Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  Another time, it might have been laughable. Ramon was fluently and colorfully profane on occasion, though never with Nate Bacon’s considered vulgarity. It was the practice as it applied to her that he objected to at that moment. Or was it, possibly, only a play for time.

  “That’s too bad, isn’t it?” Nate sneered, enjoying the feel of having the upper hand.

  “Is it?” Ramon, his eyes intent, straightened slowly and took the pistol from his sash.

  “Reverse it,” Nate grated.

  Ramon complied, holding the barrel of the gun in the palm of his hand.

  Nate could not hold the glass and grasp the pistol both. He realized it at the same time Lorna did. He hesitated. She braced herself. He dropped the glass, snatching for the pistol, and in that moment, she shoved, jostling him with her shoulder. At that exact instant, Ramon deliberately let the pistol fall. Nate gave Lorna a hard shove, diving at the same time for the weapon. Ramon made no effort to retrieve it. Instead, there was the singing rasp of his sword as he drew it from its scabbard. At the same time, he stepped in front of Lorna, shielding her where she had stumbled to her knees against the railing.

  Nate came up crouching over the pistol. His pale eyes widened, protruding as he saw the sword, but he was beyond rational thought or action. He drew back the hammer and jerked the trigger of the firearm. It went off at point-blank range, belching fire and smoke, the report deafening. Lorna screamed. Ramon flung himself to one side, dropping into a swordsman’s stance. He did not pause. His face a grim mask, he stepped to drive the yard of shining steel he held deep into Nate’s chest.

  Nate’s hands came up to clutch at the blade. He choked on a froth of red, then fell back as Ramon withdrew the sword. The ship plunged into a wave and rose as if shaking herself, with saltwater hissing against the fire that ate at her entrails. Nate rolled beneath the railing. Ramon grabbed for him, but he went over, falling limp in death into the sea.

  Lorna drew a sobbing breath. Ramon thrust his blade into its sheath and swung to her, drawing her to her feet and gathering her close, pressing her face into his shoulder.

  I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, “sorry you had to see that.”

  She shook her head. “No,” then said again more fiercely, “No!” She was glad that she had seen, glad that she could be certain, once and for all, that the thing between herself and Nate Bacon was over.

  His arms tightened, a safe haven enclosing her, infinitely comforting. A moment later, he stirred. “You are all right, chérie?”

  She straightened, giving a small nod, the smile that she summoned tremulous. “Now, I am.”

  “We lost the federal cruiser, but the fire will be a beacon for miles, drawing it the same way it drew us, though by God’s fortune and Frazier’s guesswork we were closer. We have to go.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He stared down at her an instant longer, as if assessing her strength and her well-being for himself, independent of her assurances. Then, a smile curved the firm lines of his mouth, lighting the darkness of his eyes. Inclining his head in what might have been a sign of admiration, he took her hand in his strong grasp and turned toward where the Lorelei waited.

  But, he was right. Before they were a cable’s length away from the doomed ship, the cruiser hove in sight out of the west, her running lights glimmering across the waves. Ramon had conferred with Frazier, and they were running south-southwest on a course that would take them back toward safety in the neutral waters of the islands. The captain of the federal ship was able to see them plainly in the flaring light of the burning hulk behind them. The vessel swung to cut them off.

  Ramon and Slick, standing near the wheel, watched the cruiser maneuver. “We could swing north as soon as we’re out of sight,” the lanky north Louisianian said.

  “How is the coal holding out?”

  It was Chris, who stood with Lorna and Frazier on the other side of the helmsman, who spoke. “The stokers are scraping the bottom and there’s maybe a few hundred cotton bales left. They are standing by with the axes to start on the woodwork again.”

  Two hundred bales of cotton left out of over seven hundred fifty, figured at a little over one hundred fifty dollars each, meant that they had sent nearly a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of cotton up in smoke out the stack and would be forced to send the rest. If Ramon had counted the cost, or even considered it, there was no sign.

  Ramon shook his head, his eyes dark with swift and cogent calculation. “We can’t risk it.”

  “We can outrun ‘em, head for one of the harbors of the northeast cays,” Frazier suggested.

  “It will be not quite dawn when we reach there,” Ramon said, his comment an indication that the alternative had been in his mind already. “Can you find your way in over the reef?”

  “I can find a place to drop anchor in a hurricane at midnight, if you can get her that far.”

  Ramon nodded. “Full speed ahead, then.”

  As the order was whistled down the pipe to the engine room, Lorna heard Slick say under his breath, “And the devil take the hindmost.”

  Nothing impeded the progress of the cruiser, however. It inched closer and closer. There came the moment when the captain thought it possible to intercept, so near did their courses run. The federal ship yawed to fire a broadside. The cannonade boomed, blossoming in lurid colors along the side of the great ship, creating a vast, rolling explosion of sound that struck them even as the shells fell in their wake. The time the cruiser lost in coming about again gave them an advantage, one they did not fail to take. They sped on with a short lead, racing into the darkness of the night.

  The chase was enjoined. It was as if the captain of the federal ship divined their intent, for though he could not see them as they ran with all lights extinguished, he hung behind them like a terrier after a rat. The winking glow of his own lamps, seen as they bobbed up and down on the waves, now vanishing, now appearing again, was a mocking threat. More threatening still was the firefly gleam of sparks that flew from the cruiser’s stack, indicating a plentiful supply of rough, but adequate coal.

  It was the shortest night ever seen in the world, and the clearest dawn. Not even a smudge of cloud hung in the sky, and the face of the water sparkled, so free of mist or fog that visibility extended unimpaired to the distant horizon. What could not be seen was the island.

  Lorna stood on the crowded deck, staring ahead in the limpid light of early morning, feeling its freshness on her face. Around them, some of the men from the other ships sat or lay rolled in blankets, though most stood watching, waiting. That the freedom of every man — and woman — on board was at stake was something well understood. Moreover, if they received heavy fire from the cruiser, with so many packed onto their ship, there were bound to be severe losses.

  During the night, Lorna had worked in the sick bay with Chris, treating burns and cuts, removing splinters, helping to bandage more difficult wounds. As she worked, she asked again and again for news of Peter from the survivors from the Bonny Girl, but no one had seen him, none could remember where he had been when the gunpowder had ignited. Most of those who had been physically able to make their presence in the water known had been picked up, she discovered, but there had been little time to spend searching. The safety of Ramon’s own men had decreed that he abandon the area before the threat of the cruiser. There was only one thing that was certain. Peter was not aboard the Lorelei.

  She tried not to dwell on it, but could not prevent her mind from returning again and again to the image of the Bonny Girl being blown apart, of men being tossed about on her decks like rag dolls. Death in these times was not an awesome thing, but mean and ugly and quickly over.

  “Land! Land, three points on the port bow!”

  Lorna jerked from her reverie at the railing, moving toward the wheel. Ramon had donned a shirt during the night and removed his sword, so that he looked more like a captain again, instead of a pirate. He and Slick were talking in low tones,
throwing a glance now and then at the cruiser stilt trailing them. Following their example, she frowned. The federal ship seemed closer than when last she had noticed. On closer inspection, she saw that the great vessel had more sail set, to catch the freshening breeze of dawn. With her quarry now in sight, she was straining to close the gap between them, and she was gaining.

  Lorna turned as Chris, his movements quick, came up, sketching a quick salute as he stopped before Ramon.

  “What did you find?”

  “They have picked up the last bits of the coal with a tweezer and used a pan for the dust. The cotton is gone, also the tobacco, right up in smoke. The same for the chairs, the tables, the paddle boxes, and most of the deck cabin. The question is, do you want to cut down the masts or hang sails on them?”

  If they burned the masts, they might steam a little longer; if they set sails, they could move a knot or so faster as the power of the wind was added to that of the engines. The canvas they could carry on their shortened masts could not equal that of the cruiser, however. It was a difficult decision.

  “Frazier,” Ramon said, swinging to face the islander. “How far?.”

  “An hour to the reef, two hours to a harbor,” came the laconic reply.

  He glanced at Slick. “Speed?”

  “At the last cast of the line, eleven knots. Not bad, considering what we’re burning. I figure theirs at maybe thirteen. And I’d say she was six, maybe seven miles off.”

  “If we could lighten—” Frazier began, then stopped abruptly. The cotton and turpentine and tobacco they had carried had been turned to fuel, and they were fast ridding themselves of the bulk of the ship itself. The only thing left to jettison was the human cargo, the extra men they had picked up from the two other ships, and that was clearly impossible. The islander made a face. “If we had just a little more coal, we could turn west, make the cruiser come about and lose the wind.”

  “If,” Slick said. “Anyway, she’d dog our track all the way to the Florida coast.”

  Chris cleared his throat. “If we stay close in to shore for that last hour, they won’t be able to follow.”

  It made sense, Lorna thought; the cruiser was a deeper-draft vessel and would not be able to follow into the shallows where they could go. But, even before Chris finished speaking, Slick was shaking his head. “If she catches up, she can stand out and pound the hell out of us.”

  That Ramon had taken these factors into account on the instant was obvious, for he seemed hardly to be listening. The bronze planes of his face were set in grim lines as he stared out at the federal cruiser. Finally, he turned. With a brief glance at Slick, he said, “Set sails.”

  The executive officer looked at Chris, then exchanged a glance with Frazier. The man at the helm stared at Ramon in surprise. It was not the order they had expected. It would be a close race, but at the rate they were traveling, it would take the cruiser some three hours to overtake them, and they had to try to reach port. If, on the other hand, they ran out of fuel before they could make harbor, the federal vessel would have all eternity to overhaul them.

  Chris saw it first. “I get it; we gain an extra knot or two for time, because the cruiser doesn’t have to be right on our stern to start firing.”

  None of it mattered, neither their calculations and brow-furrowing worries nor the haste with which a pair of flying jibs, a main sail, foresail, and an aft spanker were hauled up and set to catch the wind. A half hour after they were in place, a call came up from the engine room. The boilers were overheating from flues full of soot and cotton lint. If they didn’t blow off steam for a little cleaning, they would explode.

  The hiss of the steam escaping, the white cloud of it boiling into the sky while the federal ship bore down upon them, was enough to make the strongest heart quail. There was, at least, no reason to wince now at the noise. By the time the gauges showed a safe margin and they were able to get under way again, the cruiser was so close they could see without glasses the preparations for firing.

  They ran on. The spume flew from the uncovered paddle wheels, wetting the decks. The deck cabin structure was chopped away and carried below. The crew with their axes set to work on the bulwarks, and it was a toss-up among the men on deck whether they were glad to be rid of the potential for splinters or felt exposed without the protection from grapeshot. The relative merits would be tested, it seemed, for the cruiser was slowly gaining.

  Ahead of them, the water turned aquamarine, shading with the swirls of cream that was the living reef beneath the surface, deepening to turquoise, lightening to jade. They bore down on the land, coming close enough to see the outlines of the palms, the stunted pines, and the sharp formations of coral along the shore. There was an island close at hand now on their left, neutral territory, safety, and yet because there was no channel to reach it, no harbor, it was of no more protection than if it had been a thousand miles away.

  With narrowed eyes, Ramon watched the cruiser, swung to stare ahead, ran his gaze along the sand beaches that stretched beyond the reef. He stood straight, his feet slightly apart and his hands on his hips, balancing easily with the ship’s movement. The wind ruffled the dark waves of his hair and flapped the fullness of his shirt. He glanced back at the cruiser again, then looked away to where the sun was just breaking above the horizon, it was a long time before he moved; then, he turned to the helmsman.

  “I’ll take her,” he said.

  The seaman stepped aside, relinquishing his post. Ramon wrapped his strong hands around the spokes, holding them with care, as he might the hands of a woman. His chest filled, then he relaxed, letting his breath out slowly. He turned his head then, releasing his left hand, holding it out to Lorna where she stood watching him. She smiled, a puzzled expression in her gray eyes, but she went to him. He encircled her waist with his arm, smiling down at her. Then, setting his jaw, he spun the wheel hard over, turning the bow of the Lorelei straight in toward the beach shining in the light of the rising sun, and toward the jagged teeth of the reef. Above them, her canvas spilled the wind and flapped dismally as the crew jumped to furl it.

  “Captain!” Slick called, his voice sharp. “What are you doing?”

  “Prepare to lower the boats,” was his answer.

  The first office tried again. “Captain—”

  “The risk is too great. That isn’t a gunboat out there, it’s a man-of-war, two thousand tons, armed to the teeth, and manned by the best gunnery officers in the United States Navy. She’ll blast us to bits if we don’t surrender when the order comes, and there’s every reason to think it will do just that in the next half hour. Surrender would mean prison, maybe hanging, for all of us, but most of all for Lorna. Taking their fire would be suicide. The only safe place is on Bahamas soil, and that is over the reef.”

  “It’ll tear the bottom out of her.”

  Ramon’s tone was quiet, final, as he answered, “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Lorna stood in the circle of his arm, her body stiff with dismay as understanding of the sacrifice he was making struck deep into her mind. She swung, staring up at him. “Ramon, no! Not for me.”

  His eyes were dark, unfathomable, as he replied, “For none other, ever.”

  “You can’t,” she whispered.

  “It’s all I can do.”

  This was why women should not go to sea; not because they were useless or got in the way, or even because they were unlucky, but because their very presence, without their will or desire, affected the judgments men were forced to make. If she had not been there, she knew beyond doubting, Ramon would have taken his chances, wagering his life and that of every other man aboard against the prospect of finding a safe harbor for his ship. If she had not been there, the Bonny Girl would be floating still and Peter and all the others still alive. If she had not been there, Ramon and the Lorelei would be in Nassau. Or would they? It was difficult to find an end to this line of thought. She could not blame herself for her presence; she had been brought to sea t
his time against her will. Still, it was, perhaps, something within herself that had caused Nate Bacon to want her so desperately that he had abducted her.

  Now, they could hear the sound of the surf see its boiling wash ahead of them. Around them men yelled and shouted and worked to free the boats from their davits, making ready to lower them the moment the ship grounded. Unconsciously, Lorna braced, felt Ramon’s arm tightened at her waist. Behind them came the boom of a single salvo from the cruiser. It passed harmlessly behind them, as if in warning.

  The Lorelei plunged on, dipping her bow into the waves, so that the salt mist sprayed upward and caught the sun rays, forming a rainbow in the droplets. Mutilated, but buoyant, valiant in her pride, she rode with Ramon’s firm hands on the wheel holding her steady. The shouting stopped. The men fell silent. The engine beat as regularly as a giant heart, and the rushing slap of the paddle wheels was her pulse. The water ahead turned from blue to green to palest aquamarine. They saw the reef, like ancient bones, under the waves.

  She struck with a ragged scream of rending iron plates and tearing timbers. She jarred to a bumping, grinding halt. Lorna was set, expecting it; still, she was thrown forward against the wheel that spun crazily as Ramon released it to catch her. The hard strength of his arms cushioned her for a moment. Then, she was swept from him, pushed into a boat that was being lowered into the sea. As it pulled away from the ship, she looked back, dragging the hair out of her eyes to watch as the ship settled, listing.

  The next few moments were a confusion of events. The boat she was on landed and started back to the ship to bring more of the men to shore. The federal cruiser bore down on them, opening fire on the ship as if it meant to batter the crippled vessel to pieces. Then as another boat loaded with men started toward shore, the man-of-war peppered it with grape. Seeing the men fall, the gunsmoke on the water; hearing the cries and groans, the explosions, the whining shot; knowing that Ramon was still on the Lorelei and would not leave until every man was gone, Lorna went mad. She stood on the beach with the bright sun of morning glittering on the wild silk of her hair that whipped around her. Her skirts billowing, she shook her fist at the cruiser, screaming her outrage.