Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  Behind him swords clanged and a moan sounded. Then silence.

  “Hold,” the captain ordered. The sailor lifted the gun from John’s head. Captain Raynor sauntered toward Luke. “Now hear me and hear me good, Captain Heaton. You will order your men to stand down and relieve themselves of their weapons, or I will shoot the lad. Are we clear?”

  From the look in his eyes, Luke had no doubt the man would do just that. He nodded, and the captain ordered the lieutenant to withdraw his sword from Luke.

  Turning, Luke motioned for his crew to comply, noting that Mr. Keene pressed a hand over a bloody wound on his shoulder. With groans, the men tossed their weapons onto a pile. Clanks and clinks of metal sounded like the incessant hammering of nails into a coffin. Luke’s coffin.

  “A noble effort.” Captain Raynor clasped his hands together as if pleased at the exciting interruption. “I would expect no less from a privateer, eh?”

  Rubbing his neck, Luke raised his brows. “We are but an innocent merchant ship from Baltimore on our way to pick up spices and sugar from Jamaica.”

  “Baltimore? That nest of pirates!” Captain Raynor grunted in disgust. “No, I think not, Captain. A privateer sailing under the same name captured one of our merchantmen off the Carolinas last month.”

  “A mere coincidence.” Luke doubted the man would agree, especially when Mr. Keene chuckled.

  “Ah, you have jesters on board.” The captain’s cutting eyes skewered Mr. Keene. “How nice. My men can use some diversion.”

  “Sir, if you please.” Biron stepped forward. “We are but simple merchantmen. And we mean no harm to you or your country.”

  “Balderdash!” Captain Raynor’s bark was as loud as a cannon’s. “You are Americans and privateers. And now, you are prisoners of war.”

  “Blasted Brits,” young Sam spat under his breath.

  One of the lieutenants flashed his sword toward Sam.

  Nudging the boy aside, Luke held up a hand. “No need for that, Lieutenant.”

  Captain Raynor cocked his head. “There is fight in you, Captain. I see it in your eyes.” His glance took in the men standing behind Luke. “And loyalty in your crew. I take it you are a good captain, though perhaps not a good sailor.”

  The British sailors chuckled. Luke fisted his hands.

  “I shall take you as a prize,” the captain continued as he glanced over the ship. “Though this tub is hardly worth the effort.” He gestured toward John. “Bring the lad here.”

  The sailor pushed John, sending him tumbling to the deck. Luke charged him, raising his fist to put the man in his place. Shouts assailed him from behind. Clawlike hands gripped Luke’s shoulders and pulled him back.

  “It’s all right, Luke.” John struggled to his feet and brushed off his shirt. The bravery in his eyes sent a wave of pride through Luke.

  “Your son?” The captain’s eyes traveled between them. He put a finger on his chin. “No. Your brother, I believe.”

  Luke struggled against the pinched grip of two British marines. “What does it matter?”

  The captain turned and whispered something to a man behind him, sending him over the railing and back to the British frigate.

  “It changes things a great deal.” Captain Raynor took up a pace across the deck. The sun gleamed off his brass buttons and set the gold-fringed epaulettes on his shoulders glimmering as they flapped in the breeze. “You see, I’m in need of fresh supplies. And you’re in a position to get them for me.”

  “You’ll get nothing but bilge water from me.”

  The captain smiled. “Ah, but I will. Because, you see, I will have this boy, this relation of yours.”

  Luke’s heart stopped beating.

  “We shall make an accord, you and I,” the captain continued, his voice laced with pompous humor. “You will bring me supplies every few weeks, and I’ll let the boy live. And when the war is over and we’ve won, you may have him back.”

  John trembled but stood his ground.

  Biron tugged on his neckerchief. “Kidnapping a boy is beyond all decency, sir. Even in time of war.”

  “Ah, that is where you are wrong.” Captain Raynor grinned. “There are no dictums of decency in war.”

  “He’s just a boy.” Ward charged forward. “Let him be.”

  Mr. Keene tossed up his good arm to hold the gunner back.

  Jerking free from the marines, Luke thrust himself in front of John. “Take me instead.”

  Captain Raynor held up a hand to stop the advancing marines from grabbing Luke again. “Ah, but would your crew commit treason for you?” He scoured Luke with a gaze from head to toe. “I think not, sir. But I do sense you would do so for this lad.”

  The deck teetered over a wave. John eased from behind Luke and stood by his side.

  “I’m no thief.” Captain Raynor withdrew his hat and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’ll pay you for the supplies. You’ll make money. Your crew will be happy. Your brother, or whoever he is, will live. And you’ll be helping to shorten the war.”

  Luke’s mind reeled with the ultimatum he knew he must accept. “I am no traitor.”

  “You already are, Captain. You and all the American rebels are traitors to England.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I will confiscate your ship as prize and all of you will join the British Navy.” Captain Raynor’s gaze landed on John. “At least those of you strong enough to serve. The rest? We have prisons where they can await the war’s end.”

  The man returned from the frigate and handed the captain a scrap of foolscap. “Betraying your rebel country. Or slavery for all of you—including the lad. Which do you choose?”

  Luke searched his mind for some way out. “Your scheme will not work. The people in Baltimore will grow suspicious.”

  “You’ll think of some explanation, I have no doubt, Captain Heaton. Here are the coordinates.” He handed Luke the paper. “You’ll meet us here in two weeks with as much food, water, gunpowder, and shot as you can carry.”

  “Then you’ll give me the boy?”

  “We shall see.”

  “How will I slip past the blockade?”

  “Don’t you anchor in other ports?”

  “If I am to meet you in a fortnight at this location, Baltimore is the closest port with enough supplies to meet your needs.” Not really. But, stationed at home, Luke could possibly elicit help to rescue John.

  “Very well.” Captain Raynor shrugged. “Raise the following ensigns in this order. Red, blue, yellow, and green striped, then white. That will identify you to our fleet as a supplier. You won’t be harmed.” He glanced up at the sky as if bored. “If I see any other ship but yours approaching, I’ll kill the boy. If you do not show up within a day of our appointed time, I’ll kill the boy.” His eyes met Luke’s. “Is that understood?”

  “You bedeviled mongrel,” one of Luke’s men whispered from behind. Thankfully, the captain didn’t seem to hear it.

  Luke knelt before John and gripped his shoulders.

  John swallowed. “Don’t do it, Luke. Don’t betray our country.” His voice faltered, but his expression was sincere. “If I die, I’ll go to heaven and be with Mother and Father. I’ll be all right.”

  Amazed at the boy’s courage and faith, Luke shook his head. “I promised Mother I’d take care of you, and I will. Be strong for me.”

  John nodded.

  Luke leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

  “How touching.” The captain’s voice was sickly sweet. He waved a hand. “Take him away.”

  A lieutenant grabbed John and shoved him toward the bulwarks. He disappeared over the side. Luke’s fingers twitched. He could grab the captain’s sword and thrust it into his depraved heart before anyone could stop him. But what would that do but get them all killed?

  With a contemptuous snort, Raynor dipped his head. “Until we meet again, Captain Heaton. A pleasure doing business with
you.” The British sailors laughed. Then turning, he marched across the deck and lowered himself over the side, his men following behind him. Luke started after him, but Biron and Mr. Keene held him back.

  “Not now, Captain. We’ll figure out a way,” Biron said.

  But Luke knew there was no way.

  CHAPTER 22

  Luke stabbed a hand through his hair and yanked on the strands until his head hurt. Spinning around, he retraced his steps across his cabin. A cascade of foul words spilled from his mouth, joining the thud of his boots.

  “We’ll get him back, Luke.” Biron’s voice held an anger Luke had never heard before.

  “How?” Luke shot fiery eyes his way then scanned the line of men standing before his desk. Mr. Sanders twitched nervously and did not meet his gaze. Beside him, Sam kept repeating “Blasted British, blasted British” under his breath. Mr. Keene’s jaw knotted as he leaned against the bulkhead, and Mr. Ward perched on the barrel of the twelve-pounder guarding the foot of Luke’s bed, his meaty arms folded over his chest, and a look as if he could kill the devil himself storming across his face.

  Destiny rolled over a wave. Her timbers creaked and groaned as the lantern hanging from the deck head cast shifting shadows over the men, creating menacing specters over the painted canvas beneath their boots.

  “We’ll think of something. We’ll put our heads together and think of something.” Biron’s voice pummeled Luke’s back as he continued his nervous trek. Swerving yet again, he retraced his steps and finally halted before his desk. He leaned on the oak top and gripped the edges until his fingers burned. How could this have happened? How could he have failed so miserably? His promise to his mother—his promise to Mrs. Barnes—to protect John slapped him in the face.

  “Rescue a boy from a British frigate?” His laugh came out bitter. “Impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible with God,” Biron said.

  Luke lifted a hand to his friend. “Not now, Biron. Not now.” If God existed, then He had allowed this to happen. And despite what Reverend Drummond had said, Luke could not see how anything but heartache and death could come of it.

  Mr. Keene shook his head. “What I can’t understand is how the staysails got torn.”

  “Or the iron got into our supply crates,” Mr. Ward growled.

  Luke eyed his crew. What reason would any of them have to sabotage the ship? Even if they harbored some animosity toward him, why would they risk their own lives?

  Mr. Sanders raised his oversized blue eyes to Luke. His nose twitched. “My apologies, Captain. I didn’t see the iron when you sent me below.”

  “Not your fault.” Luke rubbed the scars on his right hand. “The perpetrators hid it well. I’m the captain. I should have gone below myself.” He should have done many things. The odor of whale oil and body sweat rose to join the stench of his own inadequacy.

  “There was that new sailor you hired.” Mr. Keene lifted a jeweled finger in the air.

  “Yes, Mr. Flanders,” Samuel shot out.

  Dread sucked the breath from Luke’s lungs. “What new sailor?”

  “The man who joined us when you sent us ahead to prepare the ship.” Mr. Keene’s brow furrowed.

  “I sent no such man.”

  Biron scratched his head. “You didn’t hire a Mr. Flanders?”

  Luke shook his head, his mouth suddenly parched. He could use a drink. “Is he still on board?”

  “I ain’t laid eyes on him since,” Mr. Ward spoke up.

  “Ward, Sanders.” Luke gestured toward the two men. “Go search for him and report back to me at once.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” They sped off, ducking beneath the frame of the open cabin door.

  The deck tilted, and the men braced their boots firmly to keep from stumbling. Wind sped past the stern windows in a sinister whistle.

  “What did this man have access to, Mr. Keene?” Luke asked.

  “He helped load supplies, checked the lines and the canvas.…” Mr. Keene froze.

  “Blast!” Luke struck his desk. Pain spiked into his arms. He spun around. Darkness as thick as molasses seeped through the stern windows, held back only by the occasional flash of lantern light.

  “No doubt he was hired by someone else,” Biron said.

  “Someone who hates me.” Someone like Lieutenant Abner Tripp. Hadn’t the man sworn to get his revenge? Luke gazed down at the burn scars on his hand. How could he have been so foolish? He should have been on his guard. This was all his fault.

  “Who?” Sam said.

  Luke swerved around. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Mr. Ward and Mr. Sanders returned, shaking their heads. Mr. Keene’s face twisted with rage. “If Flanders were still here, I’d keelhaul him.”

  Mr. Sanders shivered, no doubt at his friend’s cruel suggestion. “What will you do, Captain?”

  Luke eyed his men. Misfits all of them. Would they stay with him now that his privateering career was over? How far did their loyalty extend, especially to a man like Luke? “I’m going to sell Captain Raynor his supplies.”

  Biron nodded. “It’s the right course, Captain. For the boy.”

  The older man’s approval settled well on Luke. “But I can’t ask you all to join me. If we are caught, we’ll be hanged for treason.”

  The only answer came from the thunder of sails above and the ravenous purl of the sea against the hull. Lantern light flickered over the men as their gazes dropped to the floor. All except Sam and Biron.

  “Of course we’ll join you, Captain.” The boy’s enthusiastic smile sent a sliver of warmth through Luke’s frozen heart.

  A devilish glint overtook Mr. Keene’s eyes. “I’m in. Treason or not, it’s a way to make money.”

  Luke cringed at the man’s lack of scruples.

  Mr. Ward scratched his bald head. “What other ship is going to hire a drunken cur like me?”

  Mr. Sanders’s eyes widened, and he glanced around at his fellow crewman then back at Luke. “For how long? I don’t fancy a rope about my neck.”

  “Until we rescue John,” Biron said.

  “Yes.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest, seeking the faith he saw so frequently in Biron’s eyes. “And that won’t take long if I have my way.”

  “That’s the spirit, sir!” Sam nearly leapt. And the men chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm.

  Emotion burned in Luke’s throat at his crew’s loyalty. “I thank you, gentlemen.”

  “What about the rest of the crew?” Sanders’s mouth twitched.

  “Biron, choose the men you believe will be comfortable with our mission and ask them to join us,” Luke said, even as the fear of discovery began to gnaw at him.

  “In other words, Captain, the blackguards. Those with loyalty to nothing but coin?” Biron arched his brow.

  “Yes, those are the ones.” Luke huffed. “The rest we’ll inform that our privateering days are over and excuse them from duty when we reach Baltimore. Now, off with you.” He tilted his head toward the door. “Grab your supper from the galley and then back to your posts, men.”

  One by one they left the cabin, leaving only Biron behind. The first mate shut the door and approached Luke, concern written on his face. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not well.” Luke spun around to face the stern windows, not wanting Biron to see the moisture in his eyes. “I can’t imagine what John is enduring right now.”

  “He’s a strong lad, Luke. He’s got your blood flowing through him.”

  “But he’s just a boy.” Luke rubbed his ear. “And you forget I know what happens aboard a British warship.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I need a drink.”

  “That won’t help anything right now.”

  Luke sighed and turned around. “How are we going to get him off that ship?”

  Biron flattened his lips and released a sigh. “I don’t know. With God’s help, we’ll find a way.”

  Luke huffed. God again.
Lowering himself into a chair, he dropped his head into his hands. “I’ve lost him, Biron. I failed him and everyone else.”

  The ship tilted, sending lantern light spinning in circles over the painted canvas rug.

  “When my wife and babe died in childbirth,” Biron said, “I thought I’d failed them both, too.”

  “How could you not blame God for that?” Luke didn’t look up.

  “For a time I did,” Biron said. “But what good does that do? God has His reasons for things, and they’re good reasons. For the ultimate good. I’ll find out someday.”

  “I don’t have the patience to wait that long.” Luke looked up. Nor could he wait to repay Lieutenant Tripp for his part in this. “First thing I’m going to do when I get home is accept Lieutenant Tripp’s challenge to a duel and send him to the depths of hell where he belongs.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Quite the contrary.” Luke snorted. “I believe I can.”

  “No, think, man. If you get your revenge, he’ll know his plan worked. But he’ll see you still have your ship, your crew. He’s no dull wit. He’ll figure out what you’re up to.”

  “Not if he’s dead.”

  Biron arched his brow.

  Luke lowered his gaze beneath the look of reprimand on his friend’s face. “So, I can’t kill him and neither can I take pleasure in beating him to shreds?”

  “No. Besides, there’s far grander pleasure in being kind to the man. God’s Word says that if your enemy is hungry, give him bread, if he be thirsty give him water. For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee.”

  Luke chuckled. “Why don’t I just skip to dumping the hot coals on his head?”

  Biron smiled. “Kindness will kill him more slowly.”

  “Kindness? You’re crazy, old man.”

  “Perhaps. But hear me, Luke. If you arrive in Baltimore a successful privateer, it will drive the lieutenant mad, I assure you.”

  Luke studied his friend, allowing his words to form sense in his mind. Yes, perhaps the old man was wiser than Luke gave him credit. Or, this God of his was.

  Biron headed for the door. “We’ll be in Baltimore in a few days. Get some rest, Captain. We will think of a way to rescue John.”