirred up trouble. He asked how you were. Seemed real concerned as to your welfare.”

  The statement uttered in such innocent sincerity sent warmth down to her toes. She shook it off, had to shake it off, but it stubbornly remained in light of Noah’s brave appeal to the captain.

  Daniel laid his cloth aside and stood. “He wants you to keep your ears open for anything you hear about where the ship is heading or any plans the captain has.”

  “He wants me to spy?” she whispered, excitement tingling over her skin.

  “Aye, miss.” He glanced out the door. “An’ I can deliver messages back and forth between you.”

  Marianne’s mind whirled with the possibilities.

  The ship bucked, nearly spilling her bottle of oil. She grabbed it and steadied her stomach against a wave of nausea.