At the Captain's Command

by Louise M. Gouge

  With all canvas spread toward the favoring breeze, the Dauntless sped over the mild sea toward the other ships. One of them broke away and caught the same wind in its massive sails and swept like a diving seagull toward the nearby Florida Current. Once in that northbound stream, the vessel could easily gain a lengthy head start.

  “Do you think it’s Nighthawk, Captain?” Mr. Brandon stared ahead, his eyes bright with eagerness.

  “Only one way to find out.” Thomas’s own pulse raced with an anticipation he had not felt in some time. But then another thought struck him. The departing sloop might not be the pirate ship. Or the two could be allies. He had best check the near one, lest he miss the real culprit. She was not moving, which could mean any number of things.

  “Mr. Brandon.” Thomas’s first officer possessed a tactical mind worthy of being consulted.

  “Aye, sir?”

  “We’ll check this first sloop before giving chase. But it may be a trap, so assemble the gun crew and load and run out the guns, if you please. She sits high in the water. Either she’s just been raided, or she’s lightened her weight to make it easier to flee inspection.”

  Mr. Brandon studied the ship in question. “Aye, Captain, but the other one will be lost to us. If this one’s a pirate, wouldn’t she run?”

  Thomas grunted. “Not if she wished us to chase the wrong ship. If I were a pirate captain—and as smart as this Nighthawk is reputed to be—I’d play dead to feign my innocence whilst I sent my enemy on a fool’s errand. But she’s not flying colors. Let’s find out why.”

  “Look, Captain.” Mr. Wayland joined them on the quarterdeck and waved toward the merchant ship. “They’re hoisting a distress signal.”

  Thomas glanced at the three multicolored flags lining the ropes, signaling “need immediate assistance,” and clenched his jaw. He had begun to taste the success of seizing the pirate, but now he had no choice but to go to the aid of the sloop. “Mr. Smith, bring us athwart her stern.” If Thomas could be assured the other ship was Nighthawk’s, he would be obligated to follow. But with this uncertainty, he must see what this other ship was about.

  Determined to find the answers, Thomas joined Mr. Wayland and twenty of his sailors to row over to the Courier. Climbing the rope ladder and swinging over the bulwarks, he eyed the small sloop’s crew of perhaps eighteen men, ragtag sorts of varying ages, all of whom avoided his gaze. Several of them clustered around a bearded older man lying on the deck, his head cradled by a lad with the same face some thirty years younger.

  “Captain, sir.” The young man reached out a hand toward Thomas. “Have you a surgeon aboard? My father—” He broke off with a sob that Thomas thought sounded forced. But perhaps his opinion was colored by his reaction to his own father’s demise. Still, a man should be able to contain his emotions.

  “Mr. Wayland,” Thomas said to his lieutenant, “signal for Mr. Stark to come aboard.” Seeing no blood on the fallen man, Thomas felt some satisfaction. If the fleeing culprit was Nighthawk, he had kept to his reputation for not inflicting fatal injuries. While Thomas might one day have to see the pirate hang, he nonetheless could respect his humanity.

  A quick study of the main deck revealed no evidence of a struggle. None of the men appeared afraid or distressed. Did this mean they were Loyalists? Or was it all an act?

  The afflicted man seemed to rouse a little. “Let me up, boy.” His weak voice sounded legitimate. Once he sat up, he scrubbed one hand over his face while gripping his chest with the other. “Lost it all, lost it all. He took every last barrel. What about the crew, lad?”

  “All well, sir.”

  Too well, to Thomas’s way of thinking.

  The young man eyed Thomas. “Father, the British Navy is here.” The gentleness in his voice struck Thomas, and he swallowed away sudden emotion. The tenderness between these two…so unlike—

  Duty shoved away personal thoughts, and he stepped closer. “Sir, I demand to know why you are not flying your colors. We are at war with the American colonies, and every ship is required to declare its loyalties.”

  The captain still clutched his chest, and he moaned. This time, the moan did not ring true to Thomas, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Something was amiss, but he could not discern what. He signaled his men to go below to inspect the vessel.

  “Your flag, sir,” Thomas demanded. “Where is it?”

  The old man coughed, and his son’s widened eyes conveyed a fear that seemed otherwise absent from his demeanor. “Sir, the pirate captain demanded our Union Jack.” His pleading eyes reddened. “I think it was Nighthawk,” he whispered as he accepted a flask from one of his crewman. “Here, Father. Take a drink,” he murmured. “You’ll be all right soon. The surgeon is coming.”

  Somehow this all had the feel of a well-rehearsed play as good as any Thomas had seen at London’s Theatre Royal. But without proof, he could do nothing. He released a long sigh of frustration and ground his teeth together. How could he have been so foolish?

  His gaze shot toward the bright, empty eastern horizon.

  Chapter Twelve

  “The house will be quiet whilst thou are gone.” Anne folded Dinah’s pink frock and tucked it into the brown leather portmanteau. “But I shall console myself with the knowledge that thou will be having a grand time.”

  Dinah’s heart skipped at the thought. “I shall miss you, too.” She glanced around her room and tapped her chin with one finger. “Now what am I forgetting?”

  Anne laughed. “I do not think anyone can leave home without thinking much the same.” Her eyes twinkled. “What a blessing that thee will have Captain Moberly for additional protection and for company.”

  To keep her friend from seeing her foolish grin, Dinah turned to her clothespress and pretended to search for forgotten items. “Hmm. Perhaps I should take a winter night rail.”

  “For summer? In East Florida?” Anne’s teasing tone almost broke Dinah’s resolve. “Oh, Dinah, if thee could but see thy expression when I mention his name.”

  “Nonsense.” She continued to move clothes around, unfolding and shaking them out, then refolding.

  Anne sat on the bed and sighed. “I do understand thy feelings. Was it only six years ago that Artemis first came calling?” Her gaze shifted toward the window, and her lips curved in a soft smile. “Ah, such sweet memories. Seeing thy joy as thee awaits the captain reminds me of my own courtship.”

  Dinah watched her for a moment, stunned by the peace and…was that joy on her friend’s face? Shame needled into her mind and heart. Of course Anne loved Artemis, not because he was good, but because she was. In fact, when Dinah had been a young girl watching her foster sister fall in love and marry, she had admired Artemis, too. Back then, he had been kind to her, as to a younger sister.

  “I do long for those days sometimes.” Anne’s smile disappeared, and her forehead furrowed.

  Dinah sat beside her and grasped her hands. “Dear one, how I wish—”

  “Can thee imagine how hurt he was when his childhood friends turned against him?” Anne blinked, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Thee knows that I hold no king in honor above any other man, but to Artemis, monarchs are God’s designated authority for all to obey. To him, the young men of Nantucket are traitors to King George, and he holds no small degree of bitterness against them for their threats to tar and feather him for his loyalty to the Crown.” She shuddered.

  Dinah mirrored her reaction and then pulled Anne into her arms. “In this I agree with Artemis. Romans thirteen, verse one, tells us that we are to be subject to our God-ordained rulers, and when we resist their power, we commit sin. How can mankind live without the order provided by kings and governors?” And naval officers, too.

  Anne pulled back and gazed into Dinah’s eyes, her smile returning. “But in Luke twenty-two, our Lord Jesus says that while the kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, we, His children, are not to live in that manner.”

  “But�
�” Dinah released an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, Anne, we always say the same things when we have this discussion. Let me add that if everyone lived for the good of others, as you do, we would not need rulers. But many people are cruel and greedy and evil. Someone must prevent their wicked deeds, and therefore we must have rulers. How else shall evil be contained?”

  The clopping of horses’ hooves sounded beyond the window, and Dinah jumped to her feet.

  “He’s here.” She rushed to the window. “I mean, they’re here.”

  Anne joined her, laughing. “Yes, they are here.” The uncharacteristic teasing grin on her sweet face showed Dinah that she had not been the slightest bit fooled.

  The moment Dinah emerged from her house, Thomas’s anxieties disappeared. There would be time enough when he returned from this trip to think of chasing pirates and quashing revolutions. He had been granted leave by the Admiralty before sailing here from England so that he might visit Bennington Plantation. Perhaps this would be the last favor his father’s influence could purchase for him.

  She wore a simple brown traveling dress with a white underskirt and her wide-brimmed straw hat. Around her shoulders rested a lacy white shawl, enhancing her delicate appearance.

  As quickly as dignity permitted, he hurried through the rough iron gate to assist her. With an Indian guide, two soldiers from the fort’s Sixtieth Regiment of Foot and four of Browne’s East Florida Rangers riding with their party through the wilderness, he could not very well completely relax his military bearing lest he lose the men’s respect.

  “Miss Templeton.” He doffed his hat and bowed. “You are as radiant as today’s sunshine that heralds a successful expedition.” Bother. What a clumsy compliment. And here he fancied himself a poet. Did the verses he had already penned sound as foolish as what he’d just said? Whom could he ask to critique them before he made a fool of himself? But then, the smile Dinah directed his way held no censure, only generous acceptance. Perhaps his worries were without foundation.

  “Good morning, Captain Moberly.” She accepted his offered arm. “Your presence in our expedition ensures an enjoyable time, not to mention how safe we will be.”

  Once again she had responded to his efforts in an approving manner. Once again his only thought was What a delightful creature.

  He handed her into the covered coach, where she settled across from Dr. and Mrs. Wellsey and greeted them.

  “Will you join us, Captain?” She glanced down at the space beside her.

  “Perhaps later.” Thomas felt a pang of regret over the arrangements he had made, but nothing could be done to change them. “I must ride with the soldiers for now.”

  She gave him a gracious nod. “Yes, of course. I understand.”

  With Dinah’s baggage loaded onto the coach, Thomas mounted his borrowed steed and took his place at the front of the party with the other men on horseback. The coachman directed his team to follow them northward through the narrow streets to the city gate. Behind the coach, a wagon rattled along conveying Hinton, a serving girl and Dr. Wellsey’s medical supplies. Thomas noted with satisfaction that his steward took to the trip with the same unruffled composure he always exhibited aboard ship, whether in storm or battle or becalmed waters.

  The thirty-six-mile journey would take two days, if conditions remained as pleasant and favorable for speed as they were presently. Wellsey had assured Thomas that accommodations might be procured along the way, whether in the solitary Temple Inn some eighteen miles away or through the hospitality of some plantation owner.

  Once the party passed through the earthen walls that protected St. Augustine, they began their journey along King’s Road, which led northwest toward St. Johns Towne and Cowford on the St. Johns River.

  Mrs. Wellsey’s brother Charles, the guide who rode beside Thomas, pointed toward the countless alligators sunning themselves in the marshes beyond the city gate. “If we keep to the road and the bridges through the swamps, they should not bother us. But sometimes one will come out of the water looking for a meal, so keep watch.”

  As if to affirm the guide’s words, one of the giant beasts lunged from its perch on a log and clamped its massive jaws around a hapless blue crane that had wandered too close. The rest of the immense flock took flight with a thunderous flapping of wings while several more of the reptiles joined the feast, thrashing about in a watery melee.

  As he took note of the guide’s words, Thomas withheld a shudder. These creatures were as vicious as sharks and posed more danger because they came onto the land. He eyed Charles.

  “Those hides look like armor. Is it possible to kill them?” He tapped the musket sheathed in a scabbard on his saddle.

  Charles shrugged. “If you shoot well.” Were he a sailor in Thomas’s crew, his bold grin would have constituted blatant insubordination. “You’ll need to use your sword on the snakes.”

  Thomas caught onto his game. The lad was trying to unnerve him. “So we’ll see many snakes?”

  “Not if they see you first.”

  Thomas returned a smirk. “Duly noted.” But his stomach clenched over the uncertainties of the road ahead. As if facing his brother were not enough, his first priority of protecting the ladies might prove more difficult than he had thought. Used to lengthy voyages aboard his ship, he would learn something new on this journey into the jungle wilderness.

  “How kind of Mr. Moultrie to give us the use of this handsome coach.” Dinah ran her fingers over the red velvet upholstery and mahogany paneling. Wide windows provided a grand view of the passing scenery and permitted fresh forest air to breeze in. The coach drove over the smooth, wide road, rarely jarring the travelers. And although the wheels flung bits of heavy, sandy earth, very little dust flew up to hamper breathing or soil clothing.

  “His generosity could be political,” Joanna Wellsey said. “Captain Moberly and his brother could prove to be important allies for Moultrie in the future, should Dr. Turnbull decide to start his trouble again.”

  “Ah. Perhaps so. But still, it is a lovely way to travel.” Dinah and her friends often lamented the disagreements among the East Florida leaders. Was it not enough that the northern colonies fought against their king? These men should do everything possible to be in accord. The thought reminded her to pray for Thomas’s upcoming meeting with his brother.

  She had never felt it appropriate to inquire about his obvious dislike of Frederick Moberly, whom she found to be the kindest of gentlemen. Staunch loyalist John Moultrie and his rebel brother, Alexander, had seen their family shattered by the war. Surely Thomas and his brother could reconcile whatever differences divided them. Dinah beseeched the Lord that it might be so.

  Leaning back on his bench, Dr. Wellsey read his Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society through spectacles that kept sliding down his nose. From time to time, he would read a paragraph aloud and voice his agreement or disagreement, but most of the time he appeared absorbed in the medical journal.

  Dinah had hoped to pass the travel time in pleasant conversation with Captain Moberly, so she searched her memory for something to discuss with Joanna. The dark-haired woman was amiable enough, but she did not engage in idle chitchat like Elizabeth or discussions of spiritual matters like Anne. Perhaps she obtained her reserved demeanor from her Cherokee heritage, but sometimes her father’s Scottish wit showed up in her blue eyes. Dinah decided a companionable silence would suffice until they stopped for their midday meal.

  Shortly after noon, the party reached a clearing deep in the forest and left the roadway. The doctor helped his wife from the coach, and Thomas assisted Dinah.

  “I thank you.” Dinah took his hand and stepped down, feeling strength in his grip. She gazed up at his handsome face for as long as she dared before forcing her eyes to take in their surroundings. “How beautiful. Wild, but spectacular.” A canopy provided shade from the sun, and the breeze fluttered the ever-present Spanish moss hanging from the trees.

  After the men checked the area for d
angers, Thomas led her to a fallen log and they sat side by side.

  “Are you comfortable in the coach?”

  She wanted to tell him she would be more comfortable if he were riding inside with her, but good sense prevailed. “Oh, yes. It is a grand conveyance.”

  “And you do not mind this—” he waved his hand toward the forest and lifted one eyebrow “—jungle, for lack of a better word?”

  She laughed. “I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to it. If I must travel this road to see my dear ones, then it is a burden I gladly bear.” Never mind that the captain’s company lightened that burden considerably.

  He leaned toward her, his shoulder almost touching hers. “Tell me, Miss Templeton, is there anything that does not please you? For I never hear you complain.”

  The humor in his voice and gaze sent a pleasant feeling through her. As warmth began to rise within her, she forbade it to reach her cheeks. She would not, must not blush, for that would betray everything. Until the captain declared himself, she must hold on to her heart. The heat brought perspiration to her face, but she refused to lift her fan to wave it away. It was too soon to ask him if the images meant what she had guessed.

  “Hungry?” Again his eyebrow arched, and he tilted his head toward the wagon, where his steward and the serving girl were laying out a repast of bread, cheese, fruit and lemonade.

  She nodded. “You?”

  “Indeed.” He patted his stomach, an informal gesture that stood at odds with his elegant uniform. But it only added to his pleasing presence. “I’ll see if I can hurry things along.” He rose and executed an exaggerated bow. “I shall return.” Suddenly serious, he straightened. “I shall always return.” Then he strode away.

  A lump formed in her throat. With his repeated promise, or seeming promise, could she forget her own lifelong vow never to marry a seafarer? A bittersweet pang stretched through her soul as she realized what she truly longed for from Thomas. He might promise always to return, but could he promise never to leave?