Sea of Fire

by Carol Caldwell

  She clung to them and hung in place for a moment. As sick as she was, a glow on the water near the hull of the ship caught her attention. “Go back,” she said with panic in her voice. “The ship is on fire.”

  “Get your arse up the ladder,” Maguire ordered. “Either that or drop dead into the sea, but you’ll not return to this boat.”

  “The ship is on fire,” she yelled, thinking perhaps she should drop into the sea. It would be quicker than to burn to death.

  “The ship is not on fire, Elizabeth. It’s only a glow. Please, my love, move up the ladder.”

  It took a great deal of her strength, but she did as Christian asked for his sake. The instant her legs touched the deck, she was overcome by the urge to lie prone and she collapsed to the floor.

  Christian lifted her and held her to him like a limp doll.

  “Please. Let me lie,” she begged him. “I’m dying.”

  He lifted her and carried her to an open section of the deck where she could lie down. “You’re not dying. You’re simply seasick.”

  Maguire walked over to them. “Get her up.”

  “Why didn’t you kill us when we were at the ruins?” Christian said. He knelt by her side. “Why cart us to your ship?”

  “Get her to her feet,” Maguire ordered.

  Christian obeyed, and she stared at him. If she were to throw up, she’d do so on him.

  “Pay attention, now. I brought you to the ship, because I wanted you to see the results of Elizabeth’s fine artwork. I’m rather proud of my operation, but I can’t tell too many people about it.” He laughed and continued, “In fact, I’m the reason for this delicious rumor that spread like wildfire up and down the eastern coast.”

  “What’s that?” Christian asked.

  “The tale of the red glow. Come. I’ll show you.”

  They followed Maguire down several decks to the water level of the ship. She could not stand on her own. Closer to the bottom of the ship, the motion was greater. God in heaven, all she wanted to do was be left alone.

  Maguire walked over to her and raised her chin. “Look around you.”

  She struggled to hold her head up.

  He walked over to a coal fire nestled in a bed of sand. He motioned to one of his men, who apparently guarded the fire, to step aside.

  “Coal fuels the fires to make the molds for the counterfeit coins which are based on Elizabeth’s excellent drawings.” He walked over to several large open slots on the starboard side of the ship near the deck ceiling. Identical slots matched on the port side. “These slots are for ventilation and for the heat to escape. Though they are strategically placed to prevent fires, it is still risky. We have someone on watch at all times during operation. The red fiery heat casts a glowing reflection unlike lantern light onto the water and gives the illusion the water is on fire. ‘Tis not a bad omen at all except for you.” He laughed and continued. “The best part, though, is that since our counterfeiting takes place on the ship, and we’re never in one place, we’re impossible to track.”

  “We’re both impressed,” Christian said.

  Maguire’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips in a scowl before he ordered, “Take them to the upper deck. I’ve grown tired of them.”

  They made their way back up and once they stood outside under the moonless night, Maguire said, “I’m not a cruel man. I’ll give you a choice. You can jump overboard and try to swim to shore, though it’s much too far and the water is much too cold for you to survive. Or, you can end it faster. I’ll shoot you.”

  She would have chosen to be shot, but before she could speak out, Christian said, “We’ll take our chances swimming.”

  “At least let me die quickly,” she whispered to him. “I can’t swim.”

  “I know,” he answered back. “Leave it to me.”

  “I must say I’m surprised,” Maguire said. “Very well. Heave-ho. Overboard with you.”

  “Any decent man would at least let us have one last meal in privacy,” Christian taunted Maguire.

  “And we both know I’m a decent man,” Maguire responded. He told one of his seamen, “Take them to the galley. Let them help themselves; however stand guard outside the door. When they have had their fill, make sure they haven’t absconded with any of our knives or the like.”

  Christian carried her as they followed the man to the galley.

  “I can’t eat, Christian. I want this miserable feeling to end, and it will the minute we hit the water. You know I can’t swim.”

  “Sh—say no more until we’re left alone.”

  The minute the galley door shut behind them, Christian practically dropped her to the floor. She heard him bang the cabinet doors open and closed.

  She tucked her legs up close to her stomach and lay down on her side on the floor. “Surely, you can’t be hungry at a time like this.”

  “Nay. I’m not.”

  “Come here then.”

  When he continued his search, she said, “Christian, please. I’ve something I want to say to you.”

  He came and knelt beside her. “What?”

  “Our lives will be over soon. If I weren’t so sick, I’d be hysterical. Even so, I want you to know I love you.”

  He placed his hand on her back and rubbed a circle. “And I love you.”

  “You do?” she said, and raised her head a bit from the floor to see if he meant it.

  “I do, but I haven’t given up yet. We’ve got so much to live for, and I’m not about to lose it all now.” He stood and resumed his search through the cabinets and rest of the galley.

  She lowered her head to the cool spot on the floor and inwardly smiled. At least she would go to her sea grave with the knowledge that he loved her. As quickly as she thought it, she wondered if he had told her he loved her because they were doomed. “You weren’t just saying that because we’re about to die, were you?”

  “Nay,” he answered and returned to her side. “Sit up and watch me,” he said.

  She still had her doubts, but glanced up at him. He held a huge jar in his hands. “What is that?” she asked from her prone position.

  “Lard. Now, sit up.” He helped prop her up against a leg of the heavy galley table.

  “Oh, Christian. I can’t. The nausea is worse this way. Can’t you tell me why you’re holding ajar of lard while I lie here?”

  “Nay. Damn it. Sit up and watch me.” He roughed her a bit by the shoulders. It jolted her into staying in place.

  He removed the lid from the jar. The smell of hog fat wafted through the air. That was it. Her stomach rumbled. There was no holding back. She turned away from him. Her dinner finally left her.

  “Thank God,” Christian said, totally unaffected. “You should feel somewhat better momentarily. Now watch.”

  She turned her back to the offensive mess on the floor, wiped her mouth with the hem of her cloak, and obeyed.

  Christian tossed off his coat, waistcoat and shirt and began to smear the lard all over his body. Not a part of his torso from his waist up remained untouched by the lard. He replaced his shirt and waistcoat, but left his coat where it was on the floor. “I want you to do the same all over your body while I finish with my lower half. Don’t miss any parts. Also do your feet.” He set the jar on the floor between them so they could share it.

  “Why? I don’t want to. This stuff smells and makes me feel sick again. Besides, what good will it do anyway? I can’t swim, but if I could the icy-cold water would kill us first.”

  “Damn it, woman. Will you never stop questioning me? I can swim, and the reason I want you to grease up is to protect us from the water. The layer of grease will help us retain our body heat. Sailors have been using this trick for years.”

  A brief hope passed over her, but once again turned to doubt. “That’s great for you, but I still can’t swim.”

  Angrily, he grabbed the jar from the floor, dipped his hand into it and dug out a gob of the lard. “Remove your cloak, shirt and breeches.�
��

  “Nay.” She gripped the front of her cloak closed.

  “You can smear this on you, or I can, but I assure you, you will be greased.”

  A loud bang sounded on the galley door. “Ye’ve got ten minutes, and Maguire wants ye back on deck,” a gruff voice spoke through the door.

  “For me, Elizabeth. I love you.”

  She gazed on his handsome face and ripped off her cloak and clothing. She took the gob from his hands with one of hers and began to smear it all over her body. He proceeded to do the same with his lower half.

  When both of them were completely smeared with the lard, even their faces, they got dressed. Her nausea returned to her. She returned to her prone position on the galley floor while Christian rummaged through the cabinets once more. “Now, what are you searching for?” she asked.

  “A short candle. Ah, I’ve got one.”

  “Why?”

  He stepped over her to get to several storage bins just beyond her. She raised her head to watch him. He lit the candle and placed it in one of the bins. He left the lid slightly ajar for air to circulate. “Are you trying to start a fire?”

  “Aye. That’s exactly right. I want that son of a bitch Maguire caught” He helped her to her feet. “I’m hoping the fire slowly spreads before the crew can douse it. Then it will cause enough damage to catch the attention of someone along the shore, despite it being the wee hours of morn.”

  He led her to the door. If the guard were to check the galley, at a glance, he’d not notice the candle in the closed storage bin. It would be too soon for anything to burn and catch his attention. More than likely, he’d spot the mess on the floor first anyway. Between that and the odor of hog fat, any smell from the candle would be minor.

  “I’m scared,” she said. With death near, fear instantly replaced her seasickness.

  Christian had reached for the door latch and let go. He hugged her to him. “I know, but remember I’ll be with you.”

  He was trying to comfort her. She loved him with her whole heart for it. Yet, this fact did not dismiss her fears. She suddenly grew cold and started to shake uncontrollably. Christian said naught. He opened the door to the guards.

  One briefly perused the galley. The other made a face, and said, “Ye made a right big mess, ye have. And ye stink, but I still have to check ye.”

  He did so with no struggle from them and motioned them to go above deck. It was at this point she determined, she would maintain her dignity. “I’d like your assistance until we’re in front of Maguire. At that point, I want to stand by myself. I’ll not let the man strip me of my pride.”

  Christian squeezed her to him and kissed the top of her head. “Keep your spirit.”

  Moments later, they stood on the deck under a moonless sky. The glow from the coal fires illuminated the water. She was petrified.

  “I trust you found the coffer plentiful for your last meal,” Maguire said. “As for the lard, that old sailor trick won’t spare you from your icy death. We’re too far from shore for anyone to successfully swim.”

  “Lower the plank!” he shouted to a crew member.

  The seaman obeyed.

  Maguire said, “You know I don’t believe in killing unless I have to and even then I try to be merciful. Go to the plank. At anytime you decide you’d rather be shot, I’ll have one of the crew do you the favor.”

  “You’re a sick bastard,” Christian said, and guided her up the few steps out to the plank.

  “You don’t understand,” Maguire said.

  “I’m so scared. Hold me, Christian. I want to die in your arms.” Her voice trembled. She shook fiercely.

  “Nay. Listen to me.” He gripped her shoulders. “Promise me you’ll do as I say once we hit the water.”

  “I pro...mise.” She spoke through quivering lips. She shook so hard she could have tumbled from the plank if not for Christian’s hold on her forearm.

  His grip was like a vise. “I’ll not let go of you.”

  “Jump, my friends, or I’ll take your hesitation to mean you’d rather be shot,” Maguire hollered to them.

  “When I say now,” Christian commanded.

  She nodded. He kissed her cheek, and shouted, “Now!”

  Together they plunged into the dark swirling waters of the Irish Sea.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Christian’s head surfaced through the water. Seconds later he yanked on Elizabeth, and her drenched head popped up from beneath the icy water. She gasped for air and almost as quickly started to sink towards the dark depths below. Had he not been holding onto her arm, he’d never have found her in the inky depths below.

  He tugged her upwards again while he tried not to slip beneath the surface himself. She gasped for air again, but this time managed to shout, “Christian, help me!”

  “I’m trying to, Elizabeth. Quit fighting me, so I can.”

  He held her forearm with all his strength and tried to position her so he could swim and carry her. Next instant, she used her free arm and wrapped it around his neck. Like he was a lifebuoy, she clung to him unaware she was practically drowning him so she might stay afloat.

  “Let go,” he yelled and caught a mouthful of water. He choked, spit out the water and managed to clear his nose. “Let go of me, so I can keep you afloat.”

  Elizabeth was deaf to his command. Her fear was so great, she had crossed over to where her only impulse was survival. If she continued along this vein, she’d drown them both. He’d have to take dramatic measures if they were to have a chance. Yet, he couldn’t free himself from her lest she slip below the surface where he couldn’t see her.

  He groped in the water for the back of her breeches and loosened her shirttails. When he had a good grasp, he dipped beneath the water and freed himself from her choking arms. He circled behind her all the while holding the garment.

  She yelled and flailed in the water. “Christian!” She screamed through a mouthful of water.

  “Do you want to drown us both?” He angrily spoke from behind her.

  “Nay, why won’t you help me?” She tried to face him, but he would not allow it. She sunk into the water and choked.

  “Stop struggling against me and trust me. You must force yourself to relax. Let me take charge. Will you do it?”

  “I can’t.” She desperately fought to stay above the sea.

  “Then I’ll have to let you drown for I’ve no intention of going to a watery grave with you.”

  He far from meant it, but she needed to understand the importance of her cooperation; however, apparently she believed him. Instantly, she sputtered, “I will. Christian. I will. Only help me.”

  He reached for her, and true to her word she was moving her arms and legs less excitedly. “Just pretend you are floating, and I’m pulling you along. I know it’s not easy, but relax.”

  “I’ll try,” she mumbled through chattering teeth and lips.

  He too, was feeling the cold. He needed to move his muscles and get his blood flowing to retain body heat before it was too late. With Elizabeth in tow, he began to swim towards the shore. Soon afterwards, when she was far too quiet and calm, he saw she had slipped into unconsciousness. His progress, though steady, was slow, and all too soon he tired. The cold started to penetrate the lard, taking its toll on him. Strong swimmer though he was, his limbs ached and were becoming numb. Still, he struggled onward.

  What a fool he had been to think he could survive the cold temperature of the water and swim the distance to shore as well. The feat would defy all human capabilities. He knew this, but it was worth the chance. Rather this, than be shot dead instantly. Rather this, and let Elizabeth go with some hope in her heart.

  He paused to check on her. She was still breathing. She was a strong woman. If he could get her to shore, he knew she’d live. He turned to see how far they had traveled from the ship. To his amazement, it was a considerable distance. To his satisfaction, he saw that the fire he had started in the galley had reached the up
per deck. Someone on shore was bound to see it. A tremendous sense of success and pleasure passed over him. It gave him the encouragement and extra stimulus to strive for the shoreline.

  He stared at Elizabeth floating like a buoy next to him. “I’ll not let you die.”

  From somewhere in the inner depths of his soul, the place one goes for the will to defy all odds, he mustered up all his strength and continued for the shoreline. As a man possessed, he paddled through the water in a trance-like state and concentrated all his efforts on the seabank ahead.

  He kept this steady pace until he thought he heard someone yell, “There. In the water.”

  He ignored the voice. It was merely mind tricks. It was his subconscious, trying to break his concentration—his weak side, encouraging him to give in to death.

  “Over there,” came the voice.

  Did he dare stop? Did he dare take the chance to see if the voices were real? If he did, and the voices were his imagination, he’d never have the energy to continue. Nay, it was best not to break his pace.

  “Hey. We’re going to throw you this lifebuoy. Hang on. We’ll have you out in no time.”

  He could stand it no longer. He wanted to hope. He wanted to believe the voices he heard weren’t imaginary. Consequently, he gave in to the temptation, stopped and turned towards the noise.

  Relief washed over him. There in the near distance was a currach. Three, four, nay five of the small boats with wicker frames covered in hide. He checked Elizabeth. She was blue and barely breathed. “Hurry,” he yelled. “She needs immediate care.”

  Someone threw a buoy to him and in seconds they were towed into one of the currachs. Their wet frozen forms were met with thick woolen blankets which were secured tightly around them. One of their rescuers held Elizabeth until Christian was seated in the bow of the currach. Christian opened his blanket, and they placed her in the crook of his arm. He closed his eyes and succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

  “Look at the ship!” a man with a nasal voice shouted.

  Christian’s eyes blinked open to stare at the Aurora. The others in the small fleet of currachs, stared at the ship, too. The fire had spread and appeared out of control. Men were jumping overboard. Christian smiled as he was sure it was Maguire who yelled “abandon ship.”