Noah’s nerves burned. His blood pounded in his head. “Another hour, Lord. Just give me another hour.” He surprised himself with the prayer, but the harrowing situation called for desperate measures. If a miracle did not occur before the day was spent, Noah and his crew would be killed or captured. And Marianne would be doomed.
♦♦♦
With her ears tuned to the snoring that emanated from the captain’s sleeping chamber, Marianne slid open one of the drawers in the massive oak desk.
It squeaked. The snoring stopped. She froze and listened for any movement. But only the creak of timber and slosh of water met her ears.
The captain resumed his snoring.
Drawing the lantern near, she sifted through the contents of the drawer: a quill pen, a bottle of ink, foolscap, the ship’s log, a locket, and. . .there it was. A key. She gripped the cold metal and drew it to her bosom. Not just any key. The key to the cabinet full of weapons in the wardroom.
Where she planned on stealing a knife.
It had been a fairly easy task to draw the location of the key from the captain, especially after several more brandies and a spoonful of laudanum. Assured of his victory tomorrow over the American war ship, he had been in a most jovial humor all night long—right up to the moment he’d dropped unconscious onto his bed.
Then she had only to wait a few minutes until his deep breathing confirmed that he was fast asleep.
Clutching the key in one hand and the lantern in the other, Marianne tiptoed out the door, down the passageway, then descended the ladder to the lower deck. Turning a corner, she pressed a hand to her chest to still her frantic heart. The dash of water against the hull joined the pounding of blood in her ears.
The ship groaned.
Footsteps sounded.
Marianne halted and backed against the bulkhead. Perhaps it was just the ship’s timbers complaining as usual. She started again, this time more slowly. A light shone from the distance. Another lantern, a candle? But then it went out. Had she imagined it? Whispers curled around her ears. Or was it the purl of the water?
She should go back to her cabin.
But she couldn’t. Tomorrow they planned on attacking an American ship—possibly the USS Constitution. She couldn’t let that happen. Pressing forward, she entered the wardroom. The smell of whale oil and smoke and the dried beef the officers had for dinner whirled about her nose. Lifting her lantern, she scanned the shadows. No movement came from the officer’s canvas cabins that lined both sides of the larger room. She prayed they were all fast asleep. The light reflected off the cabinet’s glass doors. She squinted. Setting the lantern down on the table, she inserted the key and turned the latch. The door swung open with an aged squeak.
Marianne held her breath. She listened for footsteps, voices, but only the familiar hum of the ship and the snores of the officers met her ears. She perused the knives. Any one of them would do. She plucked a particularly long blade with a sharp point and lifted it toward the light to examine it. The wooden handle felt smooth in her fingers as the steel blade gleamed in the lantern light. Sliding it into her pocket, she closed the cabinet, grabbed the lantern, and dashed out the door.
Now to find the tiller.
She descended another level to the orlop deck. The smell of tar and human sweat burned her nostrils. Her hand trembled, and the lantern clanked. The flame sputtered then steadied. She wished her heart would do the same. With most of the crew asleep, this late hour afforded her the best possibility of completing her mission without drawing unwanted attention. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t cross paths with one of them. Her lantern light skimmed over barrels, tackles, spare canvas, and ropes. Nothing that looked like a tiller.
The ship canted, creaking and moaning. She pressed onward. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck. Rats scattered before her arc of light, darting for the cover of the shadows. She shivered at the sight of them then entered a small space which, by her best calculation, should be directly below the wheel. She lifted the lantern to examine the room. Empty save for a stack of crates in the corner and a pile of cordage hanging from a nail in the bulkhead. She started to leave when something above her caught her eye. Two thick hemp ropes dropped down from holes in the deckhead. Strung through iron loops, they extended out along two sweeps of wood.
The tiller!
Reaching up, she brushed her fingers over the itchy, rough hemp. It scraped her skin. The lines were strong and sturdy and at least two inches thick.
But still possible to cut through with a knife.
But not yet. Since the tiller ropes could be repaired within a few days, she must wait until the Undefeatable engaged the USS Constitution in battle. And not a moment before.
Thank you, Lord. But now, I will need Your help when the time comes. She bit her lip. Would God use her to do this important task? A task that could change the course of history? Or was she only deceiving herself?
Time would tell.
Turning, Marianne hurried back the way she’d come.
And ran straight into Lieutenant Garrick.
♦♦♦
Noah spotted a yellow flame burst from the British sloop’s hull. “All hands down!” He dove to the hard wood.
Boom! Cannon shot thundered across the sky. Tar and oakum filled his nostrils. He lifted his head. His crew lay scattered across the deck. Water splashed like a geyser not two feet off their starboard quarter.
He leapt to his feet. “Clear the deck! Lay aloft and ease the topgallants!” His gaze met Luke’s as his first mate wasted no time in ordering the men to their tasks.
The pursuing sloop crashed through the waves a mile astern. A few more minutes and they’d be within firing range. “Man the guns! Load the chain shot,” Noah commanded. At least they’d put up a fight before they’d all be killed. He fisted his hands until they ached. Confound it all. Blasted British.
The remainder of his crew who weren’t in the shrouds or at the helm, swarmed the eight guns. With Noah’s depleted crew, two men would be forced to do the jobs of three as they took their positions. Daniel and Blackthorn took one cannon at the stern, while Noah joined Weller at the other. A bucket filled with bags of powder sat on the deck along with a pile of shot. Mr. Lothar dashed across the ship, distributing red-hot cotton wicks soaked in lye to each team.
A gust of wind needled over Noah, carrying with it the sting of gunpowder. Off their starboard quarter, the British sloop shouldered the sea, foam cresting her bow. The Union Jack flapped at her mainmast, taunting Noah with the power and audacity of a nation who believed they ruled the seas.
His stomach crumpled. Thoughts of Marianne drifted through his mind. His heart ached. Would he ever see her again or would she be forever doomed to a life of slavery?
Noah gazed across his crew. All good sailors. But they weren’t soldiers. Yet despite the terror screaming from their eyes, they manned their posts with bravado. “Good job, men,” Noah said. “Steady there. Wait for my order.” Noah tried to encourage them with a tone of assurance, yet it sounded flat coming from his lips.
A streak of blood-red spread across the horizon as the arc of the sun sank out of sight. A portent of their fate? Noah hoped not. He glanced above. Already the black sky descended, swallowing up any remaining light in its path. “I just need a few more minutes,” he whispered again to no one in particular. Deep down he hoped the Almighty would hear and take pity on him. At least for Marianne’s sake. And the sake of his crew. Men he was responsible for.
The Fortune flew through the sea with everything she could set to the breeze, plunging into the rollers and sending spray back over the deck.
One man at each gun held the burning wick, awaiting Noah’s command. He studied their enemy. Not in range yet.
Darkness tumbled upon them. Noah peered toward Daniel and Blackthorn who manned the gun beside him. The red glow of the wick shook in Blackthorn’s hands as the giant bear of a man hovered protectively over his son. Daniel stood his ground beside the c
arronade—the sturdy form of a boy with more courage and faith than Noah had ever seen.
Noah’s throat went dry. Though only a shapeless gray mass, he could still make out the sloop as she swept alongside them, a half mile off their beam. The black mouths of ten guns on her larboard side gaped tauntingly at him. His nerves clamped.
They intended to fire a broadside.
“Hard to starboard, Mr. Pike!” Noah shouted. He’d cut them off and try to get close enough to cripple their rigging.
The ship groaned and heaved as the deck canted high in the air. Noah clung to the railing, Weller at his side. “On my order, Mr. Weller.”
His gunner nodded.
Yellow flames burst from the British sloop.
“Fire!” Noah yelled. The boom of his guns merged with the simultaneous blasts of the sloop’s ten cannons resulting in a thunderous volcano.
Shot whizzed by Noah’s ears. He dropped to the deck. The crunch and snap of wood filled the air. A scream of agony. The Fortune jolted. Black soot settled on him like a death shroud. He coughed.
The beat of his heart drummed a funeral march in Noah’s head. He shook the fog from his brain and struggled to his knees. Agonizing screams and harried shouts fired over the deck. Noah stood. Batting away the smoke, he eyed the sloop, her sails full, her rigging tight. His shots had not met their mark.
And still they came, veering to follow him.
The sound of coughing drew his gaze to Blackthorn and Daniel. They staggered to their feet, but they appeared unharmed.
Luke darted to his side, a bloody gash across his cheek.
“Damage?” Noah asked.
“Grainger is dead. Two others injured. Three of our guns were blown to bits, and they punched a hole in our forward hull. We’re taking on water.” Luke wiped the blood from his cheek with his sleeve.
Grainger dead. Noah lowered his chin. What had he done? But he couldn’t think of it now.
“Put Mr. Lothar and Mr. Boone on the pumps at once. Have Matthew attend to the injured.” Noah glanced at the sky, dark enough to see stars flickering back at him, and then at the sloop. Only the foam lining her gray hull gave away her position.
Which meant she could barely see the Fortune as well.
Luke brayed orders across the deck then returned to Noah’s side.
“Relentless,” Noah spat as he watched the sloop tack to starboard, no doubt in an effort to offer him another broadside. “She’s like a mad demon.”
Luke gripped the railing, his eyes narrowed on their enemy. A slow smile spread over his lips. “Even a demon can’t see in the dark.”
Noah nodded at his first mate. “Douse all lights. Every light.” He directed Luke, then he turned toward Mr. Pike—ever faithful at the helm. “Three points to larboard, Mr. Pike.” He faced Luke again. “Have the men lower topsails. Let’s alter our position and see if we can’t lose them in this darkness.”
“Aye, Captain.” Luke’s approval beamed in his gaze as he turned and left.
Noah stared out upon the choppy waves of the ebony sea. He patted the stained handkerchief in his pocket. “I may be joining you soon, my brother.”
With all lanterns snuffed, darkness hungrily consumed the ship, swallowing both sight and sound in every crack, plank, and timber. Only the wash of the sea against the hull and the occasional snap of sail as they tacked to starboard marked their position.
A yellow jet of flame burst in the darkness off their starboard beam, followed by an ominous boom. Noah’s spine tightened. Could they see him? Was the Fortune outside their range? Seconds ticked by as long as minutes. Visions of his own splintered, crushed body flashed across his mind. But then a splash sounded off their starboard quarter, and he released a ragged sigh.
Matthew joined him. The metallic smell of blood filled the air. “Praise be to God, they can’t see us.”
“What of the injured?” Noah prepared himself for the answer.
“Mason and Crenshaw? They’ll live.” Matthew’s normally cheery voice sounded as thick as molasses.
Blackthorn slipped beside Noah. “I’ll bet on me mother’s grave, those Brits’ll be there in the morning. Sink me, I’ve served long enough wit the likes o’ them to know they never give up. They’ll follow any spark of light, any sound, and be right on us at first light.”
Noah frowned. The tiny thread of hope he’d been clinging to slipped through his fingers at Blackthorn’s morbid declaration.
“He’s right.” Luke sighed.
“At the rate we’re taking on water, it won’t matter,” Noah said. “We’ll sink before dawn.”
♦♦♦
Despite her trembling legs, Marianne squared her shoulders and gave Lieutenant Garrick her most defiant look. It did not, however, wipe the odious grin off his face or make him disappear. Instead, it emboldened him to take a step toward her and finger a strand of her hair. She batted his hand away and tried to skirt around him.
He blocked her exit. “What have we here? Come looking for me, perhaps?”
“Don’t be absurd, Mr. Garrick.” Marianne tried to shove past him, but he remained as immovable as a brick wall. She pursed her lips and dared a glance into his icy blue eyes. “If you don’t mind, I shall be on my way.”
“But I do mind, Miss Denton.” He scratched the well-groomed whiskers on his jaw. “Your absence above deck these past weeks has left me pining for a moment alone with you. Then what do I hear in the middle of the night, but you fumbling about the wardroom? Fortunate, indeed.”
“Fortune has nothing to do with this.” Marianne stepped backward. Her foot thumped against a barrel. A dull ache formed at her ankle.
Mr. Garrick’s gaze leeched over her, sucking in every detail. “Whatever are you doing down here, Miss Denton? I perceive you are up to no good.”
“I. . .I…” Marianne’s knees began to quake. “I was searching for the surgeon. I do not feel well.” Which was no lie as nausea began to brew in her stomach.
“Hmm. I am sorry to hear it.” But his nasally voice indicated more disbelief than concern. “But you are nowhere near sickbay.”
“I got lost.”
He studied her. The lantern light accentuated the malevolence in his eyes. “Have you given much thought to my offer, Miss Denton?”
Marianne raised her nose. “Not a second’s worth, Mr. Garrick.”
“Hmm. Most unfortunate.” He grinned and leaned toward her. “Most unfortunate for you, that is.”
His hot breath, tainted with rum, wrinkled her nose. Marianne slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt and searched for her knife. The thought of stabbing a man horrified her.
Mr. Garrick loosened the cravat around his neck. “Quite unsafe for a woman to wander around the ship at night.”
“Pray don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Garrick.” She laid a hand on his arm to push him back. “I shall remedy the situation immediately.”
Lieutenant Garrick clutched her shoulders.
Jerking from his grasp, Marianne stepped backward. The hard wood the bulkhead blocked her retreat. “I implore you, sir, to behave with the propriety of an officer and a gentleman in the Royal Navy.”
He chuckled. “A gentleman’s chivalry extends only to ladies, not rebel wenches.”
Indignation stiffened her jaw. “I am no wench, sir. I am a respectable lady.”
“Upon my word, Miss Denton, what do you expect me to believe when I find you skulking around a place only meant for officers? No doubt you hoped to awaken me so I would follow you here. Ah, such sweet encouragement.”
“I have given you no such encouragement, sir!” Marianne’s throat closed. Her sweaty hands slid over the knife handle. She was beginning to think she could indeed stab a man—especially this particular man.
He extended his hand. “Give me the knife, Miss Denton.”
So he had seen her. “I’ll give you the knife.” Marianne’s tone held the sarcasm she intended. Right through your black heart.
In one swift mo
vement, she tried to draw the knife from her skirts. The handle became entangled in the fabric. Her breath halted in her throat as she struggled to extricate the blade. Finally, she freed it. It slipped from her sweaty grip and clanked to the deck.
“Pathetic display, my dear.” Garrick snickered as he kicked the blade out of her reach.
Any hope Marianne had fostered that she would escape this monster smothered beneath a wave of dread. Lord, please help me.
Garrick took the lantern from her grip and placed it atop a barrel.
“I’ll scream.” Her voice quavered.
“No, you won’t.” He slammed his hand over her mouth.
Chapter 26
“Ease her down slowly, Matthew,” Noah whispered, not daring to use his normal voice lest the sound alert their enemies. He glanced up into the night sky lightly dusted with stars then over the ebony sea.
Matthew directed the two men holding the tackle ropes on either side of the cockboat. They released the lines inch by inch, and the boat slowly lowered over the side of the ship. As soon as they heard the craft strike water, Luke tossed a rope ladder over the edge. Blackthorn, unlit lantern in hand and rope tied about his thick waist, straddled the bulwarks and nodded toward Noah.
“Are you sure?” Noah asked him once more, barely making out his bulky form in the darkness.
“Aye. You got me off that British frigate. I owe you. ’Sides, I’m the strongest swimmer.” He looked over the edge and shrugged. “I’ll see you soon.” His affectionate gaze took in Daniel before he dropped over the side and eased himself down into the rocking vessel.
Surrender the Sea Page 30