The Trouble With Misbehaving

by Victoria Hanlen

  George spat out a worthy string of blue-water curses while his weathered face tensed with unease. “Do you know how crazy that sounds? Hargreaves threatens Miss Collins in Nassau, runs the blockade, races to her family’s plantation, sets it afire, grabs her uncle, then Oley, the helmsman and the chief engineer?”

  “Aye. Sounds preposterous, if I didn’t already have experience with the villain.” Repugnance filled his voice. “Ordinary devils generally aren’t that determined. But Hargreaves is unrelenting. When I was with the Royal Navy in the South China Sea, he made tenacious fiends look docile.”

  “So we have Hargreaves breathing down our necks from behind and out front a pack of Yanks hungering to capture our ship and make her their prize. What else?”

  “A particularly driven Yankee commander named Rives is probably sitting out there somewhere. He nearly got a noose around my neck when he took the Roundabout. This time he may reach for something more handy.”

  George whistled. “Do you have a death wish?”

  “Thought I’d cured myself of the habit.” Beau threw his arms wide and gave George a grin. “But here I am again. So, old friend, those are a few of the obstacles I’m aware of. What do you think?”

  “I think I should ask for more money.”

  Beau leaned back in his chair and grinned at his pilot. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  At high tide later that evening, Beau watched the smaller side-wheeler quietly slip over Old Inlet’s bar and head out to sea. The second side-wheeler sat nearby and made no move. Beau decided to watch and wait as well.

  After fifteen minutes with no blasts, flashes or rockets, he gave the order to weigh anchor.

  Not long after they crossed over the bar, the second side-wheeler followed.

  For the next twenty minutes, everything remained dark and quiet. The sky suddenly lit up like a fireworks grand finale. Rockets burst over a small mountain of cotton sailing in the distance. Dark smoke poured from its stacks. The little side-wheeler appeared to be heading directly out to sea. More rockets lit up the sky as Union vessels chased after her.

  Beau made use of the commotion and turned south, staying close to the coast for camouflage. The second side-wheeler followed.

  ***

  On leaving the Cape Fear River, C.C. went below. After proving themselves exemplary during the first run through the blockade, the ship and captain had her confidence. Now her responsibility for her cousins took precedence. She’d made sure they were safe, tucked in and asleep before the ship headed out to sea.

  Sleep did not come to her as easily. Her mind continued to spin. Since her illness in Nassau the captain had occupied more and more of her thoughts. She’d find herself indulging in all sorts of inappropriate daydreams.

  After her mother died, something changed. He’d withdrawn inside himself and closed her out. Once they reached Nassau, she intended to find out why.

  C.C. peeked out her cabin door and saw daylight pooling at the end of the cargo-stuffed alleyway. Dawn had finally come, and by the quiet that pervaded the night, they’d made it past the first squadron without incident.

  She made her ablutions as best she could in a tiny, rolling cabin, pinned up her hair, applied powder and rouge—for the first time in days—and put on her white gown and shawl. She knocked on the boys’ door across from hers. “May I come in?”

  Two little voices called out, “Yes, ma’am.”

  They’d lit their lantern but still lay on their bunks, one above the other. Cargo jammed most of their little cabin. When they saw her, the boys’ eyes grew round.

  “C.C.,” Nate said, pronouncing the ‘Cs’ like a ‘TH’. “You look like an angel. Auntie Delia always said you were beautiful.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you hungry?”

  Nate’s little throat worked. He looked to Jesse and then at the basin on the floor.

  “Patches isn’t feeling too good, neither.” Jesse swallowed.

  Hearing his name, the little dog’s tail made a few weak thumps against the floor.

  “Ah, seasickness. We need to get you fixed up.” She gave them a smile. “I’ll talk to cook.”

  When she returned from the galley, the boys were still lying about, idly playing with the toys they’d brought from Clarkston. She set the tray on the foldout table. “Cook fixed you a fine seaman’s meal and said you should try to eat as much of it as you can. Your stomach will feel less jumpy if you keep it full.”

  “Thank you.” Jesse picked up a piece of bread and took a careful bite.

  “Nate, dear, you should eat something,” she encouraged. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “I can’t.” Nate turned a carved horse around in his hands and didn’t move from his bunk.

  “Nate,” Jesse admonished. “Now you know what Auntie told us. C.C. is our new mama and papa. We need to mind her and trust that she knows best.”

  So her mother had spoken to the boys about her. “Did your Auntie Delia say anything else?”

  “Oh, she talked a lot about you.” Jesse pointed to his mouth. “Nate’s baby teeth fell out early like yours. You have the Clarkston’s thick dark hair like ours. Nate and I need to study hard like you did. Auntie and your papa thought you were very smart. You were the son they never had.”

  Jesse took another bite of bread and chewed, unaware of C.C.’s sudden heartache.

  “I need to get something in my cabin.” Emotions roiled inside as she dashed back to her cabin, retrieved her mother’s younger portrait and set it on her bunk.

  Her eyes misted as she studied the painting. This was the mother she’d known. The mother who’d loved her and was proud of her, but for some reason could never tell her. She reached into her trunk for a handkerchief. To one side lay the alligator case. Opening it, she found a stack of papers and documents—her uncle’s will, the deed to Clarkston, a bank loan and unpaid taxes.

  A sturdy envelope held Confederate bonds, most registered to Mrs. Delia Collins. C.C. shook her head as she added up the amounts: twenty-five thousand dollars. Her mother had put a fortune into the Confederacy. Now the investment was almost worthless.

  Underneath it lay a yellowing certificate with nearly unreadable ink. She held it closer to the ship’s lamp, barely discerning its title, ‘Percentage Ownership of the Eastern Cloud.’

  A ship?

  Why did her mother have this? She didn’t remember her father owning or having an investment in a ship called the Eastern Cloud.

  ***

  Once they crossed the Gulf Stream, two ships had been spotted and easily outmaneuvered. When another mast appeared on the horizon, Beau changed course again. But this one managed to stay on their tail. They’d lose her, only for her to reappear again.

  He called down the voice tube to the engine room. “More steam! We’ve a fast vessel after us.”

  “Already there, Captain,” the chief engineer responded. “If you want more speed you’ll have to lighten ’er up.”

  Beau gave the order to toss a few cotton bales overboard.

  Everything faded to the background when C.C. walked to the rail. She’d pinned up her hair and wore her white gown and shawl. He’d forgotten how fetching she looked in white.

  After all they’d been through and all he’d learned about her, she’d become even more beautiful in his eyes. It was as if he’d stepped closer to a lovely painting and now saw the intricate details that gave it depth.

  Since they’d left Cape Fear she’d stayed below, he assumed to see to the boys and avoid the cold, blustery seas.

  Mere hours had passed, but he’d missed her. It was sobering to realize how much.

  C.C. stood watching the men toss the cotton bales over the side. One or two paused for a quick glance at her.

  For all Beau craved her company, her presence made for a major distraction. He called down the voice tube, “We’ve unloaded some weight. Now give me more speed!”

  “Aye, Captain,” was the only response.

  Several
minutes passed with no change, Beau called down again. “What’s the holdup?”

  “We’re giving it all we have,” the engineer yelled back through the tube.

  Still, their speed did not increase. After a few more minutes they even began to slow. He looked over to the rail where C.C. had been, then around the ship. She’d disappeared.

  The lookout called down that he’d spotted another ship coming from the north. Dread knotted in Beau’s stomach. The relative ease of the voyage so far had lulled him into a false sense of security. This was beginning to feel like a coordinated effort. Had the Yanks planned to capture them on Nassau’s doorstep?

  The Redemption lurched and slowed further. He called down the voice tube again, “What’s happening down there?”

  After a moment, he heard a woman’s voice.

  Beau’s temper flared to an instant boil. “Miss Collins?” He was surprised with how controlled his voice sounded. “What are you doing in the engine room?”

  “I have my revolver on your chief engineer. Send someone before I have to shoot him.”

  Beau flew out of the pilothouse, grabbed the first mate to tell him to keep an eye on the helmsman and ran down to the engine room.

  C.C. stood at the voice tube, pointing a small revolver at the chief engineer. Two other men lay tied up on the floor.

  “Bloody hell, what’s going on here?” Beau bellowed.

  “Thank God, you’re here, Captain,” the man bawled in relief. “We couldn’t give you more speed because she snuck in and started threatening us. She’s probably working for the Yanks.”

  C.C. kept a steady eye and gun on the man and snarled, “He was sabotaging the engine.”

  The engineer’s hand trembled as he pointed to the other men on the floor. “She made me tie up my men and threatened to shoot me.” He gave Beau a beseeching look and swiped his sleeve over his sweat-coated forehead.

  Beau looked between the two.

  C.C. didn’t waver. Her gaze remained riveted on the chief engineer as she cocked the hammer on the revolver and smiled.

  “She’s crazy, Captain,” the chief engineer cried.

  C.C.’s lips curled further, revealing little white gnashing teeth. “You’re damn right. No one puts sand in m— this ship’s engines. Those two men were tied up when I got here. And this scurvy beast was about to pour that bucket of sand where it doesn’t belong.”

  When three large crewmen arrived at the engine room’s door, Beau announced, “Put the chief engineer in irons.”

  C.C. lowered her weapon and glared at the man as they hauled him away.

  While one of the crewmen unbound the second engineer’s hands, the man regained consciousness and muttered, “He jumped me, Captain.”

  Beau looked him up and down. “Are you fit to take over?”

  The man rubbed the back of his head. “Ah, sure. I’ve a hard skull.”

  Beau announced to the engine room at large, “This man is our new chief engineer, do whatever he asks and get this ship back up to full steam without delay.”

  Beau took C.C. by the elbow and ushered her out of the engine room to a small alcove. He pulled her into his arms, needing to feel her against him. He sighed with relief. The woman was too brave for his comfort. “Thank you. That was quick thinking,” he whispered in her ear, and said a prayer of thanks that she’d not come up against a more wily adversary.

  She turned her head and before he knew it he was airborne in a kiss so buoyant he could barely feel the deck beneath his feet.

  She finally pulled back. “You’re welcome, Captain. I’d best see to the boys. They and their little dog are probably up to mischief by now.”

  His pulse continued to hammer while he watched the sway of her hips as she stepped down the alleyway and disappeared around the corner.

  When Beau arrived back at the helm he discovered three vessels were now closing in from three different directions. He set a course south. The new chief engineer increased their speed and they soon lost them.

  Two hours later, the lookout announced he’d spotted one, then two, then three steamers.

  Beau didn’t like the way these vessels kept finding them. It almost appeared they were being herded toward a small group of islands. He knew the island’s ever-changing shoals could be treacherous.

  Fortunately, the Redemption had the benefit of a shallow draft, even when fully loaded. With careful piloting, they could wind through the islands. Reducing their speed further, he instructed George and the new leadsman to give depth readings.

  He stepped around towers of cotton bales to gaze through his spyglass at the oncoming ships and cursed. No wonder they’d managed to stay on his tail. One of them was the Roundabout, Beau’s fast little blockade-runner Rives had captured. They’d overhauled it and armed it with large guns. He could see the new name on its hull, the Charger.

  The Redemption suddenly lurched and threw him into a wall of baled cotton. He cursed with frustration. They’d run aground.

  George dashed toward him, seething. “I knew my leadsman’s readings couldn’t be right. When I checked on him, I found him signaling those vessels.”

  Beau ground his teeth. He’d a feeling one or all of the replacements for his key men might be conspirators. He called to his first mate. “Get both leadsman and helmsman in irons and put them with the chief engineer below. And find out who put them up to this.”

  Moments remained before they’d be forced to surrender. He needed to get them off the sandbar. “Lighten her up!” he bawled.

  The crew hopped to, rolling bales of cotton overboard.

  A half-mile away, a thin white puff of smoke flew into the sky off the lead ship. Within seconds, the shell hissed through the air just over his head to dive into the sea and explode, sending up a shower of water and sand.

  The sound acted like a paralyzing shard, freezing his neck and spine. His ears began to ring. All the air disappeared. He needed to think, but his mind and body might as well be sinking into quicksand. Sweat trickled down his cheek as his hands began to shake. Time disappeared into a frozen cloud.

  A hand lightly grasped his arm. “Captain?”

  Vaguely, he heard the hiss and whine of round shot and shell, burst one after another, before, behind and to both sides of the Redemption. A nightmare of sound, any one of which would destroy them.

  Warm hands cupped his face and pulled his head down. “Look at me, Captain.”

  The veil covering his vision thinned as he fell into C.C.’s eyes.

  “You can do this.” Conviction filled her voice. Rising up on her toes, she gave him an urgent, scorching kiss that sent ripples of electricity spinning through him.

  “The Redemption is the fastest most maneuverable vessel afloat. She was designed with all sorts of tricks in mind. Give that rabble out there a demonstration of what she can do.”

  Somehow, C.C.’s fiery kiss unlocked his battle demon’s hold. He shook his head and managed a few deep breaths. Memories of the maneuvers he’d planned with his dream vessel finally began to filter in.

  He ran to take the helm and called down the voice tube to the new chief engineer. “Reverse the engines and give me all she has.”

  A moment later the deck began to tremble with the engine’s efforts. Nothing happened. The Redemption was good and stuck. He barked down the tube, “Again. Build steam and give it quick, hard bursts.”

  “Aye, Captain,” a voice on the other end of the tube panted.

  The metal plates underfoot started to vibrate heavily, but the shoal held firm.

  Beau strained his eyes toward the Yankee vessels. They were moving in fast. The Redemption would soon be cornered.

  All was silent for a moment. The engine made a deep throaty rumble and the ship lurched.

  He yelled down the voice tube. “More steam! Again!”

  As the Union gunboats drew closer, he could hear a strident voice yowling over a voice trumpet.

  The engine continued to build power. The floor plates
began to rattle. Suddenly, the ship bucked, almost rising out of the water as it finally scraped its way off the shoal.

  The path of the larger oncoming vessels was the only course Beau trusted to be free of sandbars. “Continue in reverse,” he shouted down the tube.

  They’d made it to deeper water when enemy vessels began circling, hemming them in.

  Rives’s voice howled over the voice trumpet as the Charger swept in. “You’re surrounded, Tollier. Surrender and prepare to be boarded!”

  Beau whispered down the voice tube to the new chief engineer. “Listen carefully. Set one propeller forward and the other in reverse.”

  While Beau instructed the engineer, C.C. stood at his side, her lips pinched in determination.

  Rives gleefully announced over his voice trumpet. “I promised you something special if we ever crossed paths again, Tollier. Do you remember what that was?” He gave an eerie, self-satisfied laugh.

  How Beau hated that devil. He could now see him standing on the Charger’s bow almost drooling at the sight of the Redemption.

  After a moment of silence, the commander’s voice blared out too cheerily, “My, my. You have delivered me a prize with a fortune in cotton. And look who’s with you! My dear Calista,” he crooned. “This is a special treat. I’ve so many new games to show you.”

  C.C. turned ashen, her features contracting in a grimace.

  Rage ripped through Beau like a lightning strike, curling his hands into fists. The rest of him went taut with alertness. Rives was a twisted sadist. The thought of him teaching C.C. his brand of ‘new games’ filled him with fury.

  The Yankee cruisers came to a complete stop. Boarding party rowboats, filled with Union Navy seamen, began to lower into the water. He could hear them calling to their friends in jolly anticipation of taking the Redemption and its mountain of cotton as their prize.

  The deck’s floor plates now vibrated so powerfully Beau’s feet began to tingle. He shouted down the voice tube. “Now!”