An Officer but No Gentleman

by M. Donice Byrd

  In his quarters, locked up in the small safe, sat his second favorite new possession—his Letter of Marque and Reprisal issued by the United States Government. It gave him the right, by law, to stop any British or French ship and seize the vessel.

  Absently, he rubbed his stubbled jaw only to become aware of the action when his fingers touched the end of the jagged scar that marred his once handsome face. His thoughts turned dark at that moment. He was seeking his revenge and if he became rich doing it, all that much better. As a privateer, he would search out the French bastard who keelhauled him and left him disfigured for life. He would take that man’s ship and its cargo to the Admiralty Courts. Once it was determined it was a legitimate seizure the ship and its cargo would be sold. After the government took its share, he and his men would split the remainder.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. This was going to make what had happened to him worth it. He would seize one French ship for every scar on his body, he thought snaking his path through the throng of sailors.

  His crew was huge, much larger than needed for a ship this size, but he employed more than double what he needed. The overage would be placed on the seized vessel to sail it back to the Admiralty and to guard their prisoners.

  Life at sea had changed so much since the summers he spent on his maternal grandfather’s ship. The conflict between England and France spread out to affect all countries that shared the Atlantic. No longer did sails on the horizon harbor a kinship among fellow sailors, instead it bred fear. He could remember as a child when sails were spotted changing course to sail within signaling distance of the other ship. If both ships spoke the same language a large megaphone might be used to communicate. Oftentimes, the ships would stop and exchange supplies and mail. It was an exciting moment for the crews of both ships.

  But now sails were viewed with trepidation.

  Both naval forces, the English and the French, bore their own agenda. The English would board other ships and assemble the crew. They would claim they were looking for Royal Naval deserters and force any Englishman they found into service to the king, essentially shanghaiing them at sea. As the conflict raged on, it was no longer just the British crewmembers who had to fear being pressed into service. Any able-bodied seaman might be taken. If the English ship needed a new sail maker, the captain or mate claimed to remember serving with their prey’s sail maker and declared him a deserter. Anyone and everyone aboard was vulnerable. If they suffered a loss at sea, they replenished their ranks from the next ship they stopped. They didn’t care if they left enough men on the other ship to sail it.

  The French on the other hand, stole the livelihood of the men whose ships they stopped. They insisted the stopped vessel provided aid to their enemy, England, or perhaps they sailed to or from its shores and that justified seizing the cargo of ship for themselves.

  Five years earlier, only a few months after assuming his first captaincy, Jaxon experienced his first encounter with this new French piracy. Completely caught off guard when the French ship fired a warning shot across their bow, he heaved-to and allowed them to board. He had thought there was some mistake that would be easily cleared up when they realized his was not the ship they were seeking, so he put up no resistance. When he finally grasped what they wanted, it was too late. They were on his ship, fully armed with their blunderbusses. To add insult to injury, he and his crew were ordered to unload their ship themselves. Jaxon being new to the captain’s position made a tragic mistake that day. He ordered his men to throw the cargo into the ocean rather than let the French take it. One of his men, a man from his hometown of Chimerical Cove, Maryland was shot and killed. He still saw the man’s widow from time to time. He felt it only right to pay her husband’s wages to her at the end of each month and would for life.

  To make an example of a captain who tried to defy them, they ran a line under the ship and keelhauled him. Jaxon had heard of keelhauling. Traditionally, it was a brutal Dutch practice where a line was passed under the ship and the victim was dragged underneath the keel from one side of the ship to the other. Many victims drowned, but before they died, the barnacles’ razor sharp edges would tear the man’s flesh to shreds.

  The French captain had put his own spin on the Dutch punishment. Rather than drag him by bound hands or under his arms, he tied Jaxon’s hands behind him and dragged him feet first. Afterwards, they threw him on the deck like fish, gasping for air and writhing to free himself.

  It had been years since the ship had been put in dry dock and the barnacles scraped off. As a result Jaxon’s injuries had been extensive.

  His most life threatening injury had been to his thigh muscle. At nearly a foot in length, the gash at one point nearly reached the bone. No one on the ship had the knowledge to help him. Within days, the wound began to fester. Jaxon told his crew to let him die rather than cut off his leg.

  Even boiling with fever, Jaxon could sense himself losing consciousness and he knew in his heart he would never wake up again. He tried to picture the face of his intended, Millie Adams. She was the most beautiful maiden he had ever known. She had delicate features, her blond hair was thick and wavy and her eyes large and blue as the sky.

  Jaxon had lain unconscious for days when his brother Daniel discovered the wound full of maggots. They had eaten through all the black, dead flesh and Daniel couldn’t stand the indignity of his brother being eaten alive by vermin. So he picked them out one by one then cauterized the wound with his knife, its blade red hot, so no more could get in. Within a day, Jaxon’s fever began to drop and he began to stir a little, which gave Daniel hope. Over the next few days, he started waking for short periods, which soon led to a lengthy recovery.

  The injury to his leg had been the most severe, the limp permanent, but it was the gash to his face that would be the most life changing. The scar was ugly. It started above his eye, angled across the bridge of his nose to the opposite cheek where it cut a crooked path towards his jaw.

  Jax had no idea how valued good looks were to society. He had taken his own looks for granted his entire life. The only thought he ever gave to his features was that he wished he didn’t share his face with his twin brother, Grayson. He had a lot of resentment over being identical as he grew up. Being the younger twin annoyed him, but when few people took the time to tell them apart, it made him resent looking alike. They called him Twin when they didn’t know who was who, as if his name had been changed to an interchangeable label like the way the family pet might be called Dog.

  Their father loved the old expression: “Be careful what you wish for; you might get it.” That pretty much summed up the way he felt. He had gotten what he asked for, a face of his own, but at what cost? He hadn’t known how important looks were to society. People he had been friends with his entire life, were awkward in his presence. They wouldn’t look him in the face and every conversation was short and superficial. Women avoided him altogether as if they feared his looks reflected of his soul. He hated to admit it, but maybe there was some truth there. Being disfigured had changed the way he thought of himself.

  Jaxon shook his head and leaned over the railing, sea mist dampening his brow. His family members were the only people who ever really looked at him anymore. They alone looked past his scars when they spoke to him. Their concern centered on the scars which could not be seen.

  His was a large family. He was third of the nine surviving children. His sister Imelia was the oldest. She married young and now had three children. Even now, five years later, the older two still avoided their scarred uncle.

  Fourth in line was Daniel, his first mate and best friend. Strangely, after Jaxon’s injury, Daniel had gone from younger brother to protector. Jax couldn’t explain it, but he had been the one next to him, nursing him back to health. When they were at social gatherings, Daniel barely left his side because he knew people were reluctant to approach him. Daniel sensed how much the isolation hurt Jaxon. And when Jaxon found himself using more and more laudanum and mor
phine long after his need for them was gone, it was Daniel who shanghaied him after passing out and took him out to sea where he had no access to the drugs. Once he regained his clarity, Jaxon knew Daniel’s action saved his life again. They had always been close, but at times his protectiveness stepped over the bounds. Jaxon put up with it because he loved his brother and owed him a debt he could never repay.

  There was a bond between Jaxon and Daniel he had never felt for his twin. Grayson had become a lawyer like their father. It was expected of him and Grayson always did what was expected. Looking back, Jaxon could see that Grayson had tried to be friends with him, but he had gone about it all wrong. What Jaxon always strove for was independence and individuality, but Grayson thought the way to get Jaxon to like him was to be more alike. When Jax would try to set himself apart from his brother, Grayson would follow suit. If Jax wanted to learn to play the pianoforte, so did Grayson. If Jaxon cut his hair and grew his sideburns, so did Gray. If Jaxon said he loved Brussels sprouts and hated custard, Grayson claimed he had long ago tired of custard as he stuffed the miniature cabbage in his mouth. If Jaxon liked a girl, Grayson would pretend to be him and sneak her behind the barn to kiss her.

  That was why he never showed any interest in Millie Adams. She was the prettiest girl in school. The day he graduated, Jaxon went down to the docks and found a ship that would hire him. He began secretly corresponding with her and when he worked his way up to Captain, he proposed and she had accepted.

  After their encounter with the French, Daniel made the decision to return to home while Jaxon remained unconscious. They were only few days out when Jax had recovered enough to take his first tentative steps on the deck. He had been angry they had headed home without consulting him. Instead of coming home rich, he came home broken. He would have to beg Millie to wait longer for him to make his fortune so he could marry her. The worst part would be facing Grayson; knowing only one twin was successful and it wasn’t him.

  Jaxon stared at the horizon remembering that terrible homecoming. It seemed odd for the town looked the same when he was so changed.

  Daniel had climbed up in the borrowed delivery wagon first, then reached down for his older brother. Jaxon winced at the pain of climbing in. A cold sweat dampened his brow even as he pulled the collar of his greatcoat up around his ears. The wagon seemed to find ever crag and pothole as Daniel slowly maneuvered it through the streets of Chimerical Cove. Word that they were home had undoubtedly spread all the way to the hills and beyond, but for once Jaxon wanted no welcoming delegation to greet them.

  “That’s new,” Daniel said as they passed their father’s law office. Jax raised his gaze to see a new shingle reading Bloodworthy & Son Esq. hanging next to the door. “Do you want to stop?” A year later that sign would change again with their father’s passing.

  “Just get me home.”

  The large house sat another quarter mile down the road. Daniel glanced at Jaxon. “Criminy, you’re as white as a sheet.” The angry, raw scar the only color, he found when he saw his face in the mirror later. Even his normally blue eyes seemed washed of their color until all that was left was a steely gray.

  Late in the evening, Jaxon awoke. It was disorienting to be back in the room where he’d spent his childhood. His foggy mind remembered arriving and he remembered a doctor giving him some laudanum that had helped his pain tremendously. Gingerly, he stood up and walked to the door. There he found his grandfather’s cane hanging from the doorknob. A myriad of emotions shot through him. Annoyance was the first. He wasn’t an old man too feeble to get around. But even as he thought it, he knew he needed it…for now.

  He took the cane with a vow he’d return it to the attic before he shipped out again and made his way to the stairs. The short walk had exhausted him. He paused in the dark hallway to catch his breath before descending. From where he stood, Jax could see lights on in the front rooms of the house. Normally, sounds of laughter and merriment filled the house when they came home from sea, but on this day, the mood was quiet, almost mournful.

  Suddenly, all the noises stopped. Millie came bolting out of the parlor. A moment later Imelia and Grayson followed. She stopped near the door; the light streaming from the room cast an ethereal glow upon her countenance. Jaxon, unseen at the top of the stairs, held his breath not knowing if he could face her. He wondered if his family had brought her up to his room as he slept. Her beauty bewitched him again as it had the first moment her saw her even as she dabbed at her eyes with a lacy kerchief.

  “I think I must go home now,” she said. “Will you drive me, Gray? Imelia, be a dear and fetch my cloak.”

  As soon as Imelia left, Millie began to weep. Grayson reached over and patted her back. “There, there,” he said dryly, making Jaxon rankled at the rude tone.

  Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed in earnest into his neck. “You know how much I love to dance. With whom shall I dance now?”

  “I should imagine all the men you dance with when my brother’s away.”

  She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

  Jaxon felt sick as he watched his twin and his fiancée and he wondered if this was the first time they’d kissed. Hot rage coursed through his veins and his hand tightened on the cane in his hand. The embrace lasted until Grayson backed her into the door. His knee pushed between her legs as he roughly palmed her breast through her clothing.

  “Is this what you want, Millie?” he ground out menacingly. “Do you want me to take you to the barn and lift your skirts? Do you think because my brother is ugly and lame now that you can substitute me for him? The only reason I would ever, ever be with you, is so my brother wouldn’t marry you because I had you first.”

  He pushed away from her. “I have held my tongue about you for the last time. Consider your engagement broken.”

  “You can’t do that.” She was breathing hard.

  “Lady, you’ve been making excuses all night trying to figure out a graceful way out of your engagement. If you truly loved him, none of this would have mattered to you. The people who love him are gathering around him. There is no room for the likes of you.”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave now,” Imelia said holding the cloak at arm’s length.

  Jaxon didn’t know when their sister returned to the hallway because he had been so intent on the tableau before him. They opened the door and practically pushed her out, leaving her to find her own way home.

  “That’s a hell of a sacrifice you were willing to make on my behalf,” Jaxon said from the top of the stairs.

  Grayson bounded up the stairs two at a time and helped his brother down each step.

  “And I would have, too.”

  Jax smiled. “Damn, I guess you really do love me. Hell of a sacrifice.”

  Jaxon wished he could smile about the incident now. He couldn’t fathom how he could have ever thought he loved the woman. In writing letters to her, he had concocted a false image of who she was. He thought her beauty was reflected in her personality, but quite the opposite was true. Whoever had coined the phrase that beauty was only skin deep could have been talking about her.

  4

  Charlie took the punishment in stride. Under normal circumstances, Charlie spent her off time alone in her cabin, so the only difference really was that she took her meals there as well and she spent it in bed with a hot vinegar and brown paper poultice on her back. She passed the time thinking about the dashing figure of the captain of the Baltimore clipper. How she wished her father hadn’t been there. She might have taken out the spyglass and gotten a better look. But now she could only use her imagination to put a face to him.

  She was relieved when her restriction was lifted three days later.

  The crew had easily settled back into their routine and Charlie found herself wishing for a bit of light weather just to change things up a bit, but the sun blazed in the cloudless sky daily.

  From the quarterdeck she watched the crew at their tas
ks and made an effort never to look at Morty when he was in a position to see her. Catching his eye made her uneasy. Inevitably, she assigned him tasks in the prow, the area in the front of the ship where she could barely see him through the sails. As the days wore on, she noted there had been no improvement of the sour mood he had been in of late. On the eighth day out, Hugh reminded her of her promise to talk to Morty about whether he was having a problem with a maiden. Mentally, she made every excuse under the moon to avoid him.

  Charlie had barely sat down after her shift on deck when a strong knock bolted her out of her chair. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door to find Morty standing in the passageway.

  “Hugh told me you wanted to see me.”

  Charlie opened her mouth to say something, but found herself at a loss for words. Apparently McNamara had gotten impatient and sent Morty aft on his own.

  Stepping back, Charlie allowed his entrance to the cabin. “Have a seat, Morty,” she said closing the door. Hugh may have sent him for one conversation, but Charlie had a feeling that was not what they would be discussing. While Morty sat down in the seat Charlie had just vacated, Charlie closed the porthole. She didn’t want their exchange drifting up to the deck. “Hugh and I are worried about you. You’ve changed and we want to help if we can,” she said sitting down on the bunk.

  We, Charlie thought. Remember to stick with ‘we’ and ‘Hugh and I’. Under the circumstances, she didn’t want him to read too much into her concern.

  Morty scowled at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Charlie wanted nothing more than to leave it at that, but knew Hugh would want a full report. “We thought it might have to do with a maiden,” Charlie said hoping to get him talking.

  “Aye,” was all he said. After a length of time had passed, Charlie could see he didn’t want to talk about it.