The men aloft didn’t stop to see what damage their guns had wrought for they were busily laying out every inch of canvas as the ship of the line turned with the wind.
The larger foe, seeing that the Englishman was applying hit and run tactics turned to bring her guns to bear and fired. Shot shrieked through the rigging of The Scarlet Eagle, followed by a tangle of lines and sail as the main top gallant was sheared off and fell to the deck, pinning four men under it.
"Cut those lines and get that debris over the side!" yelled the captain. "Smythe, turn her ninety degrees to larboard. Gunners, fire as she comes to bear!"
Once more the English ship turned and once again a quiver resounded through her hull as the cannons belched flame and iron at the enemy.
Aboard the Le Guerre, all was confusion for the commandant, along with the other officers. They had all thought the Englishman would run, so there was no hurry to reload her port cannons. It was the last thought they had, for a twenty-four pound iron messenger of death hurled across the quarterdeck, leaving only the dead and dying in its wake.
That was the beginning of total disorder on the stricken ship. Shouts for help, screams of pain and most especially a lack of positive leadership, created confusion that left the average seaman completely bewildered.
Aboard The Scarlet Eagle, Scott surveyed the hits from the last broadside, some of them outrageously lucky. He noted the Le Guerre was continuing to turn and all the masts were down over her port side, save her three-quarters of the main.
"Helmsman, bring her ‘round!" He motioned the direction desired with a wave of his hand. He turned to the littered deck below him. "Starboard guns, fire at will! When we draw close, rake ‘em with grape shot!"
"Aye, aye, Capt’n!" shouted a crewman, his grin showing through a powder blackened face.
"Musket men aloft!"
"Aye, aye."
"Boarding parties, prepare!"
"Aye, sir."
Scott smiled grimly as he checked his pistols in his belt. Now is the time, he thought, for the finishing touch.
The gun crews of the Le Guerre were working feverishly, trying to clear all the canvas, masts, spors, lines and other shattered pieces from their port side when the English ship moved along side and raked the rails and open ports with the hated grape shot. A few brave men stood by their guns and fought back, only to fall under the murderous hail. If only they had a leader to organize them for a fight, The Scarlet Eagle would not have gotten this close, but being acephalous, all was lost. These men were good fighters, but alas, it was as if their head had been severed. And if that wasn’t enough, the decks were being swept by musket balls from the sharpshooters in the rigging of The Scarlet Eagle.
Bold was the word for Captain Dominion as he leaped the rail seeking purchase on the hapless enemy. The two ships came together and the sounds cutting the air blended into one great yell as the privateer and his seamen swarmed over the gap and hurled themselves upon the reeling French. One of Scott’s men, with a shout of triumph and a flash of his sword blade, laid claim to the six gold coins.
Scott climbed a fallen mast, with sword and pistol in hand, onto the foe’s bridge. He leaped to the cluttered deck and found himself engaged in close combat with two French sailors. One fell victim to his pistol shot and a swift sword stroke dispatched the other. He looked quickly about and saw the reason for the opponents disorganized actions. The grisly remains were like an open book before him.
The combat was swiftly over and already some of his men were mopping up packets of resistance below decks. Others were waving their weapons and raising their voices in one victory roar for their brave leader, now standing alone on the quarter deck of the captured ship.
Scott raised an arm for silence as she spoke to them. "We’ve done it again, mates!
Suddenly from above in the rigging, a shot cut the air and Scott felt a burning in his chest. His body fell unconscious to the deck.
~ * ~
Danielle thought about the day she had delivered him.
She and Susanna had been walking on the beach, when the pains started. By the time they reached the cottage the butterfly feelings were becoming sharper. When Susanna had Danielle settled in her bed and was satisfied that all was in order, she ran to get Jenny. The afternoon had seemed endless and the baby was putting up a fight of his own. But Jenny, with her reassuring words and gentle ways, coaxed the baby from the warmth of his mother’s womb into the harsh sounds and bright light of day. He was beautiful and he was Scott’s. Satisfied that he was healthy and had the allotted number of fingers and toes, Danielle remembered drifting into a deep slumber that only the truly exhausted can ever know.
The rustling sound of the wind in the trees above her head brought her mind back to the present. Scotty was sitting on the beach, playing in the sand. His dark curly locks blew in the breeze. Danielle could not see his eyes but she knew they were becoming closer to the color of his father’s every day. He was pouring more of the beach over his head than he was getting in his bucket. He was still too young to coordinate his tiny little hands into doing what he wanted them to do. He continued to pat at the little hill he was building, unmindful of the adoring eyes watching him. He was her life now, Danielle realized and it never ceased to amaze her how very much like his father he seemed to her. Though her husband had still not returned home, his presence was alive in his son.
She leaned against the tree and rested her cheek against its bark. Her mind was on Scott more than ever these last few days and she was beginning to be worried. Though never far from her thoughts she felt more anxious of late. What if something had happened to him? she thought. How would she ever survive without him? She turned to glance up the hill to the big manor awaiting its owner’s presence. Scott had told her to move in and live there until he came back, but she refused. It was much too big and imposing without him. And besides, she remembered insisting, she would wait until he could carry her over the threshold. She sighed and went over to get her son.
The minute he spied her, he smiled. "Mama!" He lifted his arms up for her to pick him up.
She brushed most of the grit off the seat of his pants and took his hand. "Come on honey, we have to go see Nana and Papa. It’s time for Mother to go to work."
They walked side by side, slowly, since the little one had barely began to walk but he seemed to enjoy it so much, so she took her time. Finally, when they reached the steps going to Jenny and Ricardo’s front door she picked him up to carry him into the house.
Ricardo was the first to come to her rescue. He held his arms out and Scotty immediately did the same. He loved his ‘Papa’ very much because he would let him ride on his back and crawled around the parlor floor and played many fun games with him.
"He probably needs a bath, Ricardo. He has sand in his drawers and all through his hair." She shook her head at them both as Ricardo tickled and Scotty giggled.
Jenny was just entering the room drying her hands on a cloth. Her face lit up at her grandson. She could never get enough of the little tyke. Danielle went to her and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "I’ve got to run or I’m going to be late. I’ll be back as soon as class is over." She waved to her son ‘bye-bye’ and left the house.
After the birth of her son, she accepted the position of teacher to the French Huguenot children. For most, it was their first schooling and they proved to be eager students, in this peaceful land where their parents weren’t persecuted and didn’t have to live in the fear that still raged across France.
England was very kind to the French and the immigrants openly called this new land ‘Christ’s Sanctuary.’ Parliament had voted considerable sums for the public purse for the relief of the poorer newcomers, some even received pensions. While those young enough either joined the army or found employment in houses of rich merchants or persons of quality.
While it was true the displaced upper middle class, who comprised the bulk of the Huguenots, had the most influence on its new hom
eland, there was scarcely a branch of trade in Great Britain that did not at once feel the beneficial effects of the large influx of professional businessmen, experienced workmen and trades people from France. Besides improving those factories that had already been established, they introduced many entirely new forms of industry. And by their skill and intelligence, they richly repaid England for the hospitality and the asylum which had been so generously extended to them in their time of need. Here the French children and Danielle Dominion could forget the hatred they had left behind.
Danielle was in the middle of a grammar lesson and happened to glance out the window. She stopped her sentence mid-stride. The Scarlet Eagle lay at anchor in the bay.
"Class dismissed," she stated flatly, trying to maintain her composure. "We’ll finish this lesson tomorrow." The children ran from the room and she looked once more at the ship, her knuckles white with the strain, gripping the window sash.
As she closed the door to the school house she saw the longboat touch shore. The men stepped out and removed a stretcher of sorts from the bottom of the boat and started up the hill to Jenny’s.
"Oh, No!" Her heart fell to her feet and she stumbled but luckily did not fall. She ran across the sand trying to catch up to the men moving swiftly up the hill. When she was almost upon them she saw the reclining figure, his dark curly hair topping the head of the man she loved. He was not moving and his face looked so pale.
"Is he dying?" She asked anxiously, holding her breath waiting for one of them to answer.
"We’re not sure, m’lady. But we thought it best to bring him home. He’s been unconscious for three days now and it’s a might worried we are."
Danielle, a sickening dread settling in the pit of her stomach followed closely beside the moving stretcher. Jenny flung the door wide allowing the men to enter.
"Come this way." Where Danielle thought she was going to burst into tears, Jenny was in complete control of the situation. On the way down the hall to Scott’s old room she spoke over her shoulder. "I sent Ricardo for the doctor as soon as I saw you bringing him up. He should be arriving shortly."
Once the men had him undressed and in his bed they stepped out of the room to tell Jenny quietly what had happened. They did not realize Scott’s wife was the woman they had left inside the bedroom or they would have told her instead.
His face, white as the sheet, sported a full growth of beard that looked foreign to her and dark rings were under his closed eyes. Jenny returned just in time to help her remove the soiled, stained bandages from his wound. His beautiful tanned skin had a jagged tear where one of his seamen had removed the ball. The injury was inflamed and swollen, showing the infection spreading around the wound.
She immediately jumped to the task to make him well. By the time the doctor arrived she had already cleansed the skin around the wound with warm water. She sat back on a short stool while he inspected the damage.
"It’s going to have to be reopened, I’m afraid, to release the poison." He opened his bag bringing out his equipment. "Ladies, do you think you can hold him down? I don’t care if you have to lay across him, you must try to keep him as still as possible."
Danielle took over the top part of his chest holding his arms down as best as she could. Jenny took over his lower torso to keep him from kicking and squirming too much. Both women actually lay on top of the big man, putting all their weight upon him.
Scott only groaned and tried to sit up with the initial incision, then quickly fell back into oblivion. The doctor made quick work of cleansing out the poison from the wound until all that showed was a fresh flow of red blood. He put some healing salve over the damage and bandaged up the wound. He replaced his tools into his bag and spoke. "That’s all we can do for now, ladies." He handed Danielle an envelope with some powder in it and some extra bandages and salve. "Give him a little powder in water every few hours and it may help with the fever. Except for keeping the wound clean and bandaged that is all we can do. Except pray."
While Jenny walked the doctor to the door, Danielle pulled her stool closer to the edge of the bed. She took fresh cloths and wiped cool water over his fevered brow, brushing his hair away from his forehead. She then picked up his suntanned hand and kissed it and held it at her cheek. He would not die! She would not allow it!
Ricardo and Jenny both offered to relieve her but she wouldn’t budge. This was her husband in that bed and she would take care of him. The older couple left her alone except for seeing she ate and brought her fresh water whenever she needed it. They took over caring for Scotty. They kept Scott’s door closed so Danielle would be free to be with the man she loved. When night arrived she crossed to a nearby rocking chair, pulled her shawl around her shoulders and dozed. She woke periodically through the night to continue her vigilance with cool cloths and soft words. She knew he could not hear her, but told him of Scotty, of her job, how she had missed him mostly, but anything to keep herself from screaming her anger or crying her eyes out. She had to control herself!
The next morning Jenny woke her with a cup of chocolate, asking if she would like to have a break and stretch her legs. "Thanks, Jenny… but I just can’t leave him. You do understand, don’t you?"
"Of course I understand. But you can’t make yourself sick, you must try to rest. You have a son to raise, remember." She placed her hand upon the younger woman’s shoulder. "I would be very upset if you became ill."
Danielle reached up and placed her hand over Jenny’s. "I won’t Jenny. I promise if I get too tired, I’ll have you or Ricardo relieve me, all right? But I will be sure my son has a father to help raise him when I’m through. Scott will not die!" her words were adamant.
"Of course not!" Jenny agreed. She was in complete agreement with Danielle. Her son would not die!
When Danielle changed his cloth that afternoon the wound looked much cleaner and part of the swelling had gone down. His fever concerned her the most now. She cleansed every part of his body with the cool damp cloths. She caressed with gentle movements of the cooling material every single inch of him. She wiped across his forehead and down his cheeks. She tried to drop a few drops of cool water on his parched lips. She ran her hand across his chest and down his flat stomach, down each leg to the tops of his feet. She hoped this method was cooling Scott off for it was having an opposite affect on her. God, the man was handsome and powerful looking, even in sleep.
There were times when he would groan and move his head back and forth. Once she could have sworn she heard her name come from his lips. When it came time each day to give him the powder and some water and even a little broth, she had Ricardo come in and hold his back up. Most of it ran down the cloth she had tied around his neck, but she did manage to force some in his mouth and he did swallow. She had hope.
He had aged a little since she had seen him. A few new wrinkles at his eyes and near his mouth. But otherwise the time had been kind to him. Had she aged she wondered? Would he think she looked older?
She left the side of his bed and softly walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall. Her outer appearance seemed the same, maybe a little rounder in the waist. Her round dark eyes looked tired from lack of sleep, and there was a couple of small wrinkles near their corners. She surveyed the rest of her in the mirror. Her black hair was tied back into a neat knot at the base of her neck. She wore a pink batiste dress, with a round neckline, that flowed to the floor. It was a simple design, but it fit the role of school teacher. Danielle turned from side to side peering at her figure in the mirror. She didn’t notice the mirror still reflected the shapely body of a beautiful woman.
Danielle looked down at the pale but handsome face resting against the pillow. This was the third night she had sat with Scott, watching over him. A groan from the patient brought her attention to his face. She slid her arm beneath his neck, raising his head for a drink of water. A few drops slipped between his lips before he groaned in pain. Gently she laid him back, resting his head once again on the pillow. Sh
e took the cloth and dipped it in the basin, wringing it out to place it across his forehead. Danielle watched as Scott sunk once more into deep restful oblivion before she pulled the sheet back to check his bandages. Her fingers moved tenderly over the muscular chest--where she had once laid her head in a lover’s embrace, there was now a healing wound. How she longed to caress his tormented body and soothe away the pain.
She held his hand in both of hers, her heart aching for the man at her side. His skin felt a little cooler and she prayed that it would remain so.
"My love," he whispered, his voice scratchy and hoarse. His eyes were open and staring at her. She felt him gently squeeze her hands before his eyes closed once more and he fell back into a deep slumber.
Danielle could have shouted with joy except for the fact that it would probably have awakened him again. A smile crossed her face and she wanted to dance. He was going to live! Her husband was going to live!
Danielle was straightening his room the next day when she felt someone staring at her as she moved across the floor. She turned immediately to the bed and found Scott watching her.
He smiled. "I thought I had dreamed you." His voice was but a whisper of the original.
She rushed to his side. "Oh Scott, darling! Thank God! How do you feel?" Her hand automatically went to his cheek. His eyes looked tired but clear, the fever had gone.
He reached out and picked up her other hand resting on his arm. His thumb caressed her palm, sending shivers to her toes. "Almost well enough to attack you, my love." His lips curved into the most tantalizing, handsome smile.
His eyes moved slowly over her. She looked so beautiful to him. Her hair in a chignon at the nape of her neck, her dress the color of blue found often on the sea, made her look a prim and proper lady. He realized how long it had been since he had seen her in a dress. What happened to that fiery ship’s captain he had held in his arms? But he decided he liked the more feminine attire. Especially the way it cupped her breasts and tucked in at her tiny waist. Oh, if he only had more strength!
The Gypsy Witch Page 21
