Broken Wings

by Judith James

  Lord, how I miss you, Sarah! You pervade my entire being. I miss the feel of your head on my shoulder at night, the soft caress of your breath against my cheek, and the sooth­ing comfort of your heart, beating strong and steady next to mine. I leave a space for you beside me, even though you're far away. I watch the night sky, and when I see Venus, I imagine your arms wrapped round me as you lean against my back. I smell your scent and crave your touch.

  They say that time and distance teach perspective. Well, it has taught me this. Fortune, adventure, discovery, these are hollow things without your presence to bring them to life. I am determined that when this adventure is completed, I will not part from you again. I confess to a love for the sea, but her charms are insipid and pallid things compared to yours. I will spend my life at sea only insofar as you may wish to accompany me.

  I am serious, mignonne. I hope to gain enough from this adventure to have a vessel and a crew of my own. If you will have it, we will adventure together as man and wife. If you will not, then I shall hire a captain and spend my days doting upon you until I am so much underfoot and such a nuisance that you will indulge me, and we shall run away to sea together. Think what a marvelous observatory we might fashion on the quarterdeck at night.

  Ah, mon amie, you've become a habit with me, much like breathing, and God's truth, it seems as hard to do without you as to do without air. If I were there with you now, or you here with me, I would pull you close in my arms, bury my face in your hair, and give you a thousand kisses, starting with your pretty shell toes and the magnificent arch of your dainty foot, which, I assure you, is far lovelier and more inspiring than any of the tracery or architecture in all the cathedrals and palaces I have seen here in Paris.

  I shall wish you a good night now, love. I'm going to slip between the sheets and close my eyes so that I may imagine you beside me and visit you in my dreams. Until I can take you in my arms again, know that I hold you close in my mind, in my heart, and in my soul.

  Forever Yours,

  Gabriel

  Chapter

  23

  It was mid-June when they finally returned to Calais. The newly fitted L'Espe'rance stood at anchor in the harbor, riding high in the water, pennants flapping in the breeze. She'd been captured from the French in 1784. French warship design and construction was far superior to that of the English, and she was sleeker, faster, and more powerful than anything Davey might have bought from an English shipyard. Square sailed, she was fitted with twelve nine-pound cannon, Davey having chosen to sacrifice some of her original firepower for maneuverability and speed. She was no longer a warship after all, but a privateer, and her prey was merchant ships, her goal, to catch and board them, not to sink them. As it was, she combined a formidable capacity for attack and defense with agility and lightning speed. She was Davey's first love, his pride and joy.

  As they were rowed out to join her, the bustle and frenetic activity, which from shore had resembled a swarming anthill, became sharper, distinguishing itself into human form. Gabriel could see busy sailors passing casks of salt pork and beef, cheese and ship's biscuit, beer and rum, into the hold from the boats hove to alongside. They also loaded powder and solid shot, for bringing down masts and smashing through hulls; chain shot, to take down sails and rigging; and bags of sand, to act as ballast. When their cutter bumped to a halt against the starboard side, the waterman caught the main chains with a hook, holding it steady along­side as they climbed, hand over hand, up the ladder and onto the deck.

  Early the next morning, Gabriel stood on the quarterdeck, skin pricking with excitement, seized by the spirit of adventure and the thrill of the unknown. The L'Espe'rance was rolling a little, but she slid along smoothly, the only sounds the gurgling of the sea green waves frothing past her hull, and the rhythmic creak­ing of her spars and joints. As she surged forward, the coastline faded and disappeared, and only the deep blue sea and azure sky stretched on the horizon. Taking a deep breath he raised his face into the sea breeze and called out a course for Gibraltar. They were underway.

  Davey managed his ship and crew with far more organization and discipline than would be found on a pirate vessel, and far more freedom and flexibility than would be found in His Majesty's Navy. There were no floggings or hangings, and no drunkenness or deser­tions aboard his ship. His men were a tight-knit group

  of highly skilled, highly trained professionals, and he treated them as such. He respected his men and made them rich, and they loved him for it.

  It took three weeks to sight Gibraltar. The language spoken in the Mediterranean ports was the lingua Franca, a bastardized vernacular parsed together from the many tongues spoken throughout the region by natives, traders, and captives from many nations. Since leaving Calais, Davey had insisted the crew converse in it so as to accustom them to its use. Its many Latin derivatives made it familiar to Gabriel, and with his facility for languages he picked it up quickly.

  Mornings were taken up with gunnery drill and the putting on and the taking off of sail. A welltrained gun crew could get off three shots in two minutes, and they practiced over and over again until that standard was as easy to them as breathing. They were also repeatedly exercised in the use of small arms, cutlasses, and boarding pikes. Gabriel was the only member of the crew who had never traversed these seas before, and as was his habit, he shared his discoveries with Sarah.

  Ma chere, mignonne,

  It is now seventy days since last I held you in my arms. Somehow, I have survived, though I curse each day that takes me farther away from you, and pray for swift winds to bring me home. With luck that will be before Christmas. I have many wonderful things to tell you! We have made

  Gibraltar our base of operations as it is the major English settlement in the area, its fort controlling the entrance to the Atlantic, and its trading post a conduit to and from the Iberian Peninsula to the north, Africa to the south, and the Mediterranean and the Orient to the east.

  I was much impressed when we first caught sight of her. The rock itself one of the Pillars of Hercules, is an impressive limestone formation with fortified caves and tunnels towering one thousand feet above the surrounding countryside. The fort is said to be impregnable. The strait it only thirteen kilometers across at its narrowest point, and sailing through this passage can be dangerous at any time of year. We will make one last pass to the east before setting sail for home. Our intent is to leave by early October, just ahead of the storm season, when even the Barbary corsairs put their galleys into port for the winter.

  We've had very good hunting since our arrival, Sarah, taking several French and Spanish ships, generally without so much as a shot being fired. With twelve cannon and our new copper bottom, we're fast enough to catch them, light enough to follow them into coastal waters, and formidable enough to frighten them into submission. They are always relieved to find that we are not Barbary pirates, a breed of men who roam the waters hereabouts looking for plunder, mostly in the form of captives to hold for ransom or take as slaves.

  Many of these pirates are European renegades, or renegados as they're called, men who've forsaken their religion and accepted the Muslim faith. Much like Davey, they refer to themselves as privateers. Britain has a treaty with them and we have a pass from the Algerian Dey, but Davey knows them well and he's not inclined to trust them. Nimble and quick, we stay out of their way.

  So far we have "liberated," as Davey likes to call it, large quantities of silks, jewels, and wool carpets. Two of the vessels we've taken have given us good battle, both of them military ships. Much to our delight, one of them, a pretty little Spanish frigate returning home from the Caribbean and riding suspiciously low in the water, proved to be carrying sixty thousand pounds worth of gold and silver coin! To be honest, I'm not certain we are at war with them, but Davey says it makes little difference, as the Spaniards are a lawless bunch who hang honest privateers with their letters of marquee strung around their necks in any case. I petitioned to have the frigate calcu
lated as part of my share in lieu of gold, and no one objected, so I have a vessel of my own and a way to make a livelihood, waiting for me in Gibraltar.

  I account myself a wealthy man now, my love, first and foremost because I have you. I also have a ship of my own at harbor, and my share of the profits from this very lucrative adventure looks to be close to twenty thousand pounds, God bless your cousin's larcenous soul! Upon my homecoming, I'll be able to return your brother his money and support us both in comfort. When I cast my mind back to where I was two years ago, I can scarce believe my good fortune. You have opened a door to a brand new world for me, ma chere, and I can never thank you enough.

  Your letters have reached me in Gibraltar, ma belle.

  I kiss them and keep them, under my pillow, knowing your thoughts and your dear hands have touched them. I know how you enjoy attending your lectures and such, and the plans you have for your stables, yet you say it would please you greatly to travel the world with me. I would not wish you to sacrifice your interests and pleasures any more than you wish me to sacrifice mine, but I believe they are easily reconciled. We shall do as Davey does, my dear, enjoying the pleasures of terra firma throughout the fall and winter, and taking sail in the spring. I leave it to you to plan our first adventure. My only request is that it be a honeymoon.

  I am greatly relieved to hear that your brother has soft­ened toward me. Beyond the fact that he is your brother, and dear to you, I am very much aware of how good he's been to me, and other than for the want and need of you I would never have willingly chosen to anger or upset him. I hold him in the greatest esteem, not only for your sake, but also my own. Tell him I will present myself to him upon my return, and if it pleases you, tell him we will be married in the spring. It will be a great relief for me to do this openly and properly, as I'm not altogether convinced that our marriage by Davey's cook was entirely legal in the eyes of the world. The sooner we are joined by respectable means, in front of your family, the better.

  I'm delighted to hear that you've begun a correspondence with Pierre Mechain, and no I'm not the least bit jealous. Remember that I have seen him and you have not. As for your concerns regarding Jamie, he has written to tell me that he is very much looking forward to attending school in Truro, come the fall. He seems to know his own mind and I wouldn't worry overmuch about it, if l were you. He will have comrades in arms in Sidney's brood, and I expect he'll do very well.

  I don't know that I'll be able to write again before we return, my love. We plan a sweep across the eastern Mediterranean as far as Alexandria, through what is essentially hostile territory. As such, we are not likely to make port again until we return to Gibraltar, at which point I am likely to reach you before a letter does.

  You will note that I have kept this missive friendly and informative, and have avoided any excess of emotion or sentiment. It's not from want of passion, but rather from an excess. I find our separation increasingly unbearable, and if I allowed myself the indulgence of fully expressing my feelings to you, Ifear it would open the floodgates, inundating you with a deluge of dreadful poesy and selfpitying ramblings, and leaving me sore, hungry, and dissatisfied.

  We leave in the morning, our last hunt, God willing, and I hope to have you in my arms again by mid-November. Despite my fine words and noble intent, l am now haunted by flashing images of trim ankles and snowy white thighs and plump, luscious lips. What a fool I was to leave you. Wait for me. There is only you.

  Gabriel.

  ***

  With strong winds and easy sailing, they made Alexandria in twenty-three days, stopping along the way to relieve two French merchantmen of their cargo, swelling their coffers with African diamonds, gold, and Mediterranean coral. The return trip was more difficult and less lucrative, but no one complained. With the hold stuffed full of riches and plunder, no one was interested in risking battle. The weather was getting rougher, and it looked like an early autumn. It was time to go home.

  Greeting several British warships, dodging a few French ones, and keeping clear of any Barbary corsairs, they fought against strong headwinds all the way, and it was the end of September before they approached the North Algerian coast. Five days out of Gibraltar, the lookout called down from the crosstree, having sighted a sail just over the horizon. It was a large French three-decker in hot pursuit of a smaller vessel. She was a formidable-looking ship with two rows of cannon bristling from her sides, and three masts towering close to two hundred feet in the air. Maintaining a respectful distance, they came about to watch the chase.

  "You are watching alarming inexperience or gross stupidity, Gabriel, or perhaps just the tragic result of years of French inbreeding. Tell me why," Davey asked, leaning back against the rail.

  "Because he's following her into the shallows where he doesn't belong, making a good eight knots under full sail, and he will very likely run aground."

  "Aye, that he will. It's not well charted here. What should he be doing?"

  "He should put about and head for open water," Gabriel said with a snort. "Failing that, he should have leadsmen in the bow, calling out the depth as he goes."

  Davey nodded, satisfied, and then leaned forward, poking Gabriel in the shoulder, suddenly alert, "Look close then, lad. There she goes." They watched with interest as the giant ship shuddered and ground to a stop, stuck atop an uncharted reef. The little ship she'd been chasing came about and darted away, quickly disappearing over the horizon. "Now I wonder what cargo she'll be carrying, cousin," Davey mused with a wicked grin. "She smells like a pay ship to me."

  Gabriel smiled, pleased and surprised as he realized Davey was his cousin now, by marriage. The thought had never occurred to him before. "I shouldn't think it would be wise to annoy her, Davey. She looks to have upwards of sixty guns."

  "Oh, no doubt she does, my boy. She'd blow us clear out of the water. But observe carefully. What do you think her captain, and I use the term lightly, is up to now?"

  Gabriel took the glass and surveyed the activity aboard the trapped vessel for several moments. "He's crowding on sail, hoping to push her over the shoal no doubt, but he only seems to be driving her farther onto the rocks."

  "Indeed, indeed," said Davey, with a grin. "And next, my child, if he proves true to form, he will try to lighten her. He will order his fresh water pumped out, and if that doesn't work he's likely to cut away his foremast and—"

  "Jettison his guns," Gabriel finished for him.

  "Precisely, my dear. And there he'll sit, unable to fight or flee. It's worth the wait to see, don't you think?"

  The next morning brought a sirocco wind from the Libyan Desert to the southeast. Warm, moist, and oppressive, it was accompanied by a fog so thick they couldn't see past two miles. "There's something wicked coming our way," Davey said to his lieutenants. "See that everything's stowed tight and prepare for rough weather."

  By midmorning the fog had lifted, dispersed by the steadily mounting winds, revealing a lowering slate-gray sky. The French warship was still visible, hung up on the reef, but she'd kept her cannon, and it looked like the wind and mounting waves would soon have her free. "Well, lads," Davey shouted. "It was a nice thought, but the good Lord protects drunkards and fools, and doubtless her captain is both. There'll be no sport for us here, and I'm not liking what's in the wind. There's a storm coming and we're going to need some sailing room. Turn her about, reef the main, and mount the trysails, gentlemen. It's time for us to go home."

  By late morning, the wind had grown stronger on the port side, and the L'Esperance was lurching and swaying amidst tremendous breakers, listing dangerously to starboard. They were making painfully slow headway against the wind when the lookout spotted four more ships to the south, heading fast toward the grounded ship.

  "Looks like two gunboats, a frigate, and a galley, Davey," Gabriel said, fighting to maintain his balance on the heaving deck as he examined them through the glass. He watched as three of the ships continued steadily toward the man-of-war, while the
galley lingered in the rear. They could hear shouting now, and the distant thunder of cannon fire and the whistling of shot as the gunboats closed in on the beleaguered French vessel.

  Nudging Davey, Gabriel passed him the glass as the galley slowed, stopped, and then gradually came about. She flew a broad black pennant emblazoned with a silver crescent and scimitar, off the main masthead. Mainsails reefed, using her topsails and two banks of oars, she was moving through the water at an amazing speed, heading straight toward them, the sound of steady drumming, faint, but discernable through the din.

  "Algerine pirates," Davey announced. "Let's hope the rest stay busy with our French brethren, and see if we can't raise a little more sail."

  "We're at peace with them, are we not?" asked Willy McMaster, the second lieutenant. "We have a pass."

  "Oh, aye, lad. That we do, but yon galley does not appear to be friendly. I doubt her captain is braving the storm to come for tea and a chat. Alliances shift as quickly as the wind in these parts. Who's to say if it's still any good, or if their captain will care to read or respect it, particularly if he sees what's in our hold? I've no taste for slavery. We'll run, and if we're outpaced, then we'll fight, and if we lose and any survive, why then we will take a very great snit, wave our papers, and sternly demand an apology."

  By midafternoon they were battling galeforce winds and monstrous waves, and they had hardly moved at all. Creaking, groaning, and heaving like a living thing, the L'Esperance sank beneath the long swells only to rise again, white foam exploding, erupting over her bow as the sky ripped open and the howling wind drove squalling sheets of blinding rain in black swathes across the deck.

  The galley still followed them, tossing precariously, but steadily gaining ground. The French warship, battered, limping, and listing badly to one side, had finally broken free. Clumsy at the best of times, she was in far too close, leaving her little room to maneuver, and the seas were now so high she was unable to open her lower gun ports. The vigorous cannonading continued back and forth, rumbling in the distance. She'd just fired off two broadsides from her upper decks when the sky was rent by a deafening roar and a brilliant flash of light. She shuddered from stem to stern and exploded, sending masts and spars and splintered timbers, cannon and burning bodies, hurtling through the air.