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 Guerriere’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 mizzen-mast of the Guerriere 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 Guerriere’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 Guerriere.
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 suspicious.
“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 foredeck 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 rose within Noah. 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 paid.
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 death? 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.
But he had something far more powerful than anything they possessed.
He had God on his side.
♦♦♦
Gripping the handle of the knife through the fabric of her skirt, Marianne squeezed past throngs of sailors as they dashed through the companionway. The pounding of her heart joined the pulsing cadence of the crew’s boots thumping over the wooden planks as they bumped and shoved her with barely a pardon tossed her way.
She gazed over the harried scene. With most of the bulkheads removed to clear the area for battle, the lower deck had transformed into a large open space that reminded Marianne of a dreary tavern where she’d once found her inebriated father. Only the occasional furniture or crate marked where the walls once stood. The crew’s anxious muttering tied her nerves in knots. Though no doubt accustomed to battle, the men’s heightened intensity told her that familiarity with war did not lessen their terror. She pressed a hand over her stomach in an attempt to quell her own fear. They intended to do battle against the USS Constitution—against her country’s ship. And in the Constitution’s present situation, entwined with the Guerriere, they would win.
But Marianne could not let that happen.
Thankfully, no one noticed her as she slipped down the ladder farther below decks. The mad dash of water against the ship muffled both the shouts above and distant cannon fire, offering a surreal peace—a peace that could be obliterated at any moment with a puncture to the hull.
Allowing the sea’s mighty fingers to pour in, grab her and drag her to the depths.
Marianne trembled. She could not think of that now.
The rotting smell drenched her heaving lungs as she made her way to the tiller. Without a lantern, darkness created ghostly shadows on the bulkhead. Shadows that loomed above her on both sides as though they intended to pounce on her and stop her from completing her mission. Sweat crept down her back and chest, molding the fabric of her gown to her body. The knife slipped from her moist hand. She fumbled for it in her pocket and gained the handle once again.
Voices grew louder. Light poured down the ladder.
Drat. Marianne shrank into a dark corner. Crewmen descended like a waterfall, shouting and cursing. Footsteps tromped over the wooden deck.
Blood raced through Marianne’s veins. Her head grew light. She closed her eyes and stiffened against the wood.
Groans screeched through the dank air as if the men lifted something
heavy. More footsteps. More cursing. And then they were gone.
Marianne melted against the rough wood. She caught her breath, then inched forward, feeling her way as she went.
The ship pitched. She stumbled to the deck. A splinter pierced her hand. Her knees ached. But she barely felt the pain above the numbing terror that gripped her heart.
If she accomplished this. If she disabled the ship and Captain Milford discovered her treachery, what would he do to her? Did the Royal Navy punish women in the same way they did men? Would she be flogged? Or worse. . .
Executed?
Her knees transformed to custard. She couldn’t find the strength to rise.
Bowing her head, her vision blurred with tears. Lord, help me. I’m a coward. I need Your courage.
She sat for a moment, searching for the voice of God amidst the distant gunfire, the creak and groan of the ship, the boot steps pounding like hail above her.
But no voice came.
Yet...
Strength returned to her legs. Bracing herself against the deck, she rose to her feet, and once again grabbed the knife in her pocket.
She took a step forward.
For such a time as this, for such a time as this. Whispery words formed from the water crashing against the hull.
“So be it, Lord,” Marianne said. “Whatever comes of this, let it come, but I will obey you. I will fulfill my destiny.”
Armed with a courage that was not her own, she entered the tiller room. She withdrew the knife from her pocket then brushed her fingers over the deckhead above her. There. The rough hemp scratched her skin. Gripping the ropes with one hand and the knife in the other, she began sawing through the tight threads.
Minutes that seemed like hours passed. Sweat moistened her face. Blisters formed on her palms. Fear threatened to force her to her knees. But finally, she sliced through the final twine. With a snap and an eerie whine, the ropes split.
Zip. Twang.
Clank! The sound of iron and crashing wood echoed through the hull.
Marianne jumped back. The knife slipped from her hand.
No time to retrieve it. She dashed toward the ladder. Her knee hit a crate. Pain shot into her thigh. Grabbing her skirts, she leapt to the deck above faster than she thought possible.
Joining a line of sailors rushing down the companionway, she followed them up another ladder. Better to be found above than suspiciously hiding in her cabin. She emerged onto the main deck to a wall of smoke-laden wind and a man at the helm shouting, “We’ve lost steering, Captain.”
Curses, followed by commands flew from Captain Milford’s mouth. “Send men down to check on the tiller ropes at once, Mr. Reed! Mr. Blake, have the topmen adjust sail. We must maintain our course!”
An unavoidable smile toyed upon Marianne’s lips as she pressed through the crush of sailors and made her way to the railing. She gazed toward the Constitution, still entwined in the Guerriere’s lines. Swords drawn, men from both crews scrambled back and forth between the ships. The yellow spark of pistol and musket fire flashed from the top yards.
Wind snapped in the sails above her. The Undefeatable yawed widely to starboard.
Away from the battling ships!
A river of foul words spewed from the captain’s lips, confirming Marianne’s assessment.
“Blast it all!” He pounded a trail across the quarterdeck. “We’ll have to come around again.”
Lieutenant Reed and a horde of men jumped up from below and approached the captain. Reed caught his breath. “The tiller ropes have been cut through, Captain.”
“Cut through?” Red blotches exploded on the captain’s face.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Spit flew from the captain’s mouth.
Heart clawing at her throat, Marianne swerved around and gazed down at the trail of foam bubbling off the side of the ship. The wind blasted over her, stealing what was left of her breath. Her knuckles whitened on the railing.
She lifted her gaze and saw a two-masted merchantman heading straight for them.
She closed her eyes against the deceptive vision, no doubt a fabrication of her overwrought nerves. Clearly she’d gone mad with fear. As she sought her mind for an ounce of reason, she listened to the sounds surrounding her: the distant crack of gunfire, the rush of water against the hull, the whine of strained wood, the curses and commands of the ship’s officers.
Nothing had changed.
“A sail! Bearing fast, Captain, off our stern!” The call from the tops bounced off the deck. She forced her eyes open.
The Fortune stormed toward them, foam cresting her bow.
And there perched on the gunwale, gripping a stay and leaning over the edge of the ship, stood Noah, hair flapping in the wind, looking more like a pirate than a merchantman.
♦♦♦
Noah’s heart soared. Marianne. She stood at the railing, her maroon gown fluttering in the breeze. Wayward strands of her brown hair blew about her face. She was alive. He wished he could see her expression. Wished he knew whether she saw him, and if so, what was she thinking?
“What ails the frigate?” Luke approached the bow railing.
With a frown, Noah’s gaze took in the ship once again. At first sight, he’d seen nothing but Marianne. But now he noticed that the frigate veered away from the battle. But why? One glance at her stern and then at her sails brought a chuckle to his lips.
“She’s lost steerage.”
Luke gave a disbelieving snort. “You don’t say?”
Noah dropped from the gunwale to the deck, spouting a string of rapid-fire orders that sent some of his crew up into the shrouds and others to the remaining guns.
“She’s lost her steering, my friend,” he repeated, slapping a stunned Luke on the back.
Matthew approached, shaking his head. “How?”
“I haven’t time to ponder it.” Noah could hardly believe it himself. “But let us not miss the opportunity it affords.” He found his gunner down on the main deck. “Weller, load the chain shot. We’ll go for her masts.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The stout man grinned, his single gold tooth twinkling in the setting sun.
“They may not be able to steer, but they’ve still got their guns.” Matthew’s voice carried a hint of fear.
Noah gave him a reassuring look. “Then we shall have to stay out of their path, shan’t we?”
“What luck,” Luke exclaimed with a huff.
“Not luck.” Noah’s gaze shot beyond the Undefeatable to the two war ships stuck together in the distance. “Whoever or whatever destroyed the frigate’s tiller saved the Constitution. Until she frees herself, any enemy that comes along could blast her into splinters within minutes.” Noah rubbed the back of his neck. No, not luck at all. Thank you, Lord.
A sly grin formed on Luke’s lips. “Luck or not, I say we make it so the Undefeatable never has that chance.”
“Aye, and then we’ll go after the Guerriere.” Blackthorn joined the conversation, rubbing his thick hands together.
Noah flinched. “What, pray tell, has sparked such fervency, Blackthorn? I seem to remember hesitancy on your part in joining this venture.”
From his six foot two frame, Blackthorn gazed at Noah, his black hair flailing in the wind. “Sink me, but too much has happened for me to deny that God is with us.” He shook his head. “My pretty wife was right all along. About God, about our special son.” His gaze took in the ship until he found Daniel at the stern. “An’ about God bein’ real an’ powerful an’ active in people’s lives.”
Despite the chill of the approaching night, Noah felt warmth down to his toes. He grinned and slapped the man on the back. “I couldn’t have said it better.”
Noah gazed at the Undefeatable. He hoped—no, he prayed—that today would be the day the mighty ship would not live up to its name. He needed her to be not only defeatable but willing to surrender her precious cargo into Noah’s hands. Even as his thoug
hts drifted to Marianne, he could no longer see her on deck.
Good. She’d be out of the line of fire. But Noah still had no idea how to rescue her from the frigate. How did one board a man-of-war, saunter through two-hundred armed sailors and fifty marines and beg the captain’s pardon while he stole the man’s steward? An impossible task, to be sure.
Nothing is impossible with Me. Noah started beneath the inner voice. “Okay, Lord. Then You’re going to have to show me what to do,” he whispered. “I’m putting my trust in You.”
Crossing the main deck, he leapt to the helm to assist Mr. Pike with the wheel. While Luke handled the sails, Noah gently coaxed the Defender to within forty yards of the drifting Undefeatable, just off her larboard quarter. So close he could hear the anguish and fury searing in Captain Milford’s voice as he stood at the railing, raising his fist in Noah’s direction.
The red coats of the marines lining the deck of the Undefeatable darkened to maroon in the deepening shadows. Drums thrummed a war song as sailors dashed across her deck. Men crowded the yards, adjusting sail to push the ship in the right direction. Others hovered around guns.
“Steady as she goes,” Noah ordered Mr. Pike as he released the wheel and dropped on the main deck.
Luke and Matthew joined him.
“Are you sure they can’t hit us?” Matthew’s brow lowered beneath fearful gray eyes.
Noah tightened his jaw. “Yes.” He hoped. He prayed.
Matthew swallowed hard. He must have sensed Noah’s hesitation. He glanced down a nearby hatch, and Noah knew he thought of his wife. If either were hurt, Noah would never forgive himself.
If any of his crew were injured, he would never forgive himself.
“Get below, Matthew, and attend to Agnes,” he ordered.
With an appreciative nod, the older man rushed away.
Noah snapped the hair from his eyes. “We are out of range of the swivels on their stern, and they can’t maneuver their broadside in our direction,” he said more to comfort himself than his first mate. At least by his best calculations—the calculations of a man who’d never faced battle before.
Surrender the Sea Page 33