Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Siren’s Song
by
Constance O’Banyon
Copyright © 1996 by Constance O'Banyon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
To Elaine Barbieri, who came to the rescue when I cried: "Help, I have written myself into a corner and can't get out." I not only count you as a friend, I am also one of your most devoted fans.
1
Boston, May 1801
The early morning sun reflected pale golden light across the tall roofs of the elegant houses that graced Bowdoin Square. The hour being early, a lone carriage moved unimpeded down the street and stopped in front of the three-story mansion belonging to Captain Judah Gallant.
A gray-haired gentleman dressed in sober black emerged from the carriage and, leaning heavily on a cane, made his way hesitantly up the steps that took him to the massive front door. Grasping the lion's head knocker, he rapped three times. Almost immediately, the door was swung open by a plump woman wearing a chain of keys that established her to be the housekeeper.
Mrs. Whitworth greeted the stranger cautiously. "Good morning to you, sir," she said. "If it be Captain Gallant you're wishing to see, he allows no visitors these days."
The man removed his hat and looked at her apologetically. "Forgive the early hour, Madame, but 1 must insist on seeing the captain."
The housekeeper did not budge from the door. "If you have a card, I will present it to him. You may return tomorrow and I will inform you at that time if he will receive you."
"Madame," the man said insistently, "my name is William York, and I have come on important business from President Jefferson. It is imperative that I have a private word with Captain Gallant, so please take me to him at once."
The housekeeper still looked doubtful, but she reluctantly stepped aside. "Come in and wait, Mr. York," she said. "I'll inquire if the captain will see you."
Once inside the huge foyer, William York stared in appreciation at the priceless treasures that surrounded him. The walls were lined with fine European artwork that included two Rembrandts, and he knew enough about art to recognize an original when he saw one. Priceless oriental vases were displayed in mahogany cases with glass fronts, and valuable Persian rugs adorned the highly polished parquet floor.
William tried to remember all he had been told about the Gallant family. They had been prosperous shipbuilders and exporters for three generations, and the treasures he saw displayed in the captain's home were undoubtedly gathered from all over the world.
Just then, the housekeeper returned, her demeanor more cordial. "Captain Gallant has agreed to see you. Please follow me."
William York fell into step behind the woman, following her through a long corridor that took them toward the back of the house.
Mrs. Whitworth paused before a door and rapped softly, entering only when she heard a voice bid her to do so.
"Captain Gallant, Mr. William York to see you."
Judah Gallant had been sitting at his desk and he came to his feet as his guest entered. He nodded at the housekeeper, who quietly withdrew, then he remained standing to impart his impatience to Mr. York. He would allow the man to express his reason for the unannounced visit and then he could be rid of him.
William meticulously examined his host. Judah Gallant had the look of a man of the sea. With his dark hair and ice-blue eyes, the young captain was a handsome rogue. He stood tall and straight, with an air of assurance about him that was usually found in men who commanded destiny—their own and others'. Then the older man observed the open bottle of wine atop the desk, and his eyes dropped to the half-filled glass that told its own story. The captain's early morning drinking was an important factor, and he should have been told about it. Somehow one did not expect such a man—a legend—to have any weaknesses.
William frowned. The information he had received about Judah Gallant chronicled the life of a man who had been shattered by the death of his wife. Since Captain Gallant had resigned his commission in the navy, he had become almost reclusive in his habits, and apparently had taken to drink. He wondered what kind of woman Judah's wife had been, whose passing had so devastated the vital young man. William's sources claimed that there had been numerous women in the captain's life since his wife, Mary, had died, but not the kind of women who would be a threat to her memory.
"Captain Gallant," he said after a long, uncomfortable silence, "I have just been reading about your exploits, including your capture of five Moorish privateers. Also, there was the time when you uncovered the dey of Algiers's sinister plot to cripple our economy by attacking American shipping. I don't know if you're aware of it, but it was primarily on your recommendation that Congress became convinced that we needed to enlarge our navy and build more warships."
There was a cynical twist to Judah's lips. "I hardly think Congress needed the advice of a fledgling naval captain to perceive the necessity of a larger navy."
"That's where you are wrong. The Gallant name is most respected. Your father was a hero in the War of Independence and you proved yourself in sinking three of Napoleon's frigates. Indeed, your family has served its country well."
There was skepticism in the blue eyes that Judah turned on his guest. "I am always suspicious of those who come to me with flowery speeches, sir. Perhaps we could dispense with the flattery and cut right to the reason for your visit."
William York smiled. "I was warned that you would not tolerate nonsense; I see I was not misinformed."
For the first time Judah focused his attention on the elderly statesman. His coat and vest were of good material, but some twenty years out of mode. He also wore his long hair tied back in a queue, rather than in the newer, short style.
"You have the advantage over me, Mr. York. You know about me, and yet, I believe we have never met."
William sat down slowly in a well-padded chair and crossed his legs, leaning toward the warm fire that blazed in the hearth. "True, we have never met, but I have followed your career with great interest. Perhaps because I have always secretly wanted to go to sea and have command of a ship."
"You are a long way from home, Mr. York. From your accent, I would place you in the South, Virginia perhaps."
"You have a good ear for dialect, sir," Mr. York declared, his gnarled hands resting on the curved arm of the chair. "I'm a Virginian born and bred. Most probably
like yourself, I thought I'd done my service to my country. I would have been content to live out my days as a farmer, but President Jefferson would not have it so." He laughed jovially. "Thomas can be very persuasive—so, here I am."
Judah lowered himself into his own chair, regarding his guest with puzzlement. "You have me mystified. What have I to do with you or the president?"
William was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "When one needs a man to command, one looks for the best. It was a dark day for America when you resigned. We need men like you for the trouble that is to come."
"I know other captains who are more accomplished and more worthy," Judah said in an irritated voice.
"But none that come so highly recommended," William York told him. "It is known to us that you are a man with an uncanny ability to master the winds and currents. Besides, you are the president's preference. He is very vocal in complimenting your genius."
"Do not give me too much credit, Mr. York. I stood at the helm of my father's ship before I could walk. It is only right that I should know the sea."
"It's admirable that you take no praise upon yourself—it is fortunate, however, that others have been lavish in their tributes to your heroism."
Judah laced his hands together and studied his guest. "You are not here to talk of past victories. You have something else on your mind."
William York's expression became grim, his eyes troubled. "Therein lies the truth. President Jefferson wants you to reenlist." The foxy old man raised his eyes to Judah, his expression circumspect. "You know that we are fighting an undeclared war with the French. They have preyed on our shipping and the president is getting damned angry."
"So I would imagine."
"Your country needs you—the president needs you! He wants someone who is young and hardy so he looked no further than you."
Judah was quiet for a long moment as he considered the older man's words. "I have retired, sir. Tell the president he would be better served to find someone else." His words took on a bitter tone. "I have already given too much for my country. It cost me all I held dear."
William lowered his voice, his eyes filled with compassion. "I sympathize with the loss of your wife and baby. Perhaps you need a distraction from your grief."
"You know quite a lot about me," Judah said in an embittered voice. "But what you do not know is that had I been with my wife, rather than chasing Moorish ships, she might not have lost the baby, and I may have been able to save her life."
William heard the pain in the young man's voice. It was tragic that he blamed himself for something he probably could not have prevented even if he had been with his wife.
"I was aware that Mary was not strong," Judah continued, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "I should have stayed with her—she begged me to."
"You had your duty."
"I damn sure did that while she and my stillborn baby were being laid to rest. So, do not talk to me about duty!"
"I am sorry," William said, his voice soft with feeling. "It was a great tragedy."
"I can perceive no reason that my country would need me, unless it concerns the war with Tripoli," Judah said, unwilling to speak further of his personal life. "Our navy can easily outsmart the pasha."
"Tripoli is nothing more than an irritant. We have far greater troubles closer to home." William leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I must trust you—I can trust you, can I not?"
"Yes, of course, but—"
"What I am about to tell you must go no further than this room."
"I am not sure I want to be privy to any national secrets," Judah said, becoming aware of how a defenseless fish must feel when caught in a net. This man was very clever—too clever.
"Inasmuch as I have been instructed to enlighten you on certain matters, we—the president and myself—trust you implicitly."
"I'm listening," Judah said at last, although he had little interest in anything that would take him away from his self-imposed exile.
"We have just learned of a secret treaty between Spain and France to place Louisiana under French sovereignty. You can imagine the danger this poses to the United States—to have Napoleon Bonaparte for a neighbor."
Judah was clearly shocked and outraged. "My God! There must be a mistake."
"Our source is irrefutable."
Their eyes met, and held, as they both contemplated what it would mean to their country to have a hostile France in Louisiana.
"Captain, will you help America in its hour of need?" William York asked with meaning. "Are you willing to go to sea again?"
Judah was more than moderately annoyed. "Just what do you want of me?"
"We want someone to cause as much mischief as possible in the French-held Caribbean, thus distracting them from our shipping lanes."
"I have difficulty remembering from day to day who controls what island in the Caribbean. One month it is the French, the next they have been ousted by the English. It is the same with remembering who is our confederate; one year it is France, the next it is England."
"There is much truth in what you say." William's expression became cunning. "Your country needs someone to keep watch on the situation as it develops—someone we can trust to report back to the president."
Judah realized that William York's motives were suspect. "I do not believe that either France or England would welcome the American navy in the Caribbean."
"America has advanced past the time when she asks either country for pardon or permission."
Judah's eyes held a steely coldness. "The French are otherwise occupied with their extended war. On the other hand, the British may not be so distracted since their war with Napoleon is outside the Caribbean."
"Necessity often makes strange bedfellows, Captain Gallant. The British have agreed to look the other way should an American ship commandeer cargo from a French vessel. As a matter of fact, your contact will wait for you on the island of Martinique, which is at this moment under English rule. But I will tell you about that later, should you agree to help us."
Judah's brow lifted. "Help my country indeed, sir. What you are really asking me to do is spy for my country, is it not?"
William York caught a glimpse of the legend, the man who feared no foe and asked no man's pardon. In that moment he decided that he would not want to be the one to rouse Judah Gallant's ire—and he was becoming convinced that they had chosen the right man.
"You are clever and already ahead of me. If you were to agree to help us, to the world you would be a privateer. I must hasten to warn you, however, that should any foreign government make inquiries about you, the president would deny knowing anything about you or your activities."
"Let me see if I have this right—I am to assume the role of a pirate, and if caught, I will be abandoned by my country?"
"I would say that is partly .. . accurate. Although, as you are aware, a privateer is not considered a pirate, but more like ... an opportunist." In that moment the older man smiled in realization. Judah Gallant was not a man to placate. "Call yourself what you will, pirate or privateer, the real truth is that you would be serving your country."
Judah considered what such a venture would mean to him. He had shut himself away from life, and he was aware that everyone avoided mentioning Mary in his presence. Lately, he had allowed himself to sink deeper into his own guilt. It was time to put grief aside and live again.
At last he took a deep breath and met the old man's eyes. "I will captain only a ship built in my own shipyard."
William smiled—his mission had been a success. "I suppose you will use your old ship, the Tempest."
"Yes, the Tempest," Judah said, the name rolling reverently off his tongue. "Although she sustained damage in the last battle, it would take little to have her made seaworthy."
"Excellent! I have been empowered to give you permission to outfit her to your liking." William York stood, offering his hand to Judah. "Enlist what men you deem necessary, keeping in min
d that this is a delicate situation—you have two months before you have to put to sea."
Judah's shoulders seemed to straighten. He corked the bottle of wine, then he went across the room to the bell pull and gave it a tug. The housekeeper appeared with such suddenness that William deduced that she had been awaiting the summons.
"Mrs. Whitworth, have Dickens bring the carriage around. At once."
She was astonished—the captain had not left the house in weeks—but she was too well trained to react. It was enough that Captain Gallant was smiling because he had not smiled in a very long time. "Shall I expect you for dinner, sir?"
"I think not. I will be at the shipyard. I will sleep and take my meals there as well. Do not expect me home for some time."
He spoke with feeling to William York. "Shall we go?"
And so the great ship Tempest came out of dry dock, refitted with fifty guns, new masts and riggings, her decks swabbed and polished. She was long, sleek, and fast, carrying a crew of one-hundred-twenty men, her mission unknown but to a few.
She was a powerful ship of grace and beauty, running boldly before the wind. With all sails gleaming and billowing in the sun, she met the tide and made for open water with Captain Judah Gallant at her helm.
It was the first time in months that he had felt any emotion but grief.
The time had come to bury old sorrows and embrace a new cause and a new reason for living.
2
Isle of Guadeloupe
Dusk had fallen as Dominique Charbonneau stood on the veranda peering into the gathering shadows with anxiety tugging at her heart. Valcour, her brother, had gone to Basse-Terre with twelve cartloads of processed sugarcane, and had not yet returned.
Dominique had not really been concerned until today. It was his twenty-fifth birthday and he had known that she had sent out invitations for a party. All their friends had gathered at Windward Plantation for the celebration, and it was difficult to mask her concern as she explained to each arriving guest that her brother had not yet returned from the village.
Night descended quickly and Dominique became even more distressed. Something was most definitely wrong—she could feel it—Valcour would never have missed his own birthday celebration. He did so love parties, especially when he was the guest of honor. If he were able, he would have come home; if not, he would have sent word to her.
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