Surrender the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  “If you aspire to avoid Mr. Garrick, miss, might I suggest you avoid wandering about the bowels of the ship alone at night.” He spit out the last word with sarcasm.

  Marianne looked down so he couldn’t discern the lie in her eyes. “It couldn’t be helped. I was not well and needed the surgeon.”

  He released a sigh of frustration. “Could it not wait until morning? When you could have the captain summon him for you?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “Very well, let me show you the way.”

  She saw his boots turn and his elbow came into her view. She lifted her gaze and offered him a sweet smile. “No need. It seems I have recovered.”

  “Just like that.”

  “I believe Mr. Garrick frightened my illness away.”

  “Perhaps we should employ him as surgeon instead of first lieutenant. Then he could go about scaring everyone into perfect health.” He cocked a brow.

  A giggle rose to Marianne’s lips, but she held it back. “May I have the knife, Mr. Reed?”

  “I could be court-martialed.”

  “No one need know.” Marianne saw the tight muscles in his face loosen. “Please, sir. It is bad enough I am a slave aboard this ship, but must I suffer ravishment as well?”

  His hazel eyes darkened. Releasing a sigh, he flipped the knife and handed it to her, handle first. Grabbing it before he changed his mind, Marianne slipped it into her pocket.

  He offered her his elbow. “What knife?” His lips curved in a rare smile that made him appear quite handsome.

  Taking his arm, Marianne allowed him to lead her back to her cabin. Every step heightened her fear that the lieutenant would come to his senses and take back the blade. Perspiration trickled down her back as they navigated the dark companionway. Finally at her cabin, she opened the door and spun around to thank him, but he had already disappeared into the shadows.

  Closing her door, Marianne took a deep breath to steady the thrash of her heart. Thank you, Lord. Plucking the knife from her pocket, she held it up to the moonlight, its blade a silver slice in the darkness. Perhaps You are on my side, after all. Perhaps You do have a task for me to accomplish. For tomorrow, if they came across the USS Constitution, Marianne would be ready.

  ♦♦♦

  “Captain, Captain.” The word tugged on Noah’s consciousness, dragging him back to the living.

  “Captain.” Arms lifted him from behind. Gunpowder and smoke filled his lungs. He coughed and struggled to rise, struggled for a breath, struggled to open his eyes, yet deep down within him, afraid to struggle for anything.

  “Captain, we’re hit, and the sloop is fast on our wake.” The urgency in Luke’s voice slapped Noah like a wall of icy water.

  Batting Luke’s hands aside, Noah rose to his feet and opened his eyes to what was left of his cabin. Wind blasted in through the broken windows. The scent of the sea joined the smoke and the smell of charred wood. Half his desk was missing, leaving nothing but wooden spikes and burnt shavings. Shards of glass littered the deck, and all that remained of one of his chairs was a pile of splinters. A jagged hole pierced his canvas rug. Leaning over, he peered through it to the deck below. Nothing but darkness. At least the shot had not started a fire.

  Matthew flung a strip of cloth around his head and began tying it in place. Only then did Noah notice the blood trickling into his eyes.

  Wiping it away, he pushed the men aside and barreled for the door. “Status,” he barked to Luke.

  “Just the one hit to your cabin, Captain.” Luke’s voice trailed him. “And we are still taking on water.”

  “The pumps aren’t working?”

  “The water is leaking in too quickly.”

  Noah leapt on deck and then up on the quarterdeck. The nervous whispers of his crew joined the creaks and rush of water. Off their stern, their enemy lurked, cloaked in the invisible shroud of darkness.

  “Two points to starboard,” Noah whispered to Mr. Pike. “Slow and easy.”

  Sails snapped in the night breeze. The ship’s tilt to starboard was barely discernable.

  Noah took up a position at the stern railing, Luke by his side. Tension stalked the decks like a nefarious demon. But despite their dire predicament, Noah felt no fear. Renewed faith surged through him. He was no longer alone. Almighty God was with him, and He had all things in His hands. Noah bowed his head. My life is Yours, Lord. Let Thy will be done.

  A jet of bright yellow in the distance followed by a threatening boom seemed to seal their fate.

  Yet. . .

  The splash landed several yards off their larboard quarter.

  Minutes passed. Weller, Blackthorn and Daniel joined Noah and Luke. All five men formed a staunch line of defense across the stern railing.

  Another thunderous blast cracked the silence.

  Yet no one spoke.

  Not even when the next roar came from even farther away.

  No huzzahs. No yells of triumph. Just the silence of men who had let go of hope and who didn’t want to cling to its fickleness so soon again.

  Noah continued praying silently.

  He was still praying an hour later when a thin strip of gray lined the horizon.

  With cautious hope, he scanned the sea surrounding the ship. Nothing. Yet still too dark to tell.

  Weller coughed.

  Daniel began humming a tune.

  Minutes passed. The gray strip transformed to saffron and began pushing back the darkness.

  Noah swallowed. He gazed over the calm sea, his heart in his throat. Nothing in sight but cobalt blue, furrowed with creamy ribbons. Slowly turning, he took in the entire panorama. Not a hint of sail or mast marred the golden horizon.

  “Masthead, what do you see?” Noah yelled to the lookout above.

  “I see nothing, Captain. Not a thing!”

  The sun peeked over the horizon. Wave crests glittered with golden light.

  “Huzzahs” rang through the ship, pushing the tension overboard to the depths.

  Thank you, Lord.

  Luke slapped Noah on the back and nodded his approval.

  Weller’s shoulders lowered, and he released the loudest sigh Noah had ever heard.

  “God protected us.” Daniel’s voice sounded like an angel’s. He gazed up at Noah with sparkling brown eyes.

  “Yes, He did.” Noah drew the boy to himself and gripped his shoulder.

  Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “God? Humph.”

  Blackthorn scratched his head. Morning sunlight turned his tan face to bronze and accentuated his two missing teeth. “Sink me. I’m startin’ t’ believe that as well.”

  “I told you, Pa, I told you.” Daniel smiled up at his father.

  Luke rolled his eyes and turned away. “Where should we point her, Captain?”

  “North by Northwest. I still intend on overtaking the frigate.”

  “With a rent in our hold?” A breeze whipped Luke’s hair about his head.

  Noah furrowed his brow. “Very well, furl sail and send a crew down to patch the hole as best they can and pump out the remaining water. Then we must be on our way.”

  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.”

  Lu
ke 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 bubbling sea. 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 grumbling 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 awhile 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 war ship.

  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 their 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, topmen 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 Guerriere!” 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 war ship. Marianne’s heart swelled with pride, then shrank in fear.

  The Constitution was no match for two British war ships.

  “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.