The Captain

by Lynn Collum

  He swore softly as the gentle rocking of the barge forced him to lean into her support. Intuitively she sensed that he hated that the injury had made him momentarily defenseless. The smell of tobacco and some exotic spice pleasantly teased her nose. She’d never met a man whose scent was so enticing. It tickled at some old memory, but she didn’t have the time to put her mind to the matter.

  After some careful maneuvering of the steps, they stood on deck and the cool evening air was a welcome change from the barge’s stifling heat. Jacinda stepped away from the gentleman, who seemed to be finding his legs. He ran a hand through his hair and then tested the lump at his scalp, winching when his fingers pressed too hard.

  Jacinda’s gaze roved over the waterfront. All the freed men had disappeared into the night. Only Lili and Ben stood watch on the wharf, looking east toward the London Docks. Lili gestured for Jacinda and the gentleman to join them on dry land. “Jack, I can hear the Gangers comin’ back with more captured sailors. Best get Ben and your new friend out of here.”

  “What about you, Lili?” Jacinda urged the injured gentleman towards the gangway, following close behind, ready to lend a hand should he need her.

  “Don’t worry about me. I can make my way home alone.”

  On the wharf, Ben had taken an interest in the unconscious guard. “Is he dead?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lili said. “He’s drugged.” She turned to Jacinda. “I’ll see you back at the rooms. Go, child. I’m in no danger ... just a female out for a walk. I don’t know anythin’ about escaped seamen.”

  Once safely on the wharf, Jacinda eyed the gentleman in the dim light from the street lamp. Again the strange feeling of familiarity came over her. Did she know him? She dismissed the thought as foolish. She could scarcely see him in this light. Besides, she knew no gentlemen in London, especially not one so tall and athletic in build. “Can you walk without assistance, sir?”

  He ran a hand over his waistcoat, tugging the bottom as he swayed slightly, then he gave a shaky laugh. “I’ll make myself to get away from here. I owe you a debt I can never repay. What’s your name, my boy?”

  “Jack, Jack Trudeau.” She used the name she’d adopted since donning men’s clothing. “You’d best go home, sir. The Gangers are coming back.” In the distance she could hear the approaching Impressment men and their complaining prisoners. Clearly they were too engaged in their task to take notice of those under the street lamp.

  “The problem is,” the man said, still seemingly a bit dazed as he looked about in puzzlement, “I have no home at present save my ship and I don’t know London; I’m captain of the Flying Dragon out of Calcutta. She’s at the East India Docks. I’m Captain—”

  A shout rang out down the wharf. They’d been spotted by the returning Press Gang. Sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps echoed over the water.

  Ben dashed into the shadows of the Tower and Jacinda followed, calling over her shoulder. “Follow us, sir. We’ll lead you safely back to the docks you want.”

  The injured gentleman didn’t need any urging. He loped after the disappearing pair into the dark alley. His steps were a bit uneven, but he trailed his rescuers since his life depended on evading the pursuers.

  Ben led the way, having more experience than Jacinda in this part of London. They headed due north, away from the river, with the shouts of the Impressment men ringing in their ears. They kept to the byways and alleys, running at a steady pace. At this late hour the only sound was the pounding of their feet on the cobblestones. The gentleman’s ability to keep up was limited and Jacinda was forced several times to go back and beckon him around a corner, calling, “This way, Captain,” for that was all she knew of him.

  By the time they’d traversed almost four long blocks, they were winded. Ben led them into a small alleyway where they could rest and catch their breath as well as take stock of their situation. The trio could do little but gasp for breath. At last, Ben edged back to the opening at Smithfield Street to look for their pursuers. Before he even reached the main street, the sound of racing footsteps approached. Ben backed away and ducked behind a crate even as Jacinda and the captain moved deeper into the alley. The pressmen raced past.

  Jacinda held her breath and prayed the men wouldn’t realize they’d lost their quarry in the dark. But by the time the pursuers reached the corner, it was evident they would go no further. The men milled about while they discussed what was to be done. Jacinda and the others were trapped where they were, for the alley was a dead end.

  Within minutes, the Press Gang began to work their way back towards where the three were hidden, searching the alcoves and alleys. Ben moved deeper into the dead end lane and whispered, “They’re comin’ back.”

  The captain softly called to Ben and Jacinda, “This way.” He gestured to a set of wooden stairs that gleamed brightly in the moonlight. The stairway tiers went up several stories on the side of the warehouse. At first Ben shook his head and Jacinda could only stare in horror. Perhaps the only thing that frightened her more than strangers was heights, a fact that Ben well knew.

  He moved back to the mouth of the alley but when the searchers drew near, he returned to where Jacinda was crouched. “We’d best go up or they’ll find us.” He squeezed her hand and she knew she had to go for his sake.

  “Come, lads,” the captain called in a whisper from the first landing. “There’s no time to delay.”

  He led the way, moving lightly on the wooden steps. Ben stopped to test each door on their upward climb, but all were locked. As she climbed higher, Jacinda had a bad feeling that all their efforts that night had been for naught. The Press Gang would get Ben after all. A sick feeling filled her stomach but whether more from frustration or fear, she was uncertain. All she knew was not to look down.

  At the top landing, which ended at a locked door, the captain awaited them. He pointed across the railing. “Do you lads think you can make the jump?” The flat roof of the warehouse next door spread out in front of them like a welcoming field. Moonlight glinted off the slate tiles and chimney pots, dimly illuminating the way to safety. Unfortunately, the gap between the stairway and the roof was a gaping four-foot-wide crevasse.

  Ben looked at Jacinda, who did her best to keep the fear from her voice. “Go. Don’t worry about me.” He hesitated a moment, then saw something in her face that reassured him. He didn’t say a word; he merely climbed over the rail and with a leap cleared the open space that separated the building and the stairs.

  “You next, Jack,” the captain urged.

  Knees shaking, Jacinda climbed over the rail. She tried not to look down but she couldn’t bring herself to jump.

  “Go, lad, go!”

  “I-I cannot, I—” but before Jacinda could finish, the captain climbed over the rail and pried her hand free.

  “Come! And here we go!”

  She had no time to protest; she was forced into the air, the man holding her wrist tightly even as her stomach seemed to be in her throat. They hit the roof hard but the captain helped her keep her footing. Jacinda’s spirits soared. They were once again on the move.

  Behind them shouts sounded from the alley below. Her elation evaporated—they’d been seen.

  The captain, still holding her arm, pulled her across the roof to the opposite side where Ben stood peering over the ledge. “There’s no stairway, we’re trapped.”

  Behind them, a shouted, “Halt in His Majesty’s name!”

  A quick glimpse over the edge was all Jacinda allowed herself before she moved back from the edge, but that was enough. Her throat tightened and tears pricked at her eyes. Their options had run out. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

  To Drew Morrow, the lad’s voice sounded utterly devastated and as soft as a girl’s. He stared hard at the boy, but in the darkness he could see little because a long-brimmed hat shadowed the lad’s face. Drew thought it was just a trick of sound that had made the boy’s voice sound so feminine. He owed Jack Trudeau and his brother a grea
t deal at the moment. It was a debt that he fully intended to repay. But they hadn’t escaped yet.

  Drew was no fool about their chances if they were recaptured. He suspected that if enough money could change hands with the Press Men, he might be able to buy his way free, but he doubted he could do the same for two such healthy lads from the tenements. Unfortunately, at the moment, he had scarcely two pounds on him, having taken his first mate’s advice about not carrying large sums in London. Truth be told, he couldn’t be sure what sum was sufficient for a bribe if the Navy’s need was great.

  Determined to find a solution to their dilemma, his gaze searched the street below for an escape. They had to get off that roof if they were to have a chance. As footsteps hammered on the wooden stairway in the alley, Drew spotted their salvation. “There,” he called, drawing the lads’ attention to a wagon which rolled up the street in their direction. It was a huge rag wagon on its journey to the paper factory. “We can jump and the rags will break our fall.”

  “Jump!” the older Trudeau cried. “Have you taken leave of your senses, sir? Why, it’s over two stories down. If we miss we’ll break both legs or worse, be killed.”

  Drew looked over his shoulder and saw that the Press Gang had reached the top of the stairs. “We go now, Jack, or all is lost.”

  Plucky to the core, Ben shrugged. “I’m jumpin’, Jack. Besides, if I miss the wagon, them fellows can’t take me with a broken peg.” The lad climbed on the ledge and leapt into thin air as the wagon pulled beneath them. Drew and Jacinda leaned over and prayed the boy wouldn’t miss. Ben landed in the pile of rags with a bounce and without a sound. He stood and urgently gestured for them to follow.

  Remembering his rescuer’s earlier fright, Drew grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled the lad onto the ledge when he climbed up. “We must go now or miss our chance.” Her hand twitched in his.

  “No, I cannot. You go. I’ll be fine.” Jack tried to pull away but Drew slid an arm around him, refusing to let go.

  It struck Drew that Jack was rather delicate despite the courage he’d shown that evening. “We’ll go together, lad. Close your eyes.”

  Drew could hear loud thumps of the Press Gang as they landed on the roof behind them. He pushed Jack along the ledge to compensate for the slow-moving wagon, then judged the right angle to jump so as not to land on Ben. With a whispered prayer, he tightened his hold on the lad and leapt out over the wagon. The ground rushed up at them and thankfully the wagon was beneath them when they landed.

  Drew, positioned at the rear and unable to move or risk missing the wagon altogether, caught his right foot on the edge of the wagon’s wooden side. It twisted to the left and pain shot up his leg.

  He had no time to worry about his injury. He rolled away from Jack, who lay with his eyes closed, still trembling. “Ben, tell the driver there are two pounds in it for him if he can keep us from the clutches of the Press Gang.”

  The captain couldn’t hear the lad and the driver’s conversation, but suddenly the wagon jolted and swayed as it picked up speed, taking them away from the men up on the roof, who shouted at them in frustration. The wagon rounded the corner onto Smithfield Street which would take them east towards Wapping.

  No traffic obstructed the rough trip up Smithfield which soon turned into Ratcliffe Highway. The old rag wagon was not designed for such treatment as the driver was currently inflicting, but despite its rattling and swaying, it kept moving away from danger. Jacinda lay in the smelly rags, ashamed of her conduct on the roof. If it hadn’t been for the captain she would have been too afraid to jump. She was thankful he had been there and for the ragman’s timely appearance below them. Still, she was anxious to return to the protection of their rooms. She wouldn’t feel completely safe until then and she was worried about Lili. Would their friend, who’d done so much, make it safely back home?

  Gathering her dignity, she sat up and recognized the shops they passed. They were almost at the street where she and Ben lived. A backward glance to make certain they weren’t being pursued and she noticed the captain rubbing his ankle. “Are you hurt, sir?”

  “Nothing of consequence, lad. In truth, my head hurts worse than my ankle.”

  In the glow from an oil street lamp on the corner, Jacinda could see him in profile as he smiled and took note of how few lines etched his smooth face. Curiously, he seemed far too young to be the captain of a ship. Her years spent in Wapping and Shaddock had caused her to rub elbows, so to speak, with a variety of sailors from ships’ cooks to officers. Captains were generally weatherworn gentlemen even when they weren’t very old. It was clear he hadn’t been sailing for many years.

  Ben scrambled to the back of the wagon, interrupting Jacinda’s contemplation of their companion. “I’ve talked the driver into stopping at New Gravel Lane to let us down. We’ll be close to home there and the East India docks are just a short walk.”

  The captain reached into his coat and handed Ben the coins. “Give him my thanks.”

  Some five minutes later, the wagon drew to a halt. The trio climbed down and the rag wagon continued on at a more sedate pace. Ratcliffe Highway was quiet; only the occasional drunken sailor could be heard singing an off-key sea verse in the distance as he made his way back to his rooms for the night.

  The captain’s ankle was clearly bothersome, so Ben and Jacinda helped him back to their tenement with the offer of a ride from one of their neighbors who operated a hackney. The stairway to their lodgings was too narrow for three across so Jacinda hurried ahead. She stopped first to knock at Lili’s door, but as she expected, Lili was not yet returned. While unlocking their door, she was suddenly aware of the musty odor of humanity that filled the halls and she wished they had someplace better to bring a gentleman, but this was all they could afford. She relit the old rush lamp as well as two tallow candles she’d purchased the week before. She looked around and determined that while the room was sparsely furnished, it was clean. They had nothing to feel ashamed about here. She set about finding something for them to slake their thirst and found a jug of apple cider that she’d bought at the Pear Tree on her way home the night before.

  Minutes later, Ben helped the captain through the door. The gentleman settled in one of the ladder-back chairs and Ben lifted his injured leg to an opposite one. Busy putting cups on the table for all three, a gasp escaped Jacinda’s lips when the gentleman looked up at her and smiled. “Lads, I owe you a great deal.”

  The light from the lamp glimmered on his face. It was her first clear look at the man. He was as handsome as she had suspected, but that wasn’t what had caught her attention. A tiny half moon scar that arched downward from his eye seemed to leap out at her. Could it be? On closer inspection, it was a more mature face than she remembered with its now angular planes, but she would have known him anywhere had she encountered him in the light of day.

  Andrew Morrow! One of the very people she suspected had been involved with her father’s murder. She took a step back, stunned to be face-to-face with a man she’d reviled in her mind so many times.

  His gaze searched her face for a moment and a tiny crease appeared at his brow. “Are you well, Jack? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.” His frown increased as his gaze played over her features. “Have we met before, lad? On the wharf when my ship ported or some other place?”

  Jacinda turned away as she pulled the stopper from the cider, suddenly afraid he might recognize her. “I think not, sir, unless you have spent time here in the Wapping printshop where I was employed.” She poured out the cider with shaking hands as she asked over her shoulder, “You never finished telling us who you are, sir.”

  “Aye, we were interrupted, were we not? I’m Captain Drew Morrow of the Flying Dragon out of Calcutta, formerly of Somerset. May I say I’m quite happy to have made your acquaintance.”

  A wave of dizziness that rivalled what she’d experienced on the warehouse roof overcame her. She’d envisioned her meeting with him many times over the years and in
her imagination she’d rained accusations over his head. But somehow, the callow youth in her imagination was nothing like the self-assured Captain Morrow seated at her table. The sulky lad had been replaced by a kind, confident gentleman. But then, she most certainly wasn’t that fragile little girl who’d met him in her father’s great hall, so why should she have expected him to have remained the same?

  A sharp pain pierced her thoughts and her anger was renewed as memories from the night her father died resurfaced. Had this man been involved? He had been scarcely more than a lad at the time and he’d seemed more intent on getting away from them than on wanting to hurt them. Besides, she couldn’t forget that he’d saved her on the roof tonight. He could have left her behind on two occasions but had chosen to help her jump instead. Was such a man capable of murder? Her mind was in chaos as she moved around the table, not listening to Ben’s chatter.

  The gentleman took the cup and drank thirstily. The drink and Ben’s gabbling soon distracted him from inspecting her, and she moved away from the light at the table after pouring a cup of cider for Ben. The boy was answering the captain’s questions about their life in Wapping and Morrow was surveying their tiny room. Ben dutifully told the tale that most of the neighbors had heard. Two brothers from Bristol come to London to eke out a living now that their mother was gone and their father’s fate unknown. When pressed as to where their father had gone, Ben grew vague, saying, “up north to work,” then changed the subject.

  “Bristol! I’m going home to Rowland Park, which is quite near there.” Drew’s face took on a faraway look as he stared at the flame flickering in the lamp. “I’ve much to make up for in my past.”

  With her back to the man she should hate, Jacinda sensed pain and remorse in those words. “You did something you regret?” Had he destroyed Lord Rowland’s dreams of money by the act of killing her father? Trembles at the recollection of that horrid night seemed to rove all over her body. She peeked over her shoulder, trying to imagine him involved in such dark doings. There was something in his well-featured face that had almost convinced her she was wrong, when Trudy’s final words rang in her head.