An Officer but No Gentleman

by M. Donice Byrd

  As the first sheet was carried aloft, a cry of, “Sail ho!” rang out from the crow’s nest.

  The other ship skipped along the horizon and Charlie hoped since their ship, at the moment, was a mere skeleton, that they would be less visible.

  Within minutes of spotting the distant ship, it changed course. Every man seemed to feel the pressure. They knew they were sitting ducks to any ship with nefarious intentions.

  With the Arcadia adrift as she was, the other ship ate up the distance between them at an alarming rate. One by one the sails were placed. Air filled those sails, but the ship was slow to move under such limited power.

  “Sail ho!” came another cry from aloft. Charlie scanned the horizon and could barely see a sail off in the distance.

  The first ship, a French corsair, soon sailed within cannon range and fired a shot across the bow of the Arcadia. The corsair displayed twelve large cannons. The Arcadia had only one. There was no chance of outrunning her or outfighting her.

  For the second time in twelve hours, the Arcadia would have to lie-to and be boarded.

  “Sirs!” came a call from the crow’s nest. “The second ship….”

  The second vessel flew through the water. It had to be making twelve to fifteen knots.

  “She’s a Baltimore clipper—and she’s flying the Stars and Stripes!”

  “Run up our colors as well,” Charlie ordered. “We want them to know we’re allies.”

  Like a cat playing with a mouse which was suddenly swooped by a bird, the corsair’s attention was drawn from her prey. It turned to align their cannons, but the clipper was faster and sent their first volley seconds earlier. Round after round the two ships danced—volley after volley. The smoke so thick at times, one ship or the other would disappear from view for a few seconds until the winds dissipated the smoke.

  She’d heard tales that Baltimore Clippers could practically stand on their beam and spin, and after seeing the ship nimbly outmaneuver the corsair at every turn, she decided that was a fair description.

  The corsair was no match for the faster, more heavily armed, Baltimore clipper. The acrid smell of smoke lay heavy in the air when the corsair sent up their flag of surrender. Men from the privateer and the Arcadia cheered.

  The Baltimore clipper, The Dragon’s Lair, pulled abreast of the French corsair. Grappling hooks were thrown and men began boarding their prize.

  Charlie joined the mate on the quarterdeck. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was the same Baltimore clipper they had seen as they left port. She scanned the deck for the captain, but didn’t see him.

  “They are bound to have injuries. I can help,” she said. When Byron seemed reluctant she added, “That ship was going to board us and take everything. They just saved us. It’s the least we can do.”

  “Make it so, helmsman,” Byron acquiesced.

  Charlie handed him the key to the hold’s padlock. “A case of rum and fifty pounds of sugar might be a welcomed show of our appreciation as well, but I’ll leave that decision in your hands.”

  As she handed him the key, she thought of Morty for the first time all day and a sad smile touched her lips. He had been locked in the brig with no word of what had happened. It may have been the only thing which kept him from being impressed by the British. She realized maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Thoughts of her friend comforted her and she looked forward to having someone with whom she could talk openly. She knew Byron would release him from the brig as soon as he remembered he was there unless she could come up with a plausible excuse why she locked him up. She only hoped Morty could keep her secret.

  By the time she retrieved two medical books and Dr. Kirk’s bag filled with all manner of supplies, the Arcadia had been maneuvered yardarm to yardarm with The Dragon’s Lair. The decks of the clipper were abuzz with activity. She was amazed by the size of the crew. Easily double her ship’s crew, Charlie quickly deduced that they had been rescued by a privateer.

  There were no officers nearby to ask permission to board, so she embarked without permission and went to the quarterdeck where she saw an officer overseeing the operations. As she approached, she could see he wore the chief mate’s uniform.

  “Sir,” she shouted to the quarterdeck. “Permission to come aboard?”

  The mate looked at the young man in the second mate’s uniform and frowned. “We’re a bit too busy for a social call right now,” the tall, handsome mate said.

  “I thought I might help with your injured. I’ve had a bit of training.”

  His expression changed. “Oh, thank the heavens,” he said. “Romy, take this man down to the crew’s quarters. He’s here to help with the injured.”

  Charlie stretched her back as she finished patching up the last injured sailor. Four sustained injuries that would keep them off duty for a day or more; one man had been peppered with splintered wood when a cannonball tore through a railing, some cuts were deep and the wood had to be removed, but most were superficial. Another man’s finger had been sheared off in a winch when he was distracted by cannon fire. The next man was knocked unconscious hitting his head on the deck after being struck by a recoiling cannon and the last had rope burns to his hands sliding down a line to get out of the rigging before the corsair fired upon them. A fifth man had died within minutes of her arrival. He had been victim of his own gun misfiring. It had essentially exploded in his face. His care was beyond her knowledge. All she could do was dribbled a measure of morphine into his mouth for his pain and hold his hand. She knew his death was at hand and wasn’t sure if he was aware of his surroundings at all, but she spoke to him in calm, low voice.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “My name is Charlie. You just save my crew and me from that corsair. You are a true hero. We owe you a debt.” She didn’t know if he believed in a higher being, but softly spoke the Lord’s Prayer into his ear. And then he was gone.

  “Sir,” a boy of twelve or thirteen said as she repacked the doctor’s bag. “Captain Bloodworthy asked for you to come to his cabin when you’re finished here. This way.”

  Charlie stuffed the last of the clean bandages into the bag and picked up the books. “What’s your name?” Charlie asked as he led her from the forecastle aft.

  “Vinnie, sir,”

  “I’m Charlie, Charlie Sinclair.”

  The door to the captain’s quarters was partially open, but the cabin boy knocked lightly anyway.

  “Mr. Sinclair’s here, sir.”

  She had only seen the captain of The Dragon’s Lair from a distance, but even from a distance he appeared impressive, his tall lean figure with his jet-black hair untethered, blowing in wind as he order the cannons to fire upon the French. He was as fine of form and resplendent as she remembered. Upon seeing him up close, she sensed his power, not just physical strength, but a certain confidence and aloofness that she knew men would follow blindly and she found herself very attracted to his confident bearing. He was tall, at least an inch or two above the six-foot mark, lean, but muscular.

  Her gaze met his steely blue eyes. She could feel the speed of her breath increasing. He was strikingly good looking. The contrast between his light colored eyes and jet-black hair fascinated her. In all her worldly travels, she found most people with black hair almost always had brown or black eyes.

  He had a wide masculine jaw, full lips and a scar that slashed from his forehead, across the bridge of his nose to the opposite cheek. It only made his good looks more rugged—some probably thought he looked dangerous, but the only danger she felt was the power his attractiveness would have over her if she couldn’t control her reaction to him. She had to mentally tell herself to stop staring. He believed her to be a man.

  Captain Jaxon Bloodworthy glanced up as Vinnie walked in with the loblolly boy then dropped his eyes back to the chart on his desk. In the brief moment his eyes fell upon the junior officer, a spark inside his mind told him there was something incongruent about the young man. He raised his eyes again an
d took a longer look. Criminy, he looked like a girl dressed in a man’s uniform. Jaxon couldn’t quite say why he thought Mr. Sinclair looked like a girl. Neither his wide sea-legged gait nor his carriage bore any femininity and yet something niggled at his subconscious. Perhaps it was his youth. He was young, too young for the uniform—no sign of whiskers graced his jaw. This boy was still wet behind the ears.

  Jaxon’s glance traveled down, looking for some sign to tell him for certain that the surgeon’s mate was, in fact, male. He could detect no signs of breasts, but under a shirtwaist and coat who could say for certain.

  By the tailoring of his uniform, he was probably a rich man’s son who bought his way into his position. The crew of the Arcadia probably resented taking orders from this snot-nosed brat and that was why they sailed away without him as soon as they’d replaced their sails. Inwardly, Jax groaned, knowing Charlie Sinclair would be a thorn in his side. No doubt he had a sense of entitlement bigger than the ocean.

  Jaxon realized the young man had not broken eye contact since he walked into the room. It had been such a long time since anyone other than family looked him in the eye; it made him a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t know if it was because he had medical training that a few scars didn’t bother him, but he suspected this boy hoped to prove by holding his gaze, he and Jaxon were equals.

  Begrudgingly, Jaxon admitted they needed someone aboard with medical knowledge if they were to be privateers, so he would give this kid a chance to prove himself. His Baltimore clipper was fast enough to chase down the other ship and give Sinclair back if it wasn’t going to work out. As second mate of his ship, he would, no doubt, know the ship’s heading so it should be easy enough to calculate their course if necessary.

  He narrowed his gaze at the young man waiting for him to avert his eyes. Having men look at his chest or chin felt normal since being scarred—who would want to look at the monster? But not this one. He continued holding Jaxon’s gaze. It was almost as if he didn’t see the scars at all. Jaxon knew exactly what to say to get him to back down.

  “If you’re finished staring at my scars….”

  She barely noticed his scars, but it was better he think that than to know the truth—the truth that she couldn’t take her eyes off the most handsome man she had ever met. She hoped he was not aware of the attraction crackling to life inside her like flint being struck by iron. If he thought her male, and they always did, because it just never occurred to anyone to doubt what was in front of them, this meeting could end quite poorly and even follow her back to her ship. Aye, it was definitely better he think she was staring at his scars rather than lost in the depths of his steely blue eyes, captivated by the shape of his mouth, enthralled by his strong jaw and the way the muscle worked at its hinge and drawn to his confidence.

  She cupped her chin as if deep in thought. “Aye, I’m finished,” she vexed, but got no reaction from him. He may be gorgeous, but he had no sense of humor. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards.

  His brow furrowed. Perhaps because this young man was not a member of his crew, he felt he could act familiarly. Nobody ever joked with Jaxon. Nobody. Ever.

  Jaxon knew he was too serious by nature, his mood nearly always dark as pitch since that fateful day many years ago. He allowed it without challenge.

  “How are my men?”

  Charlie sobered instantly. All semblance of humor erased from her countenance as she made her report. “Of the five I treated, four will soon return to duty. The other, I’m afraid, I could do nothing, but ease his pain before he passed. Jimmy, I believe his name was.”

  “My cousin,” Jaxon said, quietly.

  “I’m sorry. His injuries were beyond my scope of medicine. I only trained to assist our doctor. The British shanghaied….”

  Jaxon interrupted her before she could tell him it was earlier in the day when they encountered the warship. “No one could have saved Jimmy.”

  He turned to face her and she suddenly realized he held a blood-soaked cloth to his side. “You’re injured?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a flesh wound, but I can’t get it to stop bleeding.”

  “Let me take a look,” Charlie said approaching him. “Take off your shirt.”

  From the looks of his clothing and the blood-soaked rag, Charlie realized the ship’s captain had lost quite a bit of blood. He handed her the cloth and gingerly stripped to the waist.

  Jaxon may have made light of it, but it was more than a flesh wound. “I caught some shrapnel when Jimmy’s gun misfired. The metal was protruding, so I pulled it out.”

  She grabbed a lantern from its wall bracket and lengthened the wick. Instantly, the flame glowed brighter, flickering off the planes of his muscles, showing every ragged scar that had torn through his flesh. She more closely examined his wound. Quickly, she retrieved what she needed from the doctor’s bag.

  “Do you have clean towels? I want you to lie down on your bunk so I can stitch you up.”

  He pointed toward one of the built in lockers and he sat on the edge of the bunk until she retrieved the towels. She left them folded and placed one on the bed directly below the wound as she helped him lie down. The other she rolled up and placed it against his side.

  “This is going to be unpleasant,” she said. “Would you like some laudanum or morphine before I start?”

  “No.”

  “Alcohol?”

  “No,” he said gruffly. “Can’t you just cauterize it? Wouldn’t that be faster?”

  “It would also be much more painful.”

  She took a deep breath to calm her nerves when she realized her hands trembled. What was wrong with her? She didn’t shake like this when she treated the others. Maybe she was the one who could use the drink. Taking a deep breath, she threaded the needle with catgut and set it aside until she was ready for it. She pulled the wound apart looking for any foreign particles or dirt that might be inside.

  “I see the problem. You’ve severed a small blood vessel.” Carefully, she tied off the bleeding end with catgut then washed out the wound with water, then began sewing the wound closed.

  He flinched with every stitch. “You do that like a real blood-letter,” he bit out. “It’s every bit as painful.”

  Her eyes met his momentarily before returning to her task. “I offered you laudanum.”

  “I prefer not to take opium or drink for that matter.” He had no intention of telling the young second officer about how he lost himself in opium and drink while recovering from his previous injuries. The struggle to get back to being clear-headed was long and painful and one he didn’t care to repeat. “You said you learned this from a doctor?” he said not really wanting to talk, but needing a distraction from the needle invading his flesh repeatedly.

  “When I was thirteen, Dr. Kirk caught me looking at his anatomy books and thought I was showing an interest in medicine.”

  “But, in truth you were just a snot-nosed kid trying to figure out the differences between boys and girls.”

  Charlie could feel the heat in her face. She had been trying to understand her menses and was too embarrassed to ask. “Aye, something like that,” she said. “The next thing I know, I’m helping him set bones and make poultices and eventually assist in surgeries—a regular loblolly boy.”

  “But you’re the second mate not the surgeon’s mate?” Jaxon prompted, the conversation distracting him from his pain.

  “I’m a jack-of-all-trades,” Charlie answered, too busy to notice the pun. “My father brought me aboard when I was six. As I’m sure you’re aware, life at sea can get monotonous. If I get an opportunity to learn something new, I try to learn it. It’ll make me a better captain if I know as much as I can about every job on the ship. We had a Japanese cook for about three years. He taught me how to fight. It always surprises these big tars when I best them in a fight. It’s true what they say; the big man has the strength, but the little man has the speed. Yori taught me how to use a bigger man’s size against him. Hav
e you ever seen the Japanese fight?”

  Charlie’s eyes darted to the captain’s face. His eyes were closed; his mouth was gritted against the pain.

  “They call it karate,” Charlie continued as she began the last few stitches. “I could make short shrift of putting you on the ground.”

  The captain opened his eyes. At Jaxon’s dubious expression Charlie said, “Perhaps someday our ships will meet again after you’re healed and I can demonstrate for you.” Charlie tied off the last suture. “Have someone remove the stitches in about two weeks and you’ll be fine.”

  “About that, under the circumstances, I’d like you to consider staying on.”

  “Under the circumstances?”

  Jaxon frowned. Had no one told him? “Your ship left without you.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not the kind of man who tells jokes,” Jaxon said, gingerly pushing himself up to a sitting position.

  She bit back the string of profanities that would have made the saltiest tar blush. “How long ago? We have to go after them. You have to help me.”

  His frown deepened. “I don’t have to do anything. If they want you back, if this was just an oversight, they’ll come back for you. They have at least two hours on us. The corsair’s mast was damaged so to put out a full set of sails would undoubtedly break its mast in two. Besides, we’re going the other way.”

  “After all I’ve done for you, you would let that cur abandon me?”

  “Oh, I do admit I have ulterior motives. Someone with your medical knowledge would be invaluable.” Charlie stared at him in disbelief. “I had actually thought about sailing off with you on board before they departed,” the captain continued as he rose to his feet. “It seems to me; we are all in agreement that you should stay here.”