Emily gave him a mysterious smile and hobbled ahead of him to sit upon a low wooden bench that was nailed to the deck beneath the protective shelter of the smaller boats. Leander sat down beside her and quietly watched her as she looked out upon the frothy waves. The wind had loosened strands of her pale hair, which she’d tied back with her red scarf. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes shone in the duskiness of early morning. She had thrust her hands into the large pockets of his borrowed coat, her small frame all but disappearing in the folds of the sturdy material, save for her blue silk shoes. Again he wondered who she was.
“Why, Doctor, if the winds would stop blowing so wildly, I’d race you up to the main topgallant.”
Leander stared at her. “Are you trifling with me? Could you … I mean … have you actually ever climbed to the main topgallant?”
Emily relaxed her shoulders, and gave him an admissive nod.
Leander could only gaze upon her in wonder. He wanted to tell her that Captain Moreland would be most interested in this bit of information, but, fearing she would cease speaking so freely, he merely said, “That’s incredible!”
“The truth is, Doctor, I was a climber almost from the time I left the womb.”
“A climber? How so?”
“As a child, I would climb anything that stood before me: a fence, a tree, a balustrade, a barn roof, even though – in doing so – I caused my poor nurses such alarm.”
“I am certain you must have,” said Leander. “But I suppose … there is something in you that does not leave me in complete surprise by this knowledge.”
“If anything, my father encouraged this kind of behaviour,” Emily went on, a wistful smile on her lips. “He was proud of my climbing feats … most likely because I was his only child, and he had wished – as all men do – for a son.”
“A son that would enter the Royal Navy rather than … than taking up farming?”
Emily avoided Leander’s inquisitive glance. “Do not worry yourself, Doctor, I shall not encourage a competition to the topgallant.”
“If you did, I would have to decline. I’m afraid I am a physician, not a sailor.”
“Perhaps not a sailor, but there must be some of the adventurer in you?”
Leander paused to consider that one. “I believe there is more of the adventurer in you than in me.”
She smiled, and a faraway look crept into her eyes.
“Now if you were to run up the main topgallant this minute,” he continued, “you might shock the sensibilities out of a few men. I understand many of them hate being up there themselves.”
“But wouldn’t it be great fun, Doctor? Captain Moreland and Mr. Lindsay would be quick to consult their Articles of War to decide just how they could punish me. Should they withhold my grog rations? Give me a cobbing or a flogging? Seize me up to the shrouds for a night or have me court-martialled?”
“Perhaps they could give you all five punishments!”
They both laughed, then fell silent, listening to the men on their watch, shouting at intervals to one another above the howling tempest.
“Heave the lead, if you please.”
“Winds from the northeast.”
“Compass reading.”
“No sounding yet, sir.”
“What is our speed?”
“We’re scudding at a rate of seven knots.”
Leander was the first to speak again. “There is a hood to the coat. It might help to keep you dry. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I welcome the rain. It is so hot and smelly below deck. I wonder that you can work in such conditions.”
“I have done it such a long time now, I hardly notice. Then again, the quality of the air is not a priority when a man is dying on the table before you.”
Emily turned to look at him and smoothed back her hair. “Why are you a ship’s physician? You are not like other navy surgeons and physicians that I have known or heard about.”
Leander frowned at her question. “How is that?”
“You’re clever and well-educated and don’t seem to have a problem with drunkenness.”
“I thank you for the compliment, but I must confess to enjoying spirits upon occasion.”
“When you are lopping off limbs?”
“No, never upon those occasions.”
“That’s what sets you apart.” She continued to look at him, making him uncomfortable. “So … why are you on a ship, Doctor?”
For the longest time he did not reply and Emily wondered if he would prefer to follow her example and evade her question. She was about to apologize for her impertinent curiosity when he opened his lips in answer.
“I left England eight years ago, when my old friend Fly encouraged me to join the Isabelle’s crew – they being in need of a doctor as their last one had died of typhus. With Nelson and his Trafalgar victory, everyone at that time seemed caught up with navy fever, myself included. I found I quite enjoyed life at sea, despite the fact the food is often revolting and I’ve banged my head a few too many times on the deck beams.”
Emily searched his face. “Do you have no family left in England?”
“My mother and father still live in Steventon, near Winchester.”
“And you have no other family?”
Leander looked down at her young face, damp with sea spray, and the dancing tendrils of her wheat-coloured hair. “I was married once. My wife died delivering me of a son. Two months after burying her, my little boy died. I was their attending doctor, but I could not save their lives.” He watched her dark eyes grow sad and quickly added, “It was a long time ago, Emily.”
She shifted her gaze away towards the swollen waves that rose up like shapeless beasts to challenge the Isabelle. For several minutes, as if mesmerized by the harsh scene, she said nothing, but when she turned again towards Leander there was a sympathetic smile on her face.
“The woman you write to – who is she?”
“How do you know I write to a woman?”
“I – I am only guessing.”
He leaned back to stare at her in surprise. “You are an intriguing woman – one who is content to ask questions of others, but avoids answering them about herself.”
She angled her head. “Are you interested in learning something of me?”
“Every man on this ship is interested in learning something of you.”
“Good answer, Doctor! But now we are talking about you. And you were about to tell me the woman’s name.”
He raised one auburn eyebrow and met her questioning eyes straight on. “Jane. Her name is Jane.”
“Jane?”
Leander was certain there was a hint of disappointment in her voice. He could see the next question forming on her lips when Fly Austen blew past their sheltered corner.
“Leander!” he cried upon discovering his friend. “I would have thought you were snoring soundly in your hammock at this hour.” Then realizing it was Emily sitting with him, he added, “Oh! Good morning, ma’am.”
“I might have said the same about you, Mr. Austen,” Leander said.
His dark, wavy hair blowing wildly about, Fly laughed into the wind and reached out to steady himself on the nearest cutter. “I should like nothing better; however, at six bells, James wants to begin questioning the men who were brought on board. I’m on my way below to see how well our guests fared the night.” He looked from one to the other with a wide grin. “And you two are – ?”
“Out for a breath of fresh air, Mr. Austen,” Emily said quickly. “The hospital, as you can well imagine, is oppressively hot and crowded.”
Fly still grinned. “And your many patients, Doctor? Who’s attending them?”
“The ever-capable Mr. Brockley, of course.”
“Well, then, they’re in very good hands.”
A furore of voices suddenly pierced the howling wind. Those on watch, having stood silent and hidden at their posts, hastened to the larboard rail to investiga
te the hubbub at the front of the ship near the bowsprit.
“Man overboard!”
“Nay, men overboard!”
“Heave-to, lads; slow her down.”
“Throw ’em a barrel, a spar – anything that’ll float.”
“Can we lower a cutter fer ’em?”
“Nay, too dangerous in this weather. Heave-to.”
“It’s Morgan … one of ’em’s Morgan Evans.”
Emily’s right hand flew to her mouth and her stomach began churning in horror.
“They must have fallen from the yards,” hollered Fly. “Leander, your services may be needed. You will excuse us, Emily?”
“Certainly,” she said faintly.
Fly hurried off, pulling his way into the gale by grasping onto the larboard rail. Leander stood up slowly, as if he loathed the thought of leaving her. “I’ll first take you back to the hospital.”
“No. Please. I’m coming with you.”
6:30 a.m.
(Morning Watch, Five Bells)
IN THE DREARY MORNING LIGHT, Emily could see the two men bobbing on the raging sea – so small and helpless, like young birds fallen far from their mother’s nest. She stood well back and out of the way of the sailors as they hurled buckets, benches, broken spars, and barrels into the slate-grey waves, in the hopes that the men might reach one of them.
“Who else, besides Morgan, fell in?” she asked Gus, who stood next to her alongside the larboard rail, squinting through his spyglass.
“Mr. Alexander. They were both trying to fix a broken yardarm on the foremast.”
“Can they swim?”
Gus shook his head. “Most of us cannot.”
Emily’s gaze fell upon Gus’s little blond head; a mixture of excitement and worry animated his young face as he watched the carpenters through his spyglass. She thought of poor Magpie asleep in her hammock.
“I’m glad you’re safe, Gus,” she said.
He beamed up at her. “I’m glad you are safe as well, Em.”
“The men – they will need blankets when they are pulled in. Dr. Braden has a few in the hospital. Would you mind fetching them?”
Gus handed her his spyglass. “Right away!”
When he was gone, Emily shrank back from the rail and pulled up the hood on Leander’s coat, knowing the sight of her above deck was liable to cause Captain Moreland or Mr. Lindsay to have a stroke, in the event they should happen by. She said a silent prayer for Morgan and Mr. Alexander, and turned her back to the east wind to fix her eyes upon Leander, who had joined the chorus of sailors leaning over the rail shouting encouragement to the carpenters as they laboured to reach one of the floating objects.
“Morgan – the barrel – grab onto it! Swim harder, man! You’re almost there,” Leander cried. Folds of his long forest-green coat furled around his tall frame like an untethered canvas on its yard, revealing the slim curves of his legs in his brown stockings and knee breeches. And when he turned his eyes towards her, as if reassuring himself she was still close at hand, Emily felt a wonderful surge of warmth flow through her.
Still pulling on his uniform coat and looking as if he had just roused himself from his hammock, James swiftly arrived on the fo’c’sle deck and joined Leander at the rail. “Can we save them?”
“Morgan’s got a hold of a barrel,” said Leander. “Looks like he’s going back for Mr. Alexander.”
James spun around to seek the whereabouts of the sailing master. “Mr. Harding, a word, if you please.”
Mr. Harding quit his station next to Lewis McGilp at the wheel and limped over to the rail.
“Do we have any idea where we are, Mr. Harding?”
“The gale has blown us off course. We won’t have an exact location until we see the sun again and can make an accurate measurement, sir.”
“We may never see the sun again. What is your guess?”
“Dangerously close to Cape Hatteras, I’d say. Definitely off the North Carolina coast.”
“Did you try sailing into the wind?”
“We did, but the rudder received a hit during the fight, and the unfurled sails are so full of holes they are next to useless. We need to repair her, sir. It is almost impossible to steer her in her present condition.”
“Why wasn’t I awakened earlier?”
“We – you were up half the night.”
“And so was every other man on this ship.” James frowned. “If we’re smashed upon the shoals of Hatteras, we’ll all soon be sleeping.”
“With respect, sir, what more could have been done?”
“We could have prayed, Mr. Harding.”
Teetering a hundred feet above them, one arm pointing towards the western horizon, the lookout bellowed, “Land, ho! Land, ho!”
Peering into the gloom, James was certain he could see the dim outline of land in the distance. His heart quickened. “Mr. Tucker? What is our depth?”
“No soundings as of yet, sir.”
“Heave the lead lines again,” James ordered, taking a deep breath before returning his attention to his carpenters’ pitiful predicament. Morgan now had one arm locked around the barrel and another trying to hold onto Mr. Alexander, who sputtered and croaked in fear. The shouts of the men on the Isabelle became desperate and louder than before.
“They’re closer now. Throw ’em lifelines.”
“C’mon, Morgan. C’mon, now.”
“You can do it.”
“You’re almost home.”
Seeing the lifelines hit the water, Morgan released the barrel and battled his way through the waves towards them, one hand still gripping the collar of Mr. Alexander’s shirt.
Suddenly a massive, merciless wave rose up like the foot of a giant and crashed down upon the carpenters’ heads, shoving them beneath the sea’s white surface. “Good God!” gasped James, scrambling farther down the rail to watch in horror. There was an outpouring of despair on the Isabelle. Two young midshipmen standing against the rail wheeled away from the disturbing scene and wept openly. Gus reappeared, quietly gave Emily two blankets, and went off to console his distraught friends.
“Pull in the lifeline!”
Old Bailey Beck had tied a cord of rope around his belly and was being hoisted up onto the side of the ship by a couple of sailors when James guessed his intentions. Sensing his disapproval, Bailey calmly stated, “I’m goin’ in after me buddy, Cap’n, even if I die tryin’,” and with his long, white hair and dungaree shirt blowing around him, sprang from the Isabelle like a mythical druid in self-sacrifice. Feet first, he splashed into the swirling waters. When he surfaced he began paddling like a dog towards the place where the men had gone under.
“Cap’n, sir – Old Beck – he canna swim.”
“Damn fool! I don’t need the loss of another man on my conscience.”
The moment James demanded Bailey be pulled in, Morgan reappeared, crying out, gasping for air, both of his hands clenching the lifeline. Emily clutched her chest in fervid relief while yelps of delight and applause erupted amongst the onlookers – if only for a brief time. It was soon apparent to them all that Morgan was alone. The waves continued to rise and fall, but Mr. Alexander was no longer there. The celebration ceased and all became eerily silent, save for the wind’s moans and the unceasing crash of the waves that knocked about the Isabelle.
Emily inched nearer to the circle of seamen toiling to retrieve both Bailey Beck and Morgan from the water. No words were spoken, only grunts of effort heard, and when the rescued men’s feet finally touched the Isabelle’s firm deck, Bailey grabbed his buddy and held him close. “Thanks to thee Lord for sparin’ ye.”
While Morgan rested his head on Bailey’s bony shoulder, Emily could see the anguish on the young man’s white face, and his slim body shuddering from head to toe. Even with pain and misery filling his eyes, he noticed her hooded figure amongst the sailors, coming towards him with the offering of grey blankets. With trembling hands, he took them from her, glancing at her feet, and
in a strangled voice said, “Mr. George. Sir.” Emily placed a sympathetic hand on his shivering arm before he and Bailey Beck were whisked away to the hospital, Morgan twisting his head around for a last look at her.
Beside her, Leander cleared his throat. This time his eyes did not meet hers. “I must return below. It would be unwise for you to linger much longer. Stay with Mr. Walby – please.”
He left before Emily could reply. She watched him lean down to exchange a few words with the young midshipman, and then he disappeared down the main hatchway. Gus stretched his neck around to seek her out, and once he had spotted her in Dr. Braden’s oversized coat, sent a warm smile her way.
“Back to work. Back to work, men,” Fly Austen ordered as he stomped through the crowd of loafers still lining the rail, all of them staring forlornly into the brightening sea as if hoping that somehow Mr. Alexander would appear in the water within rescuing distance of the Isabelle. Fly waved his arms madly about to break them up, but there was no harshness in his voice.
Six sombre bells sounded around the suffering ship and from some unseen location a ghostly voice cried out, “Fifty fathoms! Grey mud.” Nearby a sailor repeated the words.
Emily sidled up to Gus, whose fair hair was dark with dampness, and whispered, “Mr. Walby, I heard Captain Moreland speaking of shoals near Cape Hatteras. Are we in danger?”
“Aye, it’s a worry. It’s not just any shoals, though, Em. It’s the Diamond Shoals. The sands in these parts are constantly shifting and extend more than ten miles from the Cape. I’ve only heard tell of them, but I do know plenty of ships have foundered here. There’re no natural landmarks on shore, except for the lighthouse, and its light is rarely burning. As well, there are strong currents here, and the currents, along with this northeast wind, are forcing the Isabelle towards those shoals.” Seeing a look of alarm cross her pretty face, he added, “Don’t worry, Em. You’re sailing with a good lot.”
Trying to oust the ruined rudder and the useless sails from her mind, Emily swallowed her fear and put on a brave face. “For so young a man, your nautical knowledge is impressive.”
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